Oregon Coast

Rideshare via craigslist.org worked for the first time yesterday. It’s like mifahrzentrale.de, only smaller and worse. Petrol is still too cheap here. I get a lift to Portland for $10, funny people. My bus to the coast doesn’t leave until the evening, so it’s a 6-hour journey. I visit the supposedly biggest and best bookstore in America, www.powell.com. Hugendubel Munich is at least as big, but nicer.

I do some surfing and Skype in a café and then take the bus on to Seaside in the evening through steamy forests and rain. The last place before Seaside is called Cannon Beach. That’s what it looks like: Storm 70km/h. Surf shop after surf shop. High waves, torn-off tarpaulins, swept-away chairs, trees at their maximum load. Yes! Wind at last! (more…)

Seattle at night

Megan unfortunately had to go to a birthday party, so I’m changing my address in Seattle again. I already have a new offer, the key is next to the door. She just forgot to mention where. Only after an hour of war-walking in the city do I receive the new address by email. I make my way downhill to the bus, in constant fear of being run over by my trolley.

Unfortunately, there’s no-one in West Seattle at the moment. I hide my stuff in the garden and head for the next park by the sea. Over the mountains outside Seattle, impressive clouds move inland again. A dead jellyfish almost half a metre in diameter lies on the beach. (more…)

Seattle

I knew that Seattle was by the sea, with many lakes around it and an endless stretch of rugged coastline. I knew about the Space Needle, the cool weather, the mixed population, grunge and much more. But what I didn’t know is what deeply impressed me.

Yes, I’m still going to San Francisco. But the topography there will have a hard time impressing me. Megan lives pretty much on a level with the top of the Space Needle, on the highest mountain, just 2 km from the city centre. The roads are tiny, often single-lane. There is a tree in the centre of every junction. The gradients are worrying. I needed two pressure equalisations on the way into town. (more…)

Cannonball Final

Today is the last day of my private Cannonball Race across America. The morning sun reflected in the lake tickles me awake along with a coffee. I set off quickly, because the final stretch is over 500 miles long – at least on the Interstate. Do I really want to take it? No! It’s really dirty again today. Just small country roads, passes, gorges. Everything much further. But at the end of the day I know: it’s also much nicer.

I drive through Montana first and then come to Idaho. I smell fire again, and this time I see it right next to the road. Idaho is on fire. And not only that. Washington too. Two hours later, I pass some really big fires. The sun is dimmed and aeroplanes are circling. (more…)

Ghost Town & Glacier National Park

I always wanted to find the place where “A River Rises in the Middle” was filmed. I knew: Montana. Asked everyone: where? Including David this morning. Well, he didn’t know the river. But the post office is only a few hundred metres away. We drive there and I’m happy. I set off. My next destination is Glacier National Park.

I actually wanted to leave the boring Interstate 90 shortly after Butte. But I unfortunately miss the exit. The next one seems to be fine. Look at the map…what does it say? Ghost Town? But hello, that’s where I have to go! I look for the way. (more…)

Yellowstone National Park

I get a great night’s sleep in the car. In the morning I meet David and Albert, another guest from Germany. Well, we meet… well… after an hour, a shower and two excellent coffees, I set off again with Albert, a theology student from near Berlin. We get some provisions and drive the same route back to Yellowstone. Aha, so that’s what it would have looked like…

Albert wants to stay longer in the park and organises a campsite. Around 10 we head into the heart of the park. First the Mammoth Sulphur Spring in the far north. White rocks like in Turkey… bubbling everywhere, and the water bubbles over orange and green algae. (more…)

Running on empty

So far, there have been some wonderful signs. Time and again, the music on the radio told me that I was in the right place at the right time. The latest example of this was yesterday: I’m driving with Jeff along the highest precipices of the badlands. Music on the radio: Aerosmith, Living on the Edge. Today, for the first time, the right music didn’t come on.

