(Updated) Update

I've had lots of questions about how the dogs are doing nowadays. The quick answer is pretty damn well.

Many of the dogs are still being treated for heartworms, and it's gonna be a couple few more weeks before they're ready for adoption or fostering. The good news is that so far there's enough space in the shelter here for them to stay put and get the treatment they need. This includes Flat Stanley, who's doing much better these days, and who has a foster home already lined up with our friend Judi and her dog V. It's good to know that, if he doesn't get adopted pretty quick-like, he'll have a great place to go to.

Some dogs have been adopted already. Big Head (now known as Louie) has been adopted and is comfortably dug in at his new home. Recent accounts have us convinced that this dog will now have the most comfortable and fulfilling of dog lives. This is Louie with a tennis ball:





















Here he is in his new digs:

















With his new friends:

















As you can imagine, getting these photos made us very happy.

The skinny broke-footed hound has been adopted for good by our friends Chris and Chuck and will be undergoing surgery next week to fix her bad foot. We were able to hang out with Trina, as she's now called, over Thanksgiving, and we're happy to report that she now has the dog's dream life. She gets on great with Anna, the youngster of the household, and appears predisposed to get on well with the baby that will arrive in January. She's got a cabin in the woods and dog friends named Daisy and Paw Paw. She'll have a good life.

There are plenty of dogs still in need of homes, but early indications are good. We visited them last weekend (Cathy's been back a number of times besides that), and we were told that they had just put 5 of the dogs up for adoption the previous day, and they were all taken home already. That's a good sign.

So, so far so good.

About the comments: As you may have noticed, spammers know no boundaries. My comments section has been invaded by their BS, so I'd rather just hide the comments section than deal with them. Have no fear: you can still e-mail me if you've got something to add.

Thanks for reading.

Off the Road Again

We're home. Last night at about 6pm we arrived at the shelter here in Boise. We helped unload the dogs, all of whom were in pretty good shape by then, walking them a bit and moving them all into cages inside the building. The other two trucks of dogs had arrived the day before, and so between them all we took up a bit of space.

Needless to say, it was strange and not very easy to leave that place. We'd grown attached to these dogs, felt responsible for them, and it was sad and disconcerting to leave them in cages and just go home. But we did, eventually, after many lengthy goodbyes, and we went home to baffle Gus and Henry with the stew of dog odors we'd been living in for the past few days. They were fascinated, though somewhat aloof and put-off.

We spent the night in our own bed, clean, and it was fantastic. Strange, though, to suddenly be at home, for the whole thing to be over, a vivid and surreal dream.

We had no internet access along the way, so I'm putting this together from notes and text documents we made along the way and posting them in chronological order. Unfortunately, we were so busy on this trip, so consumed during any stop or down time with taking care of these dogs and not losing our minds that we didn't get a chance to take many photographs. When you're scrambling in and out of the back of a truck and fighting the clock to keep from having to clean out any more crates than is absolutely necessary, or pressing hard forward to get over the next pass before the weather gets really bad, taking snapshots gets pushed to the bottom of the priority list.

This has been one of the best and one of the most horrible experiences I've ever had. But what it comes down to now is whether it was all worth it. These dogs need homes. That's been the point all along, and it'd be a shame to think they endured this trip for nothing.

Wyoming to Utah to Boise

This morning we woke from a hard sleep to the telephone ringing. 6:15am. It was the desk clerk, and he was with a police officer who wished to see us downstairs. We were both up and dressing right away, hoping the dogs were just barking and fearing it might be something more.

Cathy was out the door and down the stairs before I was, and by the time I exited the hotel into the cold Wyoming morning, the sun had just poked up, and Cathy and the cop were walking back toward the building. Everything was fine. Someone had called to say there were some dogs in the back of a U-Haul that were barking. They were concerned--understandably so. Really, we've been more troubled by people who didn't question what the hell we thought we were doing than by those who did. And this, plus a good deal of mud and mess, is what he saw back there:
















As I approached the officer was telling Cathy about his own pets, 2 dogs and 2 cats. Then he wished us good luck and said he'd call ahead to the State Troopers to let them know we were coming through. A very pleasant man.

So, awake as we were, we got down to business. We moved the truck to the back side of the parking lot next to the hotel, behind the pharmacy next door, and started the long work of letting the dogs out for their morning constitutional. It was cold and muddy, but just knowing (or hoping) that this would be the last time we went through this ordeal kept the mood lighter. Even the dogs seemed to know it, as they seemed less anguished and more in tune to the routine. They also put up a little less resistance when being shoved back into their crates.

Still, though, by the time we were done we were caked with mud and smelling none too great from the 2 cages that needed cleaning. One of them, a skinny black labby dog, waited until his turn was next before he let loose. If only I'd let him out before the dog in the crate on top of him. He was so close! How torturous for him, though, to hang on until he couldn't hang on any longer. Poor guy. This is the dog in the crate on top of him:



We call him Big Head. He's horribly cute.
















We went back up to our room and cleaned up a little, grabbed some coffee and a McDonald's breakfast (I know, I know), and hit the road. We had a long way to go, but our spirits were lifted by getting to Rawlins alive the previous night and the thoughts of getting home this evening. All that stood between us and home was about 9 hours of driving.

Unfortunately, we had to start this off in Wyoming. The wind was brutal as ever, though at first the roads were relatively dry. As long as we headed into the wind we were ok. But when the wind came from the side, everything changed. The truck lunged and bucked its way across I-80, keeping its grip on the road but making me think we would tip at any moment. It was pretty bad, and made me wish we had lots more weight in the back of the truck. The higher we got, the thicker the clouds got, and by the time we hit the next pass we were in hard-blowing snow and ice, visibility down to about 100' or so. It was rough, but the surface wasn't slippery, and I crept along about 55mph and kept my eyes forward and my chest pinned to the wheel.

The next pass was not so bad, and when after a few hours we rolled through Rock Springs, we knew we had but one big one to go. We'd heard lots about how horrible the pass into Utah was, and it was indeed windy and crowded with trucks driving at their usual and annoying accordion hill-climb style, crawling up the hills then flying down them, playing leapfrog with me for a good hour.

On the way down from the final pass, we crossed into Utah, and the effect on the weather was all but instantaneous. The wind slowed to near-zero effect, the traffic thinned a bit, and the scenery turned from bleak to beautiful, the red rock and jagged peaks tipped with snow making us feel much better about the world.

