For most Wisconsin residents, the city of Milwaukee offers five main attractions: beer, brats, baseball, basketball, and a beautiful lake. From touring the Miller Brewery Visitor Center and witnessing the historic origins of the “Beer City of the World,” to testing your luck at the Potawatomi Bingo Casino, to even experiencing the adventures within the Harley Davidson Museum, a day in the prosperous city can never be uneventful.

However, for others, Milwaukee serves as a secret refuge for spies engaging in covert operations.

While the shadows of Milwaukee’s City Hall may fall on what appears to be a nondescript alleyway, an observant eye will discover a sign that reads International Exports, Ltd., 779 Front Street. Many pass by this sign without any regard. Some, however, choose to enter the hidden door adjacent to the sign and are greeted by a woman known as Miss Moneypenny. She sits at an antique desk in a dimly lit waiting room, and startled, asks you for a password of entry.

Without knowing the password, you may start to panic. What is this place? Am I upsetting her? Miss Moneypenny will proceed to ask you to perform different “tricks” for access to a secret world in return. However, by simply whispering the words “I’m Looking for a Safe House” Miss Moneypenny will hesitate no longer. With the pull of a hidden lever under her desk, a bookcase suddenly moves aside to reveal a mysterious hallway. You too should not hesitate, and instead proceed before Miss Moneypenny changes her mind and closes the bookcase once again.

Upon entering through the bookcase, the obscure hallway seems to continue forever. The lighting barely reveals an atmosphere, and a subtle musty odor lingers in the air. Black and white photographs and framed documents hang from the walls around you, and after looking closer, you start to discover the secrecy of your surroundings. You may try to retreat through the bookcase, but after finding out that it exists no longer, your only choice is to continue to venture forward.

You eventually reach yet another entry way; however, this time you step foot into what appears to be a restaurant. A bar stretches across an area to your left and features a large map with specific locations repeatedly circled in red. Hidden rooms are to your right and each hold tables, seating, and mysterious wall accents. You are greeted by a hostess who refers to you as a spy and asks if you would like to be seated. You say yes and ask her where exactly you are. She hesitates but eventually responds “The Safe House.”

Upon being seated, you are confronted by a waitress who hands you a menu and brings you water in a red glass with a black key hole on one side. She also hands you a folded piece of paper that is stamped with the word “CONFIDENTIAL.” You anxiously unfold the document and reveal a Spy Mission that is to be completed before leaving the Safe House. Without further delay, you read the ten tasks that make up the mission.

The first task is to find a room with a green ceiling that features a “cracked code.” You begin to wander around the restaurant until you come across such a room. After searching the surroundings, you eventually discover a framed two inch card surrounded by photographs of James Bond 007. The card is signed by a former spy and reveals a code in which you use to complete the mission. You jot down the code, and continue up some wooden stairs to explore another bar and secret area of the restaurant.

The second task is a little more risqué. It involves a woman having to enter a specific ladies’ room located within the restaurant and discovering a poster of Burt Reynolds. When the woman finds the poster, a siren sounds for the whole restaurant to hear, and everyone knows what that woman just witnessed  She then has to walk out of the ladies’ room and is usually greeted by laughter.

Around the corner from the ladies’ room lies the destination that contains the third task of the Spy Mission. A long wall stretches across the area that features various cartoon illustrated individuals. A third bar is present in the room and seating is available alongside the wall for an extra special dining experience. The challenge asks you to discover a button that turns the current stationary wall into action. Upon finding the button and pushing it once, the wall suddenly breaks up into puzzle pieces. The shapes then begin to move over and past one another until the bodies and heads of the illustrated characters are swapped. Once the wall is finished moving, a woman’s body often times now has a man’s head.

After completing three tasks of your Spy Mission, you venture back to your table and order a Spy Burger off of the menu. The Safe House features creatively titled lunch and dinner items ranging from burgers, salads, sandwiches, and soups. The restaurant has won multiple awards for the peculiar atmosphere and decorations as well as for the delicious food. Four bars exist throughout the restaurant as to provide the spies with multiple secluded meeting areas. The Safe House even features an upstairs room that is available for private spy conversations.

