From one of my other blogs:
“Six months after the initial idea, and I’m more excited than ever about this trip. Hard to believe that it’s just nine or so months away! The more I talk about it, the more I think that my idea of visiting every (continental) American state and Canadian province by car is…”
About a year ago, I visited a delightful farm in rural Wisconsin that pumped out amazing pizzas. In the time since, a competitor has emerged.
Like A-Z Produce’s pizza farm, the Love Tree pizza farm (actually Love Tree Farmstead Cheese) is about a two-hour drive from the Twin Cities. They are both in rural Wisconsin. They both bake their pizza outside in wood-fired ovens. Neither one of them supplies customers with anything other than pizzas in cardboard boxes.
The pizza area at Love Tree's farm
I arrived at the Love Tree farm around 7:00 with a group of friends. We found goats, sheep, and fields. Farm dogs lazed on the grass. The air smelled of earth and wood smoke, the latter of which guided our way.
Down the hill from some nice-looking farm equipment and we found ourselves at the pizza oven. The order for three pies was placed.
The pizza oven and a pizza maker
We passed the time watching the sheep get milked — the farm makes aged goat and sheep milk cheese — and sampling said cheese (very nice). We listened to the quiet rural summer sounds. We relaxed on a hill next to a pond.
The mood was light, and although there were far fewer customers than at the other pizza farm, those present were no less prepared for the