We felt so much better that Cathy brought old Flat Stanley up into the cab to better enjoy the ride. Up with us, he was an entirely different dog. This little shepherd mix, who in Kansas at the Pizza Hut I was convinced wouldn't survive to Colorado, was alert, bright-eyed, engaged, affectionate, and interested in every single thing that passed the windows of the truck cab. He kept trying to lick Cathy's face, and kept trying gently to get to me in the driver's seat, but C kept control of him and eventually he sat on her lap and just stared out the window.

This is Flat Stanley:
















It was a long though uneventful haul across Utah, and I've never been so happy to see the Welcome to Idaho sign. It was hard to believe we were so close. The miles dragged by, taking forever, our eyes fixed firmly on the horizon and our hometown looming in the distance.

We got to the shelter in Boise about 6:30pm. There was a news camera truck in the parking lot, but the place was closed, so it took us a while to get someone's attention, and for them to open the doors. They late shift crew took the truck around back and started to unload. We just sort of stood there, not really knowing what to do with ourselves.

The folks from the shelter were taking the dogs off the truck, removing the crates, cleaning, putting dogs in cages inside. Everything was under control. But we couldn't leave. We helped unload, we helped put them in their new temporary homes, and we stood around a lot, wondering what to do next.

Our frieds Will and Chuck were there, Will to help us out and give us a ride home, Chuck to help out and take a hound home with him. Trina, as she's now known, was one of our favorites, a skinny young female hound with a front foot that had broken and healed wrong. But, by all indications, she's headed for a great life. And, she's already had her first experience with snow!
















As you can guess, the thought of at least one of these dogs going to a home with people, especially these people, hopefully starting a new life, has made us very happy. But still, it was hard to leave there. It was hard to grasp that this long intense trip was now over, and that these dogs were no longer our responsibility.

But, we did eventually leave and go home, and were duly inspected (and then snubbed) by Gus and Henry. God, did they look fat.

Wyoming, Part 1

Driving up through Colorado was uneventful, but crossing Wyoming would not be.

It was a windy drive across Kansas, the traffic not too bad but the motion of the U-Haul in that stiff crosswind a bit too rocky for my liking. Not exactly aerodynamic, those boxes on wheels. Still, it was a pretty easy stretch. And the way northwest through eastern Colorado was a breeze, relatively speaking. The weather stayed fair and the traffic never got too bad. The midday feeding went off with only slight frenzy, and there was only one crate to clean out, so we counted ourselves lucky.

Heading into Wyoming, the weather started to liven up and menace a bit more. It was getting dark and the wind picked up considerably, with thick clouds forming off to the west. Things were ok until we hit Cheyenne and headed west on 84. The U-Haul was suddenly battered around by heavy gusts, and traffic--especially semi trucks--was thicker and faster. Both got progressively worse as we entered the Medicine Bow National Forest and headed up toward the pass. It started to rain, and before long we were trudging along at an unsteady 50mph, blinded every 20 seconds or so by a semi screaming past at 70 or more. With every gust I fought to hold the truck steady, and it wasn't so easy. I expected to skid off the road. I'm surprised, honestly, that we didn't.

My dad tells a story of he and us kids fishing for salmon on Lake Michigan one weekend when the weather got nasty and the waves got big. He said we came in slow, jumping and dipping with the huge swells, easily the worst weather he or this boat had endured, and he found himself praying for us to make it in, that he wasn't entirely sure we would. I remember that day, but I don't remember it in that way. Now, though, I understand what he means by it.

I'd been feeling a bit less than good all day, and the worse I felt, the more dire the weather seemed. It was a damned terrifying drive from Cheyenne to Laramie. This was one of the very few times in my life where I found myself in a situation that I wasn't all that sure I could handle. Thinking you're in over your head and it's not just your own ass on the line is a scary thing. I wanted to stop. I didn't want to be responsible for this truck and all these dogs, miserable in the back, not to mention Cathy in the seat next to me. I just didn't want to do this anymore.

Of course, that's just stupid. We made it to Laramie and over dinner changed our minds 7 times or so on whether we should try to press on and get to Rock Springs, or at least to Rawlins. We finally decided not to, and we began the process of letting all the dogs out for the last time of the day, resigned to the trip not ending until Sunday (the horror!), when we got a visitor. I'd just sprung the Rott from his giant cage in the back of the truck--he became always the first to go after his big accident of the first day--when a youngish guy rolled up in a wheelchair, saying "Well, you've got a lot of dogs there." He was burly, with a beard and long hair in a ponytail and glasses. The Rott made for him immediately, and before I could properly hold him back he had his head buried in the guy's lap, shoving slightly for attention. It was pretty amazing. So I stood and talked to him for a while about the roads and the weather and our plan, and he offered to drive home and check the radar and come back and tell us what was going on.

He returned about a half hour later (we were not quite halfway through with the job at hand), saying that the storm looked to be breaking and it wasn't cold enough between Laramie and Rawlins to freeze. He told us that we could take route 30 around the Elk Mountain pass and avoid both the big elevation and most of the traffic--and all of the semis--at a loss of only a half hour ro so. So, we took his advice and set off, grateful for the help when we really needed it.

We made it to Rawlins after a much calmer ride of 2.5 hours or so. It still rained on us and snowed at our highpoint, but the roads weren't slick and the wind was not as severe, and there were no trucks. We got a room avertising AAA and free high speed internet. We got $2 off and a counter kid who didn't know we needed a code and couldn't figure out how to get it.

I took a shower, fan running, door closed, and swore the whole time I could hear dogs barking.

Somewhere in Kansas

It's a clear, sunny day and we're on the way again. Even though we've settled into a routine of sorts, the journey's still incredibly trying, and I'd be lying if I said I was handling it as well as I thought I would. It's hard to hear those dogs screaming and baying so hard and so long. It's horrible to have to shove them back into their cages after 5 or 10 minutes of freedom. It's tough not to lose your faith in humanity when you reach down to pet one of them and they hit the ground flat like you're about to beat the hell out of them. It's hard to just keep doing it, to keep going.

Last night, in a rest area in Kansas east of Hays, I lost my shit. Just lost it. I was tired and hungry, it was cold outside, we had earlier dealt with a dog in serious GI distress, shitting purple liquid and vomiting green foam, and hosed his crate out in a covert move behind Pizza Hut. It was a lot of work to feed and water the dogs. It took quite a lot out of me. Then a few hours later, in the cold and dark and windy Kansas night, it was time to let them out.