While many more tasks await you, I will not reveal any other information about the Safe House other than the route of exit. In order to successfully leave the restaurant, you must exit through a way that you did not enter. Upon wandering throughout the restaurant in an effort to discover this secret route, you will come across a CIA telephone booth in which you should insert a quarter and follow the directions prompted to you. This will then allow you to leave through a mysterious alleyway, but only after being taken into the Interrogation Room.

To complete the entire Spy Mission and discover all that the secret refuge has to offer, visit the Safe House yourself at 779 North Front Street!

~Kerry~

To view my complete album from my trip to Milwaukee, visit EY’s Facebook page!

I am an explorer; I love discovering what the world around me has to offer. I have done my best to travel the 22,000 acres of the “Emerald Necklace” of the Cleveland Metroparks, sampled the historical Cleveland tradition of ethnic diversity at the West Side Market, and gotten lost in the memories of a magical time period at Stan Hywet Hall and Gardens. Recently, I have boarded another timeless journey: the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad.

From serving as a transportation corridor for the Indians thousands of years ago to later providing settlers with an easy way to move bulk goods, the Cuyahoga River and Valley in northern Ohio has always been an asset to people of all ages. The Valley Railway was primarily built to transport coal from south of Canton, Ohio to the prosperous industries developing throughout Cleveland. Today it serves as transportation through beautiful meadowland, the homes of beaver, fox, deer, and owl, and shopping and lodging destinations. Children anxiously climb aboard the “Polar Express” during the Christmas season and experience a magical trip to the North Pole to visit Santa Claus. Families travel alongside the railway on miles of the Towpath Trail to bike, walk, and even canoe.

With twelve main points of interest and eight stations, the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad stretches across 33,000 acres of our National Park. I have visited and photographed two of the stations including Peninsula Depot and Brecksville Station. Each station offers various forms of entertainment ranging from recreational activities, dining, shopping, and art galleries.

Peninsula Depot
The Peninsula Depot sits in the small town of Peninsula that offers various tourist attractions for its visitors of all ages. A few dining options include the Winking Lizard and Fisher’s Cafe and Pub, stores range from Burda Books to Yellow Creek Trading Company, and art galleries include Diane Seskes Photography and Elements Gallery. Special events are held throughout the year and attract families from all over the Midwest. Not only is the town packed with excitement during the day, but it also has a great night life featuring various bars, karaoke events, and live musicians.

While visiting I traveled the Towpath Trails. Not only was I able to observe wildlife throughout the dense forest, recreational activities on the trails, and the beautiful scenery, but I also came across the Canal Feeder Dam, a historical landmark of the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad. While the dam was originally built in 1827 to provide water for the Ohio and Erie Canal, today it functions as more of a memory for the town. Peninsula once greatly depended on this dam and the Cuyahoga River, and many of the buildings throughout the town still stand as to portray the purpose it once served.

I also walked alongside the Cuyahoga River which has created a series of peninsulas over the course of its existence. While the river was once completely polluted and disregarded by society, it now serves a different purpose. I observed two children skipping rocks across the water, a family canoeing on the calm rapids, and a blue heron searching for its lunch.

Brecksville Station

The Brecksville Station also offers much excitement for its visitors.  Well known restaurants are just around the corner and offer a wide variety of dining options including Creekside Restaurant and Bar, Sakura Japanese, and The Courtyard Cafe. Shopping centers are within walking distance from these restaurants and feature unique stores such as Riverview House Antiques Gifts and Florals and ABC Art and Coin Exchange. The area also serves as a great recreational destination as people come to hike, golf, play softball, and run cross country.

While visiting I photographed the beautiful fall scenery around the station. The Route 82 bridge spans the Cuyahoga Valley and runs directly over the railroad at the Brecksville Station. Built in 1931 the bridge stands at a height taller than the Statue of Liberty and its unique construction the evolution of bridge engineering.

From recreational opportunities to gourmet dining to experiencing historical landmarks, the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad is truly a beautiful asset to Northeast Ohio. While I have only visited two of the stations, I look forward to exploring and photographing more in the near future. Board the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad yourself and discover all that it has to offer!

~Kerry~

Check out my complete Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad photography album
on EntertainingYourself.com’s Facebook page!

Photograph of LA, taken by Martin Mudry

If this picture is to be believed – Then “YES” the  pot of gold really is in California!

Last time Martin was in LA, he captured this rainbow over Hollywood while he was looking out his window.  Stunning isn’t it?  And is it any wonder  he can’t resist returning?