I set off after a brief farewell to Renee and Jeff. 50 miles past Rapid City I think to myself: Hm, the road is pretty bumpy. But at the same time it looks very flat. I stop after a mile: The right rear tyre is flat. The radio wasn’t playing Jackson Brown, Running on empty. Otherwise I would have realised it sooner. I switch to the spare tyre. (more…)

Badlands & Mount Rushmore

Jeff is taking the whole day off. He wants to tour the Badlands and Black Hills with me. I feel very honoured. After a real American breakfast with about 1.5 tonnes of omelette, we set off towards the Badlands at around eight o’clock. Jeff insists on being my chauffeur. I gratefully accept. The landscape quickly becomes more and more surreal.

After an hour, we arrive in the Badlands and turn off onto a gravel track. Buffalo graze right at the side of the road and make sounds like rutting Harleys. Thousands of small hills are each crowned by a vertical meerkat. (more…)

From Lusk till dawn

Nobody wakes me up this night. It was necessary, urgent. In the morning I go shopping, pack my things. Cook Jordan something as a thank you. Also urgently needed. Students know what’s good, but can’t cook. He’s delighted and eats loads of stuffed courgettes. I leave late at half past one.

I drive north along the eastern flank of the Rockies. On the right are the last foothills of the Great Plains with their sand hills. From Wyoming onwards, I see pure prairie with golden grasses and rolling hills for the first time. The sun repeatedly illuminates only individual patches and intensifies the glow. (more…)

Denver & Rocky Mountains

During the night, a drunken flatmate of Jordan, my host in Denver, wakes me up several times. The next morning, I’m even more out of it than the night before. Without breakfast, I swing into the car. Jordan said: “The Rocky Mountains take an hour by car. It takes me 2.5 hours just to get to the entrance to Rocky Mountain National Park. The road through the park is 82 miles long and climbs to over 3600 metres.

Apparently all the trails end after a few hundred metres. No real hiking routes anywhere. Americans probably do everything by car. I join the queue and drive up to the highest peaks in 2 hours. (more…)

Nebraska & the end of the world

The next morning I set off early again. Another motorway heading south. Straight as a die again. Over 30 degrees. The landscape changes. From Nebraska onwards, it’s all corn and cattle. The radio landscape changes too: only country fiddle tunes. Flanked on the right by Jesus news, on the left by neo-apostolic God rock. Every quarter of an hour, neatly structured by the most bizarre adverts against abortion and drugs. The holy trinity of brain puree, hallelujah!

Nebraska really is a funny place. Super costs significantly less than normal. One mile too fast costs $100. I arrive at my new host Kim’s in Kearney. In the evening we go to a really fine steakhouse with an adjoining home brewery. (more…)

South Dakota

In the morning, I enjoy some more relaxed work in the designer chair. I set off for South Dakota around 10am. It’s hot. The Interstate goes straight south for almost 400 miles. I get tired after only an hour. In Germany I drink a cup of coffee and then can’t sleep for 8 hours. Here I drink half a litre of coffee and after half an hour I’m already tired again. The coffee is almost as strong as spring water – almost. Where the hell does the colour come from?

I take several coffee breaks – none of them work. Bored, I play around with the last unknown buttons in the car – and discover the cruise control. No! Worst case… From now on, my right foot is also superfluous. (more…)

Source of the Mississippi & Grand Forks

Over the last few days, I’ve driven over this strange river again and again, unplanned. First it was medium, then smaller and smaller. I do some research and realise that Bemidji is just 30 miles from the source of the Mississippi. I set off early and arrive at Lake Itasca State Park before the crowds of tourists. I bathe in the middle of the Mississippi, two metres from both banks. The outflow from Lake Itasca is considered to be the source. Ugly, fat, neglected people are constantly pushing themselves in front of my lens. I’m on the verge of complaining loudly about the blatant juxtaposition of pure beauty and abysmal ugliness when I can finally fire off an undisturbed shot. (more…)

Land of a thousand lakes

Today I crossed the whole of Minnesota. The nickname is right. Nothing but lakes and forest. You often don’t know where the lake begins and where the forest ends. The whole landscape reminds me a lot of Finland. Only much further. At some point there was ice here. And the water just stayed there. The roads are infinitely long and infinitely straight.