My frame of mind was bad. I was doubting whether all the dogs would survive the trip, the sick one especially, and I had to start the process by letting the Rottweiller out. He dragged me around for a while and did his thing, and then I tried to put him back in his crate. He didn't want to go. This is a dog that has the sweetest temperament, the nicest big lug disposition, and seemingly loves everyone. I pushed, and he held fast and turned to gave me a look that scared me to the bone. I backed off a bit involuntarily, and I grabbed a handful of food and tossed it into the crate. He followed it, and I closed the door, but it really shook me.

And there were still 15 dogs to go.

We did it, one at a time. Cathy had taken out the sick one, now called Flat Stanley, and tied him to a table where he sat silent and patient, watching us, uncomplaining, heartbreaking. There's a shiny little male black labby dog, tiny and stumpy and quiet, who is very good and calm when I take him out. He darts around sniffing, constantly looking up at me for approval or reproval, I'm not sure which, and when he does his thing, he gets a bit excited. So, squatting and fully and painfully erect, hunched over and spiny, totally freaked out, he's staring up into my face, his eyes wide and whites showing, a look of hesitant wonder on his face. When he finally finished and moved a few steps, I gathered the spare leash in my hand and bent and reached to pet him with my other hand and tell him good boy. As I reach, he squints hard and dives quickly to his right shoulder, paws raised in defense against the beating he was surely about to get.

"No, no, it's ok," I said, and he let me pet him and slowly loosened his muscles and opened his eyes. That's when I lost it. The tears came as I crouched down to dog level, petting the dog gently and steadily, saying "It's ok, no more hitting, it's ok, no one's gonna hit you anymore." And once I started, I couldn't stop. I said it was ok over and over, to myself as much as to him. I walked him a bit more after gathering myself, then led him back to his cage and put him in. No resistance, all resignation, and he turned in his cage, which was on the second tier, and pressed the top of his head against my chest in a very Henry-like gesture. He stood and I petted and stroked his head, and he let me, no fear this time.

And I still had 5 dogs to go.

I got back to work, releasing one dog at a time, taking them out, running and walking, petting and playing, occasionally getting choked up and hollow-eyed again, wearing down my spirit as much as my body.

When we were done we drove on, not getting very far before we stopped for dinner and for the night, around 10:30. I've never been so happy to see an Applebees. Steak and shrimp that went down like nothing, with a pint of beer behind it. Drained, we got a room and went straight to bed.

This morning, we were up and at it again at 7am, though we didn't get on the road until 10. Another long day ahead of us.

Texas to Kansas

The ice in the crates was a good idea. But, a mess to deal with. Ice turns to cold water turns to warm water, after all. Up in the cab of the truck, we knew that the dogs would be sitting in puddles, some of them water only, some of them water enhanced by fear and bad digestive systems, and we knew that we would have to clean out all the crates. This was not an attractive prospect, but it was unavoidable. So, at a rest area about 35 miles east of Dallas, in total darkness, we strapped on headlamps, opened the back of the truck to the usual cacophony, and set to work.

We released one dog at a time, Cathy taking the dog out into the grassy area to walk them and let them do their overdue business and to give them some personal attention, while I untied the crates, one at a time, and carried them out of the truck. Slippery, smelly, and dark, my headlamp the only thing allowing me to do this job, I'd set the crate down on the edge of the truck, jump to the ground, and then carry the crate off into the grass. I'd dump it out, clear out any rubbish or nastiness, give it a last shake, and then set it down, in line in order, and go back to the truck. I'd get out the next dog (no mean feat this, as they without exception charged the open door and required holding back in order to get a leash on) and lead it out into the grass on a leash as Cathy finished up with her dog and put it into a clean crate. Then she'd take the next dog from me and I'd go back to fetch its crate. Again and again, 16 times, we did this, one side of the truck at a time. When one side was complete and 8 dogs waited in the grass in their clean crates, we'd start to reload them, one at a time, tying them in as they were and checking their steadiness. Then, when they were all back in place, we moved to the other side of the truck and started again. This whole process took about two hours and gained us many strange looks and not too many friends among the truckers attempting to sleep about 100 yards away. We sent up quite a racket.

Afterward, thoroughly tired and coated in sweat and all manner of dog matter, we set out to try and get past Dallas. We did, negotiating the speedy traffic on the 6-lane highway through town, past Outback Steakhouse after Outback Steakhouse, and we spent the night in a Motel 6 north of North Dallas, sleeping like the dead with the dogs in the truck, the door propped partway open for air. The weather was nice at night, so we didn't worry about the mutts. We did worry about our fellow motel guests, but we asked for a room in the back and we got no complaints, so no one could have been too disturbed.

This morning we woke to the sound of dogs barking. Imagine that.

We were up and packed and out at 8, letting the dogs out two at a time, walking and running and drinking and crapping and doing what dogs do when released from a crate. Namely: going slightly nuts. These are all good dogs, all very happy when free, some very skittish, some incredibly thin, bags of bones and skin, but all good dogs. We're learning their personalitites already, and I can tell it's gonna be hard to drop them off and have them out of our lives. When it gets tempting to get mad at them, or yell at them to shut the hell up already, all it takes is a quick thought of what they've been through, how they may have been abandoned to the storm, and how they may have managed to survive, to quell the rising blood. We have no idea what hell they've endured, and when they look through the bars into our eyes, or they mash themselves up against our legs when we walk them, it's all I can do to hold it together and keep from turning into a blubbering idiot.

Now, they're clean(er) and dry, and we feel good about the shape they're in. As I write this Cathy's driving into Kansas, the dogs quiet in the back. It's 4pm, and in about an hour we'll stop and feed them. After that we'll give them some water and take off again. Then, after a couple hours, we'll stop again and let each of them out for a quick walk and some relief, then they're back in the crates for the night. We'll drive as far as I can manage, then stop for the night. We were hoping to make Denver by this evening, but everything seems to take longer than we've imagined, and I don't think we'll get there. I have a feeling it'll be late Saturday when we get home. That's ok, I suppose. It'd be nice to get back Friday, but we hadn't planned for it to be so hot yesterday or for tending to the dogs to take as long as it does.