Interested in EY’s West Coast Adventures?  Here are a few stories from our archives worth a(nother) read!

Jumping In California Style

Don’t Knock It If You Haven’t Tried It

The Key to Sea Kayaking Part 1

The Key to Sea Kayaking Part 2

Road Trip West – Part 4 

Sunny Spot – Mountain View, CA 

Who’s Guarding the Roost?

WILDFIRE!!!

By Megan Ritchie

…continuing on our journey out of  the Grand Canyon…we crossed the border into California just as the sun set.

The next day dawned bright and clear as I stepped out into the parking lot for my first view of California in the daylight.

There was desert. Everywhere. Palm trees, desert, and—there she was—the good old Ford Focus with the trusty U-haul trailer still attached. We packed up our bags and hit the road for our final day in the car.

At about 1 o’clock that afternoon, Chris and I pulled off for what was to be our final gas stop. He’d driven the whole morning, in preparation for our last few hours, when I would take the wheel in order to brave the big bad Los Angeles freeway system with a slow-moving trailer.

The saddest room in a gas station in CA

We fueled up, and then I swung into the driver’s seat and pulled out onto I-45.  About 45 minutes later we started to see smoke. As we got closer, we began making guesses at what it could be.  A house? Eh, who could say; it was too far away to tell. Bored, Chris went back to his book and I fiddled with the radio.

Then we hit traffic. Now, according to my handy-dandy smartphone (that I made Chris check, responsible driver that I am) we were about an hour, hour and a half outside of L.A., and part of me (the scared, “What if I hate this city? Can I actually do this?” part of me) was afraid that this was the edge of the fabled Los Angeles traffic. What if we were in this for the next couple hours? What if, for the rest of my existence, I find myself sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic? What if–Alright, alright, calm down, it’s stop-and-go, at least we’re moving.

And then we stopped moving entirely. The smoke was right near us now, billowing in big brown plumes.  Hauling that trailer, we were in the far right lane, the truck and trailer lane, and we weren’t moving at all. Suddenly, we heard sirens. Out my side mirror I saw them: fire truck upon fire truck upon fire truck, racing past us on the shoulder. There were your standard red engines, but also larger ones, with “Wildfire Control” printed on the side.

“Uh, Chris?” I said.

He looked up from his book.

“What?”

“I think this fire is sort of big.”

“Yeah, seems like it.”

Back down to the page.

Then, above: thwup-thwup-thwup-thwup….! I ducked down to see the sky through the windshield. Above us was a helicopter, dumping liquid on the fire.

We still weren’t moving. The smoke was getting thicker and thicker. While it had started on the right of the car, suddenly there was smoke billowing on both sides. I looked around. On the opposite side of the highway, four lanes across, cars were starting to turn around, using the shoulder to drive the wrong way down the freeway, away from the fire.

“Chris? It looks, um, really big.”

He finally looked up from his book. To our right was an entrance ramp. We looked to see cars driving the wrong way up the ramp, fleeing the flames ahead of us. There was a huge semi in front of us; our view was blocked from how close we were to the fire and then suddenly: to our left, it breached the hill.

We watched in horror as a shed not a half a mile away from us was consumed by flames in milliseconds. The fire enveloped a flagpole and burned through an American flag as fast as we registered what it was doing.

“Oh. My. God,” I breathed. “What do I do? What do I do??”

I struggled not to panic. The flames were close, much closer than anyone would like, but I couldn’t see any fire trucks nearby… I kept looking for a cop or a firefighter or some kind of authority figure to tell us what to do and where to go. But there was no one. Everyone was too busy fighting the fire, and no one was there thinking about the bystanders just trying to get out of the way. No one.

But there was Chris sitting in the passenger seat, his book long abandoned, telling me in the calmest tones possible, “Megan, we have to wait for the truck ahead of us to turn onto the entrance ramp before we can go. We just have to wait for the truck to move and then it’s our turn.” I looked over: there was still a big line of cars driving up the ramp, fleeing the flames.  We had to wait for the truck to move or we could get stuck. The only way around the truck was on the shoulder to our right.  But the truck wasn’t moving at all.