I’m travelling at my usual 70 miles when I suddenly notice something very ominous on the horizon: The road doesn’t just disappear into the sky. It seems to disappear sideways. The unfamiliar sight makes my hands clasped comfortably behind my neck start to sweat. What is that? (more…)

Stay alive on route 55

The next morning it’s raining cats and dogs. I drive to Green Bay, it clears up. Highways first. Dead animal on the side of the road, burst tyre, dead animal, at regular intervals of a mile. Then on to country roads. That’s what I borrowed the car for. I constantly have to brake for beavers, foxes, pheasants, deer. Hawks circle in thermal updrafts. Yellow signs warn of strange animals (see right) It’s hot and humid just before Canada.

I drive through some Indian reservations. Casinos, petrol stations, tobacco and alco shops. Everything is cheaper than outside the reservations. The revenge of the red man, at last. Everything is labelled with the tribe’s name: we are. (more…)

Sitting on the dock of the bay

Carrie drives me to the airport at midday and I finally get my car. I’ve never been so happy to have a car. While Carrie gets lost on the way home, I manage to get there without a map. That makes me very brave. I make another meal, say goodbye and set off in the direction of Madison. After asking only 4 times, I find Lake Minona. This is where Otis Redding crashed his plane in December 1967. I listen to Sitting on the dock of the bay, flute along a bit and tease ducks with cherry pits. And realise that I need to buy an atlas.

Despite the atlas, I lose the way to Green Bay so often that I’m already thinking about just taking a road trip: no destination, just drive. At least then you don’t get annoyed about being wrong all the time. (more…)

Impact in Milwaukee

The next morning, David picks up two more guests for his Hospitalilty Club hotel. Two Frenchmen who had just spent a year studying politics and IT in Toronto. We quickly go to Lincoln Park Zoo. Back home in the afternoon. I pack my stuff and carry 45kg around for the last time.

Some people are running in the transfer tunnel at the Loop to catch the approaching Blueline. I couldn’t have run with all this stuff. So I go. And get into the blueline at the last minute. If I’d missed it, I’d have been at the Greyhound 12 minutes later. And therefore 4 minutes late. I just manage to catch the bus. (more…)

Chicago: Gangsters & Architecture

I wake up in the morning with a killer head. Because the alarm clock is still set to Eastern time, it’s still an hour too early after 4 hours of sleep. Still good though. Otherwise I wouldn’t have made it to the start of www.gangstertour.com. Mafia stories, bus drivers in disguise, blanks, Dixie, swing, blues and Ennio Morricone in an old bus. Unfortunately, there’s not much to see on the tour through Chicago. Almost all the old houses from the mafia massacres of the twenties have been demolished. The narrators do their best to describe in bloody detail how the massacre on Valentine’s Day took place. But for 25$ I expected more. (more…)

Chicago goes under

I wake up in the afternoon with the best view ever. 24. A panoramic view of the Chicago skyline from the second floor. A thunderstorm is brewing. Squalls sweep through the urban canyons. Lightning strikes the Sears Tower every minute.

The dryers in the basement do not live up to their name. The lift is flooded. The water on the street is 50cm deep in places, cellars and underground car parks are full. Cast-iron manhole covers are rhythmically lifted by compressed air in front of water surges. Police, fire brigade, helicopters everywhere. All the traffic lights are out. In principle, I have nothing against America’s downfall. But does it have to happen when I’m there? (more…)

Hey ho, let’s go!

Or not. Motto of the day. First walk to the bus station in Niagara. After a kilometre, my trolley wheel decides it’s no longer available for this trip around the world. Trolley bursts open at the bottom. Luckily a taxi driver stops, otherwise I would have missed the bus.

I’m not annoyed about the one-hour wait in Buffalo. But I am annoyed that the ticket seller had announced a journey time of 10 hours. He didn’t say anything about the 8-hour stopover in Cleveland.

Another Frank rammed a police car in New York. banned from driving for 10 years. Now he’s travelling non-stop to Las Vegas for three days. (more…)