New Orleans

Yesterday, for the beginning of this grand and somewhat ill-conceived adventure, we couldn't have timed things worse if we'd tried. Our flight to Houston at 7am went ok, except for the fact that one of our 6 missed the connecting flight in Phoenix. From the Houston airport we even got to the U-Haul joint ok, the 5 remaining drivers in a mini-van cab. From there, though...

First of all we followed Yahoo! directions, which I advise no one to do. From 45 south we took the beltway paralleling the tollway into the middle of town, then turned back along 290 east, then realized we missed the ramp we needed, so went back and tried it again, but missed the proper lane, now in rush hour traffic in a very steady rain. Another lap around and we got it right, just in time to hit the parking lot of traffic. If there's one thing you don't want to do in a 17 foot U-Haul, it's get stuck in Houston rush hour traffic.

After braking and lurching our way through town, which took just this side of forever, we finally got out of there, and then had to negotiate a series of construction projects that had concrete barriers lining the lane, right where the lines should be, with no margin for error. In the dark, still raining, in a veritable convoy of semis. Nervewracking, to say the least.

The one good thing was that we stopped outside of Houston for some cajun food, Cathy tucking into a blackened snapper and grilled shrimp and me putting away a catfish po boy and a bowl of seafood gumbo. Delicious. And it'd be our only cajun food, even though we were going right into New Orleans.

Of course, we got to New Orleans right around midnight. The drive to the city was harrowing enough--dense fog, shit roads, a nasty drive in the middle of the dark night--and once we got there, it was just creepy. The city's under curfew and appears largely abandoned, so it was empty and dark, with few streetlights working and no road signs to speak of. The pea-soup night air made it all the moreso, though it did keep even the cemeteries out of sight. We didn't see much flood damaage on the way in, because we couldn 't see much of anything.

We got into the tent city around 12:30 after another call to a guy there named Raymond.



I stayed up a little while talking to Rick from Montana, who'd been there for about 6 weeks, since before the Guard got there. He told me of how New Orleans, wth all its destruction, was but a triopical storm compared to parts of lower Mississippi, which you won't hear about on the news. Towns obliterated, dead cows in trees, now hides and bones, along with houses, trucks, and coffins. Coffins, in trees. Amazing.

In the morning, at 6, after a night with not a single minute of sleep, we made our way to the shelter. Bleary-eyed and tired, I was ill prepared for this. Hundreds of dogs in makeshift runs, barking and baying and raising a racket unlike many I've heard.

We started to set up the trucks, loading crates into the back and tying them down in whatever system we felt best. Rope and bungee cords everywhere. It was a web of tie downs holding down a city of crates. How the hell would the dogs survive this trip? I had no idea.

Cathy made the rounds of the shelter, checking out the dogs, finding out who'd be coming and who would not, talking to the volunteers, while I busied myself with readying the crates. To be honest, this work kept me from confronting the scene behind the shelter where all the dog runs were. I took a walk back there when we first arrived, and I had a hard time of it. Beagles and hounds and Rotts and shepherds and all between, old and slow dogs and litters of new puppies, some emaciated and some healthy looking. So many dogs waiting to be claimed, to get out of this chain link nightmare and just friggin go home already.

Much to our pleasure we learned that we were to take all dogs at the shelter who were not already spoken for. Many had owners who had come already, found and claimed their dogs, and left them in the shelter's care until the time they could get back into their house, or get into a new place, or secure a trailer from FEMA where they could live and accomodate a dog. It must have been horrible to leave a dog behind here, but at least their dogs were alive and well and waiting for them.

The three trucks all departed separately, as once one was loaded up, all dogs accounted for, the paperwork had to be done. This took a while, but Dr. Hebert did a good job of keeping track of everyone and making sure the dogs would be counted and looked after. Medical history and all else were in this file, which we carry with us now.

We were the last truck to depart, and it was about 11:00 by the time we took off. This did not bode well, as when the fog burned off, the air got hot, and the back of the truck resembled nothing so much as an oven. It'd be slow-going, stopping about every hour to open the truck and air them out. At one point we put a bag of ice in each kennel, which did well to keep them cool for a couple hours, but also left a big puddle in every crate. Quite a mess, but in the end worth it, as each required cleaning anyway and this made it nothing more than dumping out some unsavory water and tossing the empty bags.

It was a long day with many stops, the frantic need to get north and away from the heat stymied by the incessant need to stop. But, there was no choice in the matter, so we settled into a frustrating pattern and chugged on.

Why Not Us?

This week, early tomorrow morning, Cathy and I are embarking on what might be one of the biggest adventures of our lives. Here's the backstory:

http://www.idahostatesman.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20051105/NEWS01/511050338/1002

And here's what sealed the deal:













This past Saturday morning, Cathy read a story in the paper about a temporary shelter in New Orleans that is about to close. It's in a senior center, and they need it back, so the animals--loads of them, dogs, cats, and apparently all other manner of critter rescued from the wreckage of Hurricane Katrina--have to go. Some were starving, some blind, all in poor health, and the intervention of the National Guardspeople who retrieved them and brought them to this place saved them from certain death.

When the shelter was slated for closing, these folks along with the Humane Society organized a massive relocation plan. They've found places for the animals in new homes or in shelters. They got donations for vans and for plane tickets and hopefully for food and lodging. All they needed was people to do the driving.

It took a single phone conversation between Cathy and Sgt. Mike Spickelmier to convince my amazing wife that we were just the people for the job. I was skeptical, of course, but a single look at the photo above was all it took to convince me of the same.

No matter the questions about expenditure of resources or consequences to local pound populations or anything else: the thought of just abandoning these dogs, who have already been through so much, just because it's such a huge undertaking to relocate them, is not acceptable. I think of Henry in this dog's position and try to imagine him going through this and there's really no choice to be made.

We both called our bosses at home on Saturday and, miraculously, we got them on the first try. They agreed that this was important enough to do some schedule juggling. And that was that.

So, we fly to Houston Tuesday morning. There we'll pick up a van and drive it to the shelter in New Orleans. Says the Sgt: "We'll put you up in a tent and give you a hot meal before you leave Wednesday." So we have that to look forward to before taking off on a 3-day drive cross country with a truckload of dogs.

Neither of us really knows what to expect. What are bathroom breaks gonna be like with 2 people and 16 dogs? Can the dogs stay in their crates in the truck overnight? Or will we have to drive straight through? Are these animals strong enough to make the journey? We don't know any of these things, but we're going in prepared, and we'll figure it out as we go along.