I inched forward, very aware that I had not been at all trained in the art of backing up a car with a trailer attached. I heard my dad’s voice ringing through my head: “You could jackknife that thing, easy. Just make sure you never get into a situation where you need to back it up. Just always pull through.” The truck in front of us wasn’t moving and there was at least a truck’s length in front of it. In fact, the truck in front of us wasn’t even running.

“Oh my god,” I said, as it dawned on me. “The trucker—he abandoned his truck! He just abandoned it. He’s not there anymore! He just left! He left it!”

I couldn’t stop talking. Chris was stunned. In my rising panic, I briefly toyed with the idea of doing the same thing as the trucker, leaving all of my prized and not-so-prized possessions in the car to be consumed by the flames. Everything would be lost: my passport, my books, my clothes and camera and computer; even old love letters, tax returns, photographs. But we’d be safe. We’d run through the tall grass on the side of the road until we weren’t breathing smoke anymore. Then some weatherworn trucker would pick us up and drop us in the parking lot of the nearest hotel or gas station with a “Just be happy you got alive, kids,” before he cruised away. It’d be like straight out of an action movie.

With the smoke getting thicker around us, it felt like straight out of an action movie.

“What do we do? What do we do??” I repeated, feeling my hands start to shake.

At about that moment, we started to see even more cars driving up the shoulder, on both sides of the road now. If we decided to zip out on the right-hand shoulder to get around the abandoned truck, we’d risk a head-on collision with someone coming from farther down the freeway.  In fact, these cars were definitely from the frontlines because they were covered in bright orange anti-flame retardant, the stuff the helicopter–no, now three helicopters–were dumping on the wildfire all around us.

I looked around, and made an executive decision.

“I’m going to try to turn around,” I said. “We can’t go around that truck and so we have to get on the shoulder on the other side of the road.”

“But you can’t back up the trailer.”

“I’m going to turn around,” I repeated. “We have to get out of here. We have to get out of here.”

The smoke was billowing even thicker now, blotting out the sun. It reminded me of a solar eclipse I once watched through a tiny hole in a piece of paper in 3^rd grade. I wondered, briefly, if I should be looking at the smoke through a hole in a piece of paper too.

Gripping the wheel hard, I turned on my signal and put the car in drive. Thankfully, we’d waited so long that the traffic had cleared out more: so many people had already pulled their cars around on the shoulder and fled before us that the lanes were more open.

We must have looked panicked, two kids with very out-of-state plates hauling a little U-haul trailer behind us, flushed in terror, because someone let us in immediately. I craaaaaanked the wheel and we held on as I started the turn. And then, at last, I exhaled: we’d made it, a full U-turn across four lanes of freeway, and clunked out onto the shoulder of I-45, heading the wrong way down the freeway. With traffic, much of it splattered in orange, but going the decidedly wrong direction down the road.

“We’re okay! We’re okay!!” we shouted and pumped our fists, like so many action stars before us.

After we made it off the freeway at last, I’d like to say we found an easy route around the wildfire and made it to L.A. without any further incident. I’d like to say it was the breeziest part of the trip. I’d like to say we spent the rest of our hour to hour-thirty minute trip marveling at the wildfire and our superhero brush with death.

None of this happened, of course. Instead, after we made it off the freeway at last, we pulled out a road atlas and picked out a new route along a nice county road. It seemed like a pleasant enough journey at first, until the mountains starting rising up in front of us in a sheer wall.

“That’s…that’s not our road, right, Chris?” I said, very aware that the car groaned with effort at even the slightest change in incline.

He re-consulted the map.

“Nah…”

We kept driving, heading closer and closer to the mountains.

“Chris…”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on. Let me look at this…wait. What are these green dots on the road?”

“Green dots? What green dots??”

“Oh. Uhhh…the green dots mean ‘scenic route.’”

“WHAT!” I almost lost it.  “We do not want a scenic route! We want a decidedly UNpretty, UNeventful, UNscenic route! Pick another way! Find us another way!”

Chris held the map closer, squinting at the tiny roads.

“Hold on. Hold on. Uh. Megan? We might be in trouble…”

“Why?”

“Well, we’re trying to get through a national forest and I-45 was kinda are only main way, but that way is obviously, um, burning. But there are other roads!”

“So pick another road!”

“But here’s the thing: They’re…they’re all scenic routes!”

