Blues & Suede Shoes.

Graceland, graced.

Hayti, MO – After an early start, we rattled along Michigan’s bone-jarring highways, zebra-striped by countless tar repairs.

To our left, a mosaic-stained hot air balloon slumped in the heat, dropping over a red barn.

It would be the prettiest thing we’d see all day.

But, not the best.

That distinction was reserved for our pit stop at the 3 Floyds Brewpub in Munster, IN, which offered tempura-fried cheese curds, brisket steam buns and Buffalo pretzel knots that had greasy bleu cheese sliding into every nook. The Battle Priest American wild ale, too, was tremendous.

We’re off to Memphis, TN, to Graceland and the National Civil Rights Museum. And, maybe – just maybe – some barbeque. The city is usually described as one of the regional epicenters (with North Carolina, South Carolina, Kansas City, East and South Texas – and sometimes Alabama) of America’s love affair with barbeque.

And, I'm okay with eating them all.

As we dropped farther south, the temperature continued to climb, hitting a pre-humidex 34.5. Approaching Cairo, IL, even the clouds started to sweat.

After all these years, the gravelly voice and the mournful mouth harp of the open road continue to draw us onto these journeys.

Every bend in the road remains a question mark.

•     Time: 14.5 hours
•     Distance: 1,345.2 kms
•     Weather: Sunny and increasingly hot, with a brief rain shower
•     Province/States: Ontario, Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, Missouri
•     Wildlife: None

SW-Sees-Seals.

Ice cubes.

Howe Sound, BC – The cold smacks like an electric shock as we flop into the waters of Howe Sound.

Pulling away, our Sea Dragon Charters vessel belches a tobacco-like puff of smoke that tints the air before circling back with the next group of swimmers. Howe Sound may be one of Canada’s southernmost fjords, but it’s April and the water’s still only 10 degrees.

I’m thankful for the wetsuit, even as my hands begin to curl from the chill.

We’re eyed by black oystercatchers, whose long red beaks peck at the mollusk-encrusted shore. Others caw their warnings as two bald eagles drop from their perch with a thunderclap. It’s obvious a couple minutes later some form of prey didn’t heed the warning.

By now sharply awake, we glide around the corner of the rock with a gentle flick of our flippers. Countless purple, orange and white sea stars cling to surfaces above and below the water. Kelp sways into tangles at our feet.

With a splash, we’ve been spotted.

Seal's-eye view.

A herd of harbour seals shimmies awkwardly over the rock, barrelling into the sea in a series of thud-like splashes. The quake leaves a wake.

On land, these animals will never be confused as graceful; in the water, however, they’re definitely balletic.

Spotted white, brown and grey babies scamper on their bellies, unsure of where to flee the sudden intrusion. Their family members spread out into a security perimeter around us, heads bobbing in and out of the waves like maritime prairie dogs.

We bob the same, watchers being watched, all taken by the same beauty of nature: animals in an ocean playground untainted by development – just jagged, prehistoric rock scarred by the season’s snows, set against a cool blue sky.

Majestic.

Not to be Cowed.

Ben & Jerry's: eat your face off.

Waterbury, VT – After days of rain, the sun shone over the white steeple at the main crossroads in Stowe, the melt making it a treacherous walk along the river.

But, even at two degrees, the sun brought out the short sleeves.

We took a short drive to nearby Waterbury, home to Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. It may have been short-sleeve weather, but the frozen treat was a little too reminiscent of the snow still scooped over the hills.

Throughout our brief tour, the guide endlessly cracked one-liners and bad cow puns. “Let’s moove along, now,” was a common quip.

The young woman had obviously led groups more than a few times. And, may have consumed some sugar.

At the end of the tour, she explained staff receives unlimited samples and can, at the end of each shift, take home three pints. Every day.

“As full-time, we also get gym memberships and twice-annual cholesterol checks.”

The crowd chuckled.

For once, she wasn’t joking.

It's a Trapp!

In a rut.

Stowe, VT – A few intrepid birds dot the grey sky as we wake to aromas of wood smoke and mountain air. There’s a chill in the crispness as we pour ourselves coffee and stare out the large picture window overlooking the mountains.

After feasting on Dutch pancakes filled with roast chicken, apple and cheddar at the Grey Fox Inn, we bank through the mountains, fog falling in sheets thick enough to obscure the rain. Patches of sunshine are like mirages, vanishing over each rise.

By this time of year, the highways have been jackhammered by the frost, and they threaten to chew the tires off the car.

We have decided to pay a visit to Hillsboro, home to Hill Farmstead Brewery, which has been named the world’s best four of the past five years.

It’s also located in the middle of nowhere.

Pulling off the pitted and cracked main highways, we skid on the hills’ silty, rutted roads. It is, once again, a reminder it’s muddy season in Vermont. 

Even behind spattered windscreens, we can see 4x4 drivers laughing at the MINI grinding past holes large enough to engulf it. Each tentative step forward is like driving on bloated worms following a rainstorm.

The trenches threaten to swallow us; in turn, we spit mud for miles.

But, as we arrive, a creamy, salted chocolate stout – on nitro – awaits. And we’re left to admire the beauty painting itself over the hills before we head to the Trapp Family Lodge for the night.

The beer is certainly better than the journey has been.

Even if it is nearly the same colour.

Frozen Heros.

It was a Heady day.

Stowe, VT – Standing in the fog, the trees seemed like seventies tweed. Brown, everywhere.

Below, soft mounds of snow clung to the crevices, a season’s receding hairline on the rocks of the Canadian Shield.

And now, the U.S. Customs and Border Protection agent, perched in his kiosk, boomed: “Welcome to the United States” with a big smile. As he offered travel tips, it quickly became apparent he hadn’t had the busiest of days.

“Ah, Vermont! I was there last week. It’s lovely.”

While the crossing is into New York, you can literally see Vermont from where he sat. I’d imagine he’s there most weeks – but, he was a riot.

Five minutes of small talk later, he actually seemed saddened to see us go.

We wove through North Hero and South Hero and on to Stowe, where it’s apparently mud season. Snow, now like smoker’s teeth, lies clumped in the bush as we pull into the historic Stowehof for the night.

But first, the real reason for visiting Vermont: beer at the Alchemist and cheese, this time in the form of Bayley Hazen Blue cheese balls at Doc Ponds.

And here I thought I couldn’t stand blue cheese.

Vitals:

• Time: 9.5 hours
• Distance: 959.3 kms
• Weather: Fog, rain.
• Provinces/States: Ontario, Quebec, New York, Vermont
• Wildlife: Deer

No Words.

'Forever Bicycles' – Ai Weiwei

Anti-Inflammatory, Please.

Austin, TX – A sting followed another.

Then, a general burn.

Individually, I could barely see them, but a blanket across my arms began to move like a hazy vision. Wandering through the beautiful University of Texas at Austin campus, I suddenly found myself covered by tiny red ants.

Fire.

Fire ants.

Apparently, they're a huge issue down here. It turns out I shouldn’t have put my bag down into the foliage to remove my shirt as it warmed.

Hook ‘em, ants?