This is an incredible opportunity to help, and we're very glad to be taking it. We're bringing a camera and a laptop along, so I hope to blog it as it happens. If not, I'll do it when we get back to Boise. So check in here and see if we've found wireless connections along the way.

Leaving Amsterdam

On the final day here, the weather has returned to normal. It's grey skies and misting rain outside, a fitting setting for my last walk along the canals.

Cathy hopped in a cab at 8 this morning for Schipol airport, as her flight left at 10:30. Since we booked separately to get one ticket with air miles, I'm on a later flight, not leaving until 4:30 this afternoon. I'll take the tram to Centraal Station and take the train out to the airport. From there it's a long trip back, and with the 8 hour time difference (racing backward against it) I'll be in Boise at 11:30pm tonight. Weird.

The weather may be contributing to the melancholy feeling I have, but it's also my leaving here that's got me a bit sad. We had a great time here, again, and I wish we had another week to take in the city and pretend we live here.

This morning I walked out Prinsengracht, one of the main canals, for quite a while, until the rain got a bit uncomfortable. I turned in toward the city center and retraced my trajectory on the parallel canal of Keizersgracht, all the way back to the Westerkirk church near where I'm staying. It was a great walk, just gaping at the architecture and watching people and bikes go by. I'm glad I had these last few hours here to get out among it again before going home.

It's always nice to get home and get out of a suitcase, but I'll miss it here. But, at least I know we'll be back.

Wilco

Man oh man.

Last night me, Cathy, John, Tom, Pierre, and Gerry's brother Adrian made our way to the Paradiso to see Wilco. I knew it'd be great, but I didn't know that it'd be last-night-of-a-world-tour-in-Amsterdam great. Sheezus.

The place was absolutely jammed. We walked into the main room and as soon as we were through the door we met a solid wall of backs. No space whatsoever. We sidestepped up some stairs and toward the bar, on a riser stage right, and somehow finagled a corner spot, against a post, right next to the bar. It was tight, and there was no option of moving around or going to the bathroom, but we could see everything and the sound was outstanding. And jammed though we were, the folks we were jammed against were nothing but polite and friendly at all times.

We missed the first part of the first song, "Far, Far Away" off Being There, but were in place and set when they broke into "I Am Trying To Break Your Heart," which blew the roof off the joint. They played loads of new stuff, highlights including "Hummingbird," a long and blazing turn through "Spiders: Kidsmoke," and "Muzzle of Bees" off the new one, and they even dipped back into Being There and Summerteeth, rocking "Misunderstood"for all it was worth, giving new life to "Shot in the Arm,"and making "Via Chicago" into the masterpiece that I always knew it was. They closed with two encores, including a new track and a cover of a Dylan tune that I can't name right off.

The feel for the show was amazing on both sides of the stage, the crowd going nuts at every opportunity, yelling "Ya! Ya!"with all their might. It was guitar tech Frankie's last night with them, too, so that surely added to Tweedy's depth of feeling for this show. He had us chanting "Frankie!"and responding, during the call and response portion of "Kingpin,"with Frankie's name instead of "How Can I!"A great experience, and I'm very glad I got tickets for it before we left the states. I'd have hated to miss this one.

Wedding Day

The bus ride out to the wedding site was supposed to be twenty minutes. It was well over45 before the driver got us there, winding through the backroads of rural Holland on roads tight for a tiny Euro car, let alone a double decker touring bus.

But we did arrive for the first of a solid twelve hours of celebration and party and bus rides. The wedding was to take place at a gorgeous old estate at the crossing of two major canals. Its got a rich history, from Spanish takeover to Dutch retaking and its current pristine state as a historical landmark. The grounds were surrounded by pastureland, rolling and green and filled with sheep and cows who'd venture near a handful at a time to get a load of what we were carrying on about.

Inside was all hefty wooden beams and polished wooden walls, a beautiful room filled with flowers and chairs. The ceremony was lovely, part in Dutch and part in English, with greetings and history and speeches by close friends and family. Gerry and Christina both gave lovely talks, and Jim their American friend read an Ogden Nash poem, all of which were sepatated or punctuated by Irish music from guitar and fiddle. The higlight, in my somewhat prejudiced opinion, was when Cathy got up and gave the speech they'd asked her, as witness, to give. This was a big honor, as only she and Jim were asked to speak in addition to themselves and a closing toast. Cathy was understandably nervous, but she did so well that she got to hear just how well from everyone at the party for the rest of the weekend. By the time she finished, Christina and Gerry's sister were both in tears. I too was quite moved by it, telling as she did of their meeting in Austin, with us at hand, and how their friendship grew into something more over the years. She did a hell of a job.

After the final toast, they were married, and as they signed the stack of documents, we all moved outdoors to have drinks and snacks in the beautiful midday sunshine. Strange, that, too: the weather's been absolutely perfect since we've been here, a total turnaround from the way it's been the rest of the summer. Lucky for us.

From the wedding site, after a group shot for which everyone slogged across a soft grassy field to an embankment to pose in front of the pasture, we were ushered back onto the bus and taken back to the Schlummelpakker Huys for dinner. We had seafood salad with the most delicious grilled scallops and a prawn and some greens, a lobster bisque with Dutch shrimps (like little brine shrimp), and a veal ribeye served with a roasted potato mold and some green beans. Very, very good. This on top of being served snacks all day at every stop, from fried bits of cheese to grilled bits of meat to all manner of bread and toppings and coffee and pastries and on and on. We were well taken care of.

More speeches and antics filled the dinner hours, with one of Gerry's friends turning his suit into a priest's frock and collar, just to make sure Gerry was properly married.

From dinner, it was back on the bus and a short drive to the site of the reception, a great little pub/dinner hall out in the boonies, again, with a wooden stage at one end, a dance floor, and a big seating area behind. The band, of Danny the guy who played at the wedding, was fantastic, playing acoustic Irish music all night, keeping the people dancing the whole time. Though I was slowing down quite a bit by this time, I managed to get yet a few more beers and snacks in me, and I even danced for a while. The party was long and fun, Gerry and Christina's parents both having a wonderful time along with everyone else.