Nearly three hours later, after the car began to bottom out at literally 10 miles per hour, and after an old lady gave us the finger as she passed us in sheer frustration going the wrong way on a blind curve up a mountain, and after I thoroughly sweat through all of my clothes, we made it through the very narrow, very steep and very scenic mountain pass.

And then, after about an hour of that good old L.A. rush hour traffic, we made it to Los Angeles and my new home,  after a full five days of driving and nearly 2200 miles. We were nearly five hours later than we’d anticipated. Exhausted, we piled out of the car. And as we opened up the Uhaul trailer and began unloading my possessions into my new room, I couldn’t help but think, “Well, no matter what happens, no matter if I make it as a screenwriter here in Hollywood or go home crying and defeated, there is 100% no way L.A. can be as intense as that afternoon.”

And you know what, dear reader? On that, at least, I’ve been right.

~Megan~

Part 1 – Road Trip West Introduction

Part 2 – Wigwam Motel

Part 3 – The Grand Canyon

Onward…

By Megan Ritchie

The next day, Day 4 for those counting, Chris and I awoke, sore from our wigwam slumber and hit the road once again. It’s at about this time in a road trip, I think we can all agree, when real life starts to feel like a foreign thing, and all you have is a car, a radio, and, inevitably, an interesting collection of empty fast food containers crammed in various recesses throughout the vehicle. Yep, we were feeling the miles.

Thankfully, we were just in time for a detour of grand proportions. Now, when Chris and I were originally planning the trip’s route we were all, “Rockies! Rockies!” and my dad was all, “You’re insane and will kill yourselves/the car!” so, as I mentioned before, we chose the southern route. As a compromise of sorts we decided we would take a detour of about 100 miles, give or take, to see the Grand Canyon because, after living abroad for a year, all I wanted was some good old American splendor. And Chris and I, Midwesterners that we are, had never been to the Grand Canyon. And it’ the Grand Canyon, you guys. 100 miles ain’t nothin’ for something that awesome.

 So, over the river and through the woods, to the Canyon we went. When we arrived and hoisted our creaking bodies out of the car, the sun was blistering hot. Armed with sunscreen, sunglasses and some stylish hats, we made our way into the park office. After a few hasty conversations with people giving us impressively mismatched directions (“Isn’t this one of the biggest tourist destinations in the country? Shouldn’t this be more straightforward?” we asked ourselves), we managed to find our way onto a shuttle that would take us into the Grand Canyon National Park.

The bus ride was rather pleasant, mostly because we weren’t the ones responsible for driving. I kept craning to see the canyon, but it was shy and kept itself hidden from the road the entire time. In fact, it wasn’t until we were dropped off that I got my very first view of the canyon. We scuttled up a trail and spread out in front of us, stretching as far as we could see in both directions, was the Grand Canyon.

It was utterly breathtaking. For those of you who haven’t seen it, it is truly one of those places that photographs do no justice. In fact, trying to flatten out something so dimensional, so expansive, so rich in color and shadow and texture, seems borderline insulting. Not that I didn’t try. But after a few pictures, including one on my horrible camera phone for the fans back home (“Hi Mom!”), Chris grew a little antsy and so we headed down the trail.

It seemed the deeper and deeper we got in the canyon, the more beautiful it became. I was snapping pictures left and right, some of the canyon itself, but many of us with the canyon: Chris in an arch, me near the edge, Chris gazing out over the canyon; just call me Annie Leibovitz guys, ‘cause it was a regular Vanity Fair cover shoot.

I clicked on and on and–wait a second: Life was (somehow) continuing on the trail beyond our photo-shoot. In fact, the more we tuned in to our fellow National Park trail enthusiasts, the more we realized that everyone seemed to be from out-of-town. And, while we (obviously) were too, everyone around us seemed to be from a bit farther out-of-town…as in, out-of-country. Nearly everyone on the trail around us were speaking various European languages, and striding purposefully up and down the trail. The Americans, large and in charge, were up above on the shuttle buses, breathing heavily behind their digital cameras, while down here, svelte and workin’ it, Europeans were showing us who was boss. Chris and I decided we were done with the photo-shoot—we needed to pick up the pace…for America! We cruised down the trail a handful of miles to our turn-around point, a sturdy-looking outhouse with a water-pump nearby. It seemed to be a popular spot to stop and find some shade, no matter your country of origin.