At one point, Gerry was introduced by his friend Jim, and he took the stage to sing a raucous version of "Ring of Fire." His voice was utterly shot, but he squeaked it out and then called his brother Adrian up to help him sing Gram Parson's "SinCity,"very nicely done. Gerry must have been on cloud 9 all night, surrounded by family and friends from all over the world, playing with one of his favorite bands, responsible for the entire weekend. And it was amazing how well everyone got on. We were all captive, at his beck and call all weekend, shuffling from one party to the next, folks from Ireland, Holland, the US, Spain, England, Sweden, and who knows where else, all getting along incredibly well, talking and laughing and giving each other good-natured shit and ribbings the entire time. The toughest part was just keeping pace with the Irish folk, of whom Wouter, master of ceremonies and a great friend of Christina's, said "They never stop, they just keep going, like a bunch of little Duracell bunnies." Very true.

After the reception, a good portion of the guests moved back to O'Kelly's in Groningen, where they were bound to stay up singing and drinking and playing music into the wee hours. I walked Cathy back to our room, and by the time I got there there was no way in the world I was gonna turn back and go back to the pub. I was dead. Too bad, as they reportedly were at it until sunup, just after the time, at about 6:30am, Christina was seen walking home down the street from the pub, still in her wedding dress. I wish I'd have been there for that scene, but being that we got home around 3:30, I don't feel so bad about cutting out.

It was an amazing time, the best wedding ever, hands down. We're very glad we could make it over for this.

The Dutch Irish Connection

Man, what a weekend. I thought my and Cathy's wedding was cool. This was just the most amazingly well orchestrated event of its kind that I've witnessed.

The whole thing took place out in and around the city of Groningen, north of Amsterdam about two to three hours by double decker bus (one of which Gerry rented for the weekend to shuttle the hundred or so of us around). It was a lovely, flat, green drive made more pleasant by the Texas music wafting from the stereo (we made some mix CDs for the couple, at their request).

Most of the people attending stayed in a big fancy hotel near the main square, a place called the Schimmelpennick Huys. Cathy and I stayed in the Simplon Hostel, about a ten minute walk across town. It was nice, clean, simple, and about a quarter of the price. Gronginen seems like a really great city, compact, well planned, old gorgeous buildings and bike lanes everywhere, loads of shops for everything imaginable, a University, very nice. Definitely a place I'd like to get back to for a visit.

On Friday night, we rode the bus out to a great little place on a lake, a resaurant/bar with a huge patio and a nice dance floor, old and wooden and full of character. We had a cookout of chicken and beef and kabobs and various salads, all very nice, before the Bayou Mosquitos got up to play. A Dutch band, they specialized in Louisiana music with some Texas influence thrown in. They were great fun, and we danced a heap o two steps, actually impressing the Dutchies with our moves. Imagine.

And, small world: I walk over on Cathy's signal where, during a break, she's up chatting to the guys in the band (of course). As I approach I realize they're playing and singing Sweet Li'l Love by the Gourds, trying to remember the words. They knew of The Gourds, and further, the bass player, Pierre Robinet or something close to that, has played and recorded music with Rob Halverson, friend and musician from Austin. So, we pass along greetings here, Rob, if you're reading.

After the party, the bus headed back to town, where it dropped the lot of us in front of the Schlimmopuudik Huys--except for Cathy. The bus had to drive by our hostel anyway, so the driver agreed to drop her off rock star style. Double decker bus for one. Very nice.

The rest of us meandered a couple blocks up the road to O'Kelly's, a great Irish pub near the hotel. There I sat in a smoke-filled room full of music and talking and singing, mostly coming from wedding guests who were all growing very chummy with each other by now, until round about 3:30 in the morning. Just a fantastic time, so many happy people meeting each other and getting along, from entirely different worlds mostly, from Holland to Ireland, merely an hour's flight away.

And this was the pre party.

Night of the Unexpected

The Paradiso, in Amsterdam, has got to be the best music venue I've ever been in. It's an old church, a big one, converted by an arts group, apparently, into a giant arts and music hall, largely known nowadays for rock shows. Last time here I struck out getting in to see Kings of Leon, but this time I was luckier.

Thursday was the Night of the Unexpected, whose headliner was Four Tet, the electronic artist responsible for some of the best remixes around and a body of his own work that I've recently been turned onto, which is fantastic as well. So, partly just to see the place, and partly because I was curious about how a guy with some laptops would convert to the live setting, I recruited John McPoland, an Irish resident of Amsterdam who I met in Austin and have seen here since, and Chicago Tom, of Madison, WI, and Pierre, Londoner who lives in Amsterdam, to escort me to the hall. They were all more than game, and a brief bike ride brought us to the venue.

It was amazing. There was something going on in every room from the basement to the upper floors, rooms and halls and staircases everywhere, people milling about all over, just an incredible scene. A lone laptopper making gorgeous squalls of noise in the basement cafeteria, in the main room, the first time through, drums standing upright and twelve feet across being pounded on by black clothed players in time with the drums across the chasm of space between the church walls, a four-piece instrumental act doing hard drummed ambient sounds up on the third floor, a horn section holding down a landing on a staircase, in the main room, the second time through, a 40 or so member vocal choir, singing what sounded more like sounds than words, very low and spooky, really beautiul. And there was more than that, but we headed for the main room to make sure we caught Four Tet'sstart.

We arrived to four guys with laptops facing the audience from the main stage. They were sending sheets of sound and feedback into the crowd in what seemed like a prolonged show-ending crescendo, but Pierre said it was Four Tet. After the noise ended, though, it appeared through the dark and the smoke that they were packing up. But the noise continued, and soon it became beat-driven, and suddenly in the middle of the main floor a stage lit up red and it was manned--and a lone skinny guy with a big bush of curly black hair started rocking over a console, churning out the familiar opening to the new album,"an intense track called "Joy."

The crowd exploded. The beat kicked in, and the dude just had everyone rapt. I haven't seen too many electronica shows, but this was far more engaging than I'd have expected. Maybe it was the venue or the mood or the whole deal of being here in Amsterdam seeing a show like this surrounded by these people, but the whole set was just mind-blowing. He played lots off his new record, and I have to say I'm very glad I've been listening to his stuff a lot lately because being familiar with it changed everything. I could hear when he'd introduce a sound element minutes before he got to that actual song, and it all fit together so beautifully that I could just imagine some old free-jazzer seeing this and being just blown away.

So, my first foray into The Paradiso was a complete success. It'll be Wilco on Monday, which I'm very, very, very excited for.