After a quick bathroom break and a few swigs of water we looked around, glanced at our watches and decided it was probably time to head back up—we still had over 200 miles to drive before our stop for the night in scenic Needles, CA and the road was calling our names. So, up we went.

The hike down was easy-peasy, but the hike up, well, it. was. hot. Chris quickly ditched his shirt, and I just as quickly regretted having brought my stupid, heavy digital camera along (call me Annie Leibovitz, guys, but only if she comes with a camera caddy who carries all of her equipment for her). Cheeks blazing red, we strode along, and in a competitive push, passed a group of German tourists and an elderly French couple with walking sticks in one sweep, before collapsing in a heap on the side of the trail.

The Europeans quickly re-passed us.

Yet, after a few moments, or perhaps more than a few, we dusted ourselves off, took a final sip of water, and climbed back up.

The trail winded far more than I recalled it doing as we’d walked down, let’s put it that way. Finally, mercifully, at last I began to recognize some arches and vistas from our descending photo-shoot from what seemed like so long before (It had really only been about 90 minutes). We paused a moment to “take in the view” (ahem, for a breather) but were brought out of our reverie by voices behind us. Was that Italian? Without looking back, we quickly scrambled up the rest of the way to the edge of the canyon before enjoying a lazy, air-conditioned shuttle bus ride back to the car.

~ Megan~

Part 1 – Road Trip West

Part 2 – Wigwam Motel

Part 4 – The Wildfire

See also:

In Defense of the Family Road Trip

SHOUT-OUT to our  Cleveland Friends and Fans!  Just want to say thanks for making the Premier of “Where Dream’s Don’t Fade” a fantastic success at the 36th International Cleveland Film Festival.  The Cleveland Plain Dealer called the movie “poignant” and picked it out of a line up of about 300 movies to showcase.    The cinematography and sound were amazing and the three stars were absolutely inspiring!  We now understand why filmmakers Martin Mudry and Alex Nichols felt compelled to make this movie.  For those of us lucky enough to spend the week in Cleveland attending events, visiting with the filmmakers themselves, meeting Robert Kigen, one of its stars, and of course, watching the film, we now get why Clevelanders’ are so loyal to their hometown.  It is a beautiful city with an unassuming vibrancy that welcomes visitors with open arms.

(l to r) Robert Kigen, Martin Mudry, Alex Nichols at the Cleveland International Film Festival

The Wigwam Motel and other Southwest Adventures (Continued from Part 1 – Road Trip West: Introduction)

By Megan Ritchie 

After Americana bliss in Emporia, Kansas, Chris and I continued south for our second day on the road, skirting through Oklahoma along with David Sedaris (Me-Talk-Pretty-One-Day), and resting at last in scenic Amarillo, Texas. Amarillo was, as far as we could tell, simply a freeway lined with chain restaurants, a few strip clubs, and an impressive amount of abandoned fake hair.

Amarillo, TX

We tiredly checked into our hotel, the Super 8, and both quickly realized we’d hit the jackpot: It was, hands-down, the nicest Super 8 either of us had ever had the privilege of staying in. Truly. They gave us a suite for no reason. There was a mini-fridge. There were free cookies. Okay, our standards might be low, but it was still fantastic.

Next on the agenda was dinner. Now, Chris had lived in Texas for a year serving with Americorps and had one requirement for the night: Bar-b-que. We settled on a place a few storefronts down and wandered over. I’d never had real, authentic Texan BBQ before, and went for the pork sandwich. And it was de-licious. Maybe not delicious enough to move to Amarillo, Texas, but darn near close.

The next morning, we regretfully left Super 8 heaven and were up and at ‘em again.

The day passed fairly uneventfully as we made our way across New Mexico…

…and into Arizona.

I’d never been to the Southwest before, or not to that extent, anyway, and fell in love with the blues and reds of the place. Simply gorgeous. That night, we made it to lovely Holbrook, Arizona, where we checked into  what is quite possibly the coolest motel of all time.

Now, when mapping out our route the previous week, we’d booked hotels based on ease and reliability—chains, we decided, would work for our purposes, since they’re generally clean, inexpensive, and just off the freeway. There are, however, some spots where the chain hotels don’t roam—and one such spot is smack dab in the middle of Arizona. Not to be deterred, I poked around for a while online, and stumbled across the historical Wigwam Motel. One look at the pictures, plus the motel’s signature catchphrase (“Have YOU slept in a wigwam lately?”) and Chris and I were on board.