News

I'd be remiss if I didn't say something about what we're hearing about Hurricane Katrina over here. The coverage has been relatively constant, but removed as we are from television and from the language of most papers, we are far from inundated with it. What we are reading and seeing, though, is horrific beyond words. It's hard to believe--especially under the circumstances in which we're seeing it--that this is happening in the US and not in some far removed foreign country. Third world country. South America, maybe, or an island in the Carribean, washed out because the resources for prevention or for response are just not there. And they're now waiting for us, the US, to come in and help them recover. But it is the US, and that is really hard to grasp.

We're reading about the political fallout, too, and though it's callous to think of this in political terms, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't satisfied that at last, at long last, the administration is being called to task for its incompetence. For its motives and its actions and for it's colossal fuckups, which just keep coming.

OK, no more of the politics. We'll just hope that from here on out everything that can be done, will be done.

Hope you all are well.

Bloemgracht

We've brought good weather to Amsterdam again.

It's been a gloomy summer here, apparently, but on our first day in the city the sun has been shining and a cool breeze has brought the hot temperatures to perfect. It's great to walk around when everyone's out and moving around and in a good mood because it's a beautiful day.

We got in from Paris last night around 8:30 and made our way to Gerry and Christina's apartment on Bloemgracht by tram. Piece of cake. Nice to actually feel like we know our way around. Gerry and I ran out and got a few pizzas, and we ate them at their place with a couple glasses of wine. We were all worn out, so it was an early night--followed by a LONG night's sleep. The guest bed here is so comfortable that I sleep like the dead and have a hard time getting out of it in the morning.

Today Cathy and I went down to a big shopping strip near Dam Square to poke around and get a few things, and mostly just to get a shawarma at a little restaurant she'd eaten at before. We didn't find that one, but the one we found was just as good. Sliced rotisseried lamb on pita with a huge 'salad bar' full of pickled things, vegetables, and sauces to muck it up with. Delicious.

After we returned, I headed out again to stock Gerry up on beer and get some yogurt and fruit for breakfast (man, I can't tell you how tired I am of baguette and soft foil triangle cheese and weak coffee for breakfast, nice though it was). A quick trip down the alley, past the coffee shop (ahem) and the Cafe Chris--a cool little pub of dark wood and striped awnings, today with a good handful of people sitting at tables on the sidewalk--and a quick right at the main street gets you to Gall & Gall (pronounced cchhhalllenccchhhall), and a half-block double back gets you to the small market. Everything so close and small and personal-like. I carted the two crates of empty bottles to and the one crate of full bottles back from the store on the rear rack of Christina's two-ton dark green jalopy of a city bike. Wonderful machine. You could run it through a brick wall and maybe knock the front wheel out of true.

Tonight we celebrate Christina's birthday with dinner out and some drinks, and who knows what-all else. With the impending long wedding weekend, it's likely to be a mellow night, which is just fine.

That's all for now. Hope you're all well.

Leaving Paris

We have enjoyed ourselves immensely, eaten well, contemplated great art, imbibed with style, and improved our relative standings in fashion (well, Cathy has), and now it is time to go. Though we are sorry to be leaving here, we are very excited to be heading to Amsterdam.

Paris has been a wonderful and unique experience, and though Ill spare any who read the inevitable renewed vigor I feel toward city livin, suffice to say that, yes, there it is again, and I only expect it to deepen during our stay in Amsterdam.

I expect computer access to be easier to come by there, so drop us a line if you like, and this time well be able to answer. And maybe Ill even find an apostrophe on them Dutch keyboards.

Au revoir!

Musee dOrsay

Oh yeah, weve been looking at art, too. While some of you may be surprised to hear that we will forego the Louvre, we did spend an afternoon with the Impressionists at the Musee dOrsay, a beautiful museum on the Seine in a converted train station. Loads of famous paintings, with many a Monet, Manet, Sissily, Toulouse-Latrec, Van Gogh, and on and on.

It was very nice, we enjoyed it, but to be honest my stamina for classic works of art has grown short. I far prefer poking around in the small galleries, looking at modern French paintings. They just have more to say to me.

We will go to the Picasso museum on Sunday, because its free then.

Michael and Julia; Robert et Louise

Our friend Judi suggested we hook up with some friends of hers while we are here, and though hesitant for some reason to do so, thinking we wouldnt want to be a burden, we were very glad we did.

Last night, we met up with them at a bar, Stollys Pub, owned by their friend Oliver. Hes English and shes American, qnd theyve both been in France for years. After chatting with them and their friends over a few cocktqils (a gin and tonic, a cuba libre, and a Heinekin) we headed down the street to a tiny restaurant that Michael promised to be an authentic, French country restaurant short on frills and big on food.

It would not disappoint: This was the eating experience Id hoped to have here.

Robert et Louise is a tiny room hidden away in the Marais arrondissement, a narrow space with a handful of tables packed tightly together. When we arrived slightly late for our reservation, the owner or manager told Michael that yes, he did see that we had a reservation, and yes, we would be waiting. So we got an aperitif, a kier I think he called it, and waited only a short while. We squeezed into a tqble by the door qnd put the ordering into Ms hands.

To start, we were brought crusty bread, of course; a bottle of red wine ("cheap as chips but very nice to drink," said M); and the appetizers (here, entrees). These were outstanding, all of them. First came a trio of gambas, large shrimps served whole after simmering in some sort of broth. Im not a big fan; but these were outstanding. Next came a pork pate of some kind, coarse shredded meat served cold in a small pot, marinated in something very mild, creamy and delicious beyond expectation. Then: blood sausage. 2 of them. Black colored things bulging oily from the casings, ominous looking but tasty as could possibly be. Cathy dug in and enjoyed them nearly as much as I did. They were fine grained, not too salty, and had a texture unlike any sausage Ive had. Outstanding, especially dabbed into a small pile of mustard scooped from a clay pot on the table with a tiny wooden spoon.

And, more wine, always more wine.

Our main courses came, and man did we eat. Before we came down, M made sure we ate red meat. Hah! The first dish was a steak for two, carved right off a side of beef hanging in the rear of the room. Cooked to med rare perfection, this thing was perfectly crisp on the outside and perfectly red on the inside. I cant recall eating a better straight-up steak. It was brought to us sliced on a large cutting board, and we transferrred it to smaller cutting boards to eat from.

Next came duck confit, tender and juicy to running like duck really should be. Fantastic, served with sauteed potatoes that were ordinary in the best way. This more than made up for the duck we tried to get the previous night--I know they gave me steak, insisted on it, and if anything this duck proved me right.

Lastly, lamb. A great little (well, not so little) fillet seared just right and served up tender as possible on another cutting board. This food was so simple and so good that it belied all Ive heard and read about the overdoing of sauce and other things in French cooking.

We talked and talked about everything from politics (ugh) to cycling to football to travel to our own life stories, some of which were far more interesting than others. Two words: Uncle Ringo. Well leave it at that for now.

Lastly, with no room whatsoever for dessert, M ordered a few digestifs to end things. These are mighty little drinks purported to help you digest your meal. With the alcohol content involved, Ive no doubt the breaking down of food was sped up. One was pear flavored (Cathy thought the pear floating in the bottle was a baby chicken--it wasnt, but she declined to join us anyway). One was some berry-based concoction, and one was dark and more like brandy. All were firewater, hot on the tongue and in the throat, but subsiding quickly from fire to pleasant glow.

We rolled ourselves out of thereabout 1am, after a fairly lenghty discourse with the proprietor about various types of cigarettes and the settling of the USA, assisted and translated by Michael. An incredibly pleasant and memorable experience.

Today theres a World Cup qualifying match that we may meet them for, but Cathy woke up with a fever this morning, so well have to wait and see.

Caveaux de Hachette

After dinner on our second night in town, I brought Cathy home and went in search of jazz. I found it at the Caveaux de Hauchette, a cavernous basement club in the Latin Quarter.

Hal Singer was playing, and though I know Iùve heard the name I cant tell youi ,uch about hi, beyond thzt hes quite old and, Id bet, played a mean sax in his day. He was still good, playing as he was with the house band, bass, piano, and drums, for a set of standards that was entirely passable.

Not the most exciting show ever, to be sure, but it was great to sit in a Paris basement club and listen to this music adn watch these people dance. Stupendous danders, twirling and jitterbugging their way into puddles of sweaty joy.

For the music, Ill keep looking.

Paris!

OK, so before I begin, the keyboard Im using has a few quirks that Im having trouble with, and I may well run out of ti,me before I get a good edit in. The q and a are switched, as are the w and z, so consider them interchangeable, as are the cmma and the m. Weirtd how much thats hampering my efforts. No apostrophes, either.

OK: Paris!

We got in just fine after mostly uneventful flights and got our room in the Hotel Marignon in the Latin Quarter with no troubles. Its great for what were paying, the breakfast is free and simple, and the staff speak English and are very helpful.

This city is fantastic. Weve spent loads of time just walking and walking, seeing everything we can and jut taking it in. Its easy to see why this is the top tourist spot in the world--its easy and its beautiful and its not nearly as expensive as I expected it to be.

Our first day here we spent wandering the streets for a while, past the ginormous Cathedral de Notre Dame, along the Seine, through some lovely parks, and then back to the room for a nap. For our first dinner (yes that will be a BIG part of this blog, for obvious reasons) we made our way to Montmarte to try to find Refuge de Fondue, a place where C and her mom ate when they visited here. She found it right off, ands we descended the stairs into the din and bustle of a long narrow room with lines of tables in either side filled to bursting with people. But they did make room for us, and the waiter helped Cathy walk up onto and over the table to squeeze into a seat along the wall. I sat opposite her and we ordered the meat fondue and vin rouge for me and blanc for the lady. It was served in baby bottles, nipples and all. Everyone was drinking from them. Ridiculous and hilarious. We ended up chatting with a trio fo Italians sitting next to us (almost on top of us, or in our laps,or us in theirs; it was often tough to tell) as we ate our steak and potatoes. Ferdinando, Monica, and Franco are design journo types in twn for an exposition, and they were great fun and eager to talk and drink wine and swap some of their cheese for some of our meat.

Conversation ran through life in our respecitve homes, our work (briefly), Lance Armsrong (a true champion and victim of gossip press, to Ferd.), and many many other subjects. It was great, and we werent the only ones whothhought so. Ferd. suggested we go some other place to end the night with a bottle of Bordeaux. We accepted. However, time for us to catch the past metro (underground train) home was running short, so we settled for a middle eastern place just down the street from the restaurant. There we had a big pot of delicious mint tea and shared a big fancy genie-in-a-bottle-looking hookah pipe packed full of apple flavored tobacco. This stuff was so smooth and tasty that even Cathy liked it.

We ended the night hoping to get together again on the weekend, and I hope we do, because they were as pleasant as could be.

And indeed we ran for THE last train, and we made it, just. A great opening night.

Next...

Tickets are purchased, plans are laid, an itinerary somewhat set. We're off again!

In a few short weeks the wife and I will be heading off to Europe. The reason for the trip is a return visit to the Netherlands for the wedding of our friends Gerry and Christina. The festivities will take place in Groningen, in the northern part of the country, but we'll first visit them in Amsterdam, one of my favorite cities anywhere.

But first, we go to Paris! I've never been, and though Cathy has, we're both really looking forward to this trip. One week to experience the cities offerings at the slowest and most comfortable pace we can muster. We'll eat, we'll walk, we'll eat, we'll check out some music, and we'll eat some more.

So, though only a 2 week trip, I'll be blogging it nonetheless. Still haven't quite figured out the photo challenge, but I hope to do that before I go.

...And Still Home

Here we are, Boise, Idaho. We've been back almost a month, and it feels like it. The glow and haze of traveling and moving have given way to the warm fuzz of comfort and home. Strange rooms and hard beds and foreign tongues are gone. We're back amongst the white folk. It's not all bad, but it ain't all good, either. I'm sure I say this after every time I take a trip, but it's always strange to come back to where nothing has changed, to realize that life has trudged along indifferent to your absence, and that it will remain that way in the face of the person you are when you return.

How can nothing have changed? I changed!

Ridiculous, of course, but that's the nature of us human types. The world revolves around us, right? (Or, more accurately, the sun revolves around the earth, I guess.)

Here in Idaho the snow has stopped falling. We returned home to a whole mess of the white stuff, and it was wonderful while it lasted, up skiing every weekend, stacking up the water for the coming season on the rivers, safeguarding against the fire season, and all that stuff that snow does for us here in the West. But it's been a while, and heads are being scratched, foreheads wrinkled in vague worry. We watch the skies--or what we can see of them during this prolonged goddam inversion weather--and we hope for a break in the fog and a break from the clouds.

Me, I'm supposed to start ski lessons in a couple weeks, and I look forward to doing so on neither ice nor slush. Snow is what I'd like, so let's cross our fingers.