As we pulled in to the Wigwam Motel’s parking lot, we struggled with where to park the Focus and trailer combination.

Each wigwam also features its own vintage car, which, as far as we could tell, didn’t work, didn’t unlock and, generally, didn’t serve any purpose whatsoever. I generally love cars-as-decorations, so I was sold instantly.

We found a spot and, stretching our stiff legs from another eleven hours in the car, trudged into the motel’s office to check in.

The office turned out to be part gift shop (all the t-shirts were double-XL though, much to my sincere disappointment) and part museum. It featured displays on the motel itself (it’s listed in the National Register of Historic Places!), but also on the nearby Petrified Forest.  Since Chris and I hadn’t been able to stop at the national park earlier that day, we found it pretty thoughtful of them to have arranged a private viewing of some of the rocks from there for us. We got our key and made our way to our wigwam, which is perhaps the most fun word to say ever.

Suitcase in hand, I swung open the door to our ‘wam excitedly and saw: Two slightly stained beds, an old TV, a nightstand with a burned-out lamp, some tacky art hanging on one wall. Oh.

Okay, so it might not have been the nicest motel on the inside.  We might have discovered over the course of the night that the air conditioner sounded like it was going to take off,  and that the shower tiles were in need of a good scrub, and that the doorknob jiggled a bit more than we would’ve liked, but it was a wigwam, okay? A circular, cement, stand-alone motel room in the shape of a teepee, with a dead blue vintage car parked out front, and for that night only, it was ours. All ours. It doesn’t get any better than that, you guys.

 ~Megan~

  Ready for More?

  Part 3 – The Grand Canyon

  Part 4 – The Wildfire

]]> http://www.entertainingyourself.com/2012/02/01/road-trip-west-the-wigwam-motel/feed/ 3 http://www.entertainingyourself.com/2012/01/21/road-trip-west-introduction/ http://www.entertainingyourself.com/2012/01/21/road-trip-west-introduction/#comments Sat, 21 Jan 2012 17:28:38 +0000 http://www.entertainingyourself.com/?p=1760 (Part 1 in a 4 part series)

By Megan Ritchie

I recently moved from my hometown of Minneapolis allll the way out to Los Angeles, some 2000-plus miles away. Here are a few tales of the drive across.

First, let’s lay out our cast of characters: We have me, Megan, age 23, and the one theoretically “in charge,” and Chris, my younger brother, newly 21.

We’re driving across the country in a red Ford Focus, character #3, and finally, our star to fill out the quartet, the whiney one, the high maintenance one, the one who weighs us all down: the 5’x8’ U-haul trailer packed full to the ceiling with all of my possessions, being pulled behind the car.

We left on a Monday morning at 6 am. My dad and I had been pouring over Google Maps stuff trying to decide the best route. We’d gotten in an argument, as young adult children are apt to do with their parents at times, especially when they’re being overly protective and you’re super strong and brave (and have lived in a foreign country…okay, Dad? I got this one.). I wanted to take the shortest—and therefore cheapest, as far as hotel stops and gas—route, right through Denver, where I could stay with a friend, and on through the Rockies, Vegas and finally to L.A. This idea nearly gave my dad a heart attack. “Driving through the Rockies? With a trailer behind a Ford Focus? Megan, are you insane?”

I relented, after looking at the elevation map and throwing a fairly unusual money temper tantrum (emotions were running high, okay?). So, our route was decided: Take Interstate 35 down to Oklahoma City, take a right, and take Interstate 40 to Los Angeles. That’s it. One turn. Thrilling, right? It was.

Now, Chris and I quickly discovered that driving a well-packed trailer behind a sedan was an interesting challenge. The U-haul folks in Minneapolis had warned me not to take the trailer above 55 miles per hour. I’d nodded along with them, but secretly scoffed at this at the time, thinking I’d be pushing at least sixty-five the whole way…I mean, I had 2100 miles to cover.But as we quickly discovered on the barely rolling hills of Iowa, the car couldn’t get to sixty-five with the trailer. The car couldn’t even get to sixty. And so we inched along at a (super pathetic) fifty-four miles an hour…for five days straight.  Any change in elevation and the car would scream in protest.

Wind Turbine Blows By Us on the Freeway

As it was, the car was going through gas at an impressive rate. Binge drinking, really. Instead of averaging about 300 miles per tank, we were checking in at around 180. Still, despite the gas and the speed, Chris and I were having a grand old time, mostly because of books on tape…which I guess we call audiobooks now because no one uses tapes anymore…or CDs, for that matter. Okay, fine, I just dated myself.

Time for another drink - Somewhere in Iowa

Anyway, on our first day, we listened to all of Tina Fey’s memoir, Bossypants.  If you haven’t had the privilege of hearing it, I’d highly recommend doing so. Fey herself reads the book and does all sorts of voices for her characters. Plus they use the actual Saturday Night Live clips that she discusses, which was extra fun.

That night, high on giggling along with Tina, we stopped in scenic Emporia, Kansas. We were, I admit, feeling quite proud of ourselves for having made it through three whole states (MN, IA and MO, for those keeping track) in one day.

Sunset in Emporia, Kansas

After checking into the hotel, I was quickly reintroduced to any Americana I may have missed in a dining experience in China by our nearby restaurant selections: Applebee’s, Pizza Hut, Burger King and Wal-Mart (does that count?). We were no fools; we chose Applebee’s and man, did we eat good in the neighborhood. Chris got a burger approximately the size of his head; I went a little less risqué and ordered the Southwest chicken salad because I’m trying to watch my figure. As it was, it was covered in tortilla strips, cheese, and creamy dressing. And was delicious. While we ate, someone across the restaurant had a birthday so the whole restaurant got to sing; I ordered about three Coke refills (for free!); and the waitress tried to get us to sign up for the Applebee’s reward program. Can you get any more American than that? No, no, you can’t. It was glorious.

Megan Richie

I couldn’t wait for the next day…

~Megan~

…And neither can we.  Coming Soon (we hope!)

The Next installments:

Part 2 – The Wigwam Motel

Part 3 – The Grand Canyon

Part 4 – The Wildfire

In the meantime, enjoy a few other stories by Megan Ritchie:

The World Really Is Flat

Running Five Polish Miles

Afterward

The Polo Fields in Cleveland's Metroparks

SHOUT OUT to our fans in CLEVELAND, OHIO.  This week you have the highest number of hits on the EntertainingYourself.com website.  We LOVE it and we wanted to find out what’s happening in your town so we did a little digging.  First – your weather for Wednesday, 12/22/10 – 32 degrees & partly SUNNY, partly cloudy, with a chance of snow flurries!  OK – so a little chillier than our usual Sunny Spots, but great for outdoor activities OR last minute Christmas shopping.  Fun Fact – You are surrounded by the Emerald Necklace, a ring of 16 parks circling this major US city, which span across 22,000 acres.  The parks include hundreds of miles of walking, bicycle, and horse trails, woods, picnic areas, beaches, five nature education centers, seven golf courses, rivers & lakes for fishing and the Cleveland Metropark Zoo. And, if that is not enough, you are right next to the Cuyahoga Valley National Park and Lake Erie – one of the USA’s 5 Great Lakes (the largest group of freshwater lakes on Earth).  You also boast an amazing array of museums, including the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame.  One other little fact, you are home to the Great Lakes Brewing Company, Ohio’s first microbrewery, famous for their Burning River and Christmas Ale.   Thanks for stopping by our site.  We look forward to hearing more about how you are Entertaining Yourselves in Cleveland!

Then there are the brave souls that are willing to bundle up and get outside.  We’ve heard tales of 7 -10 ft drifts in places like Wisconsin and Minnesota, with snow quickly piling up in the Dakotas, Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Michigan and Ohio too!   

 If you dare, it is the perfect weather for hiking, snowshoeing, cross country and downhill skiing, snowboarding, tobogganing, sledding, snowmobiling, skating and the old standby’s: building snowmen and waging snow ball fights!   

Once you’ve had a chance to warm up again, we’d love to hear from you.  What’s your favorite way of entertaining yourself on a cold snowy day? 

-EY Staff 

ps:  Over the coming weeks and months, EntertainingYourself.com will showcase indoor, as well as outdoor, recreational activities and hobbies.  Look for articles ranging from Brewing Beer to playing indoor Hockey (both ice and field)!  Stay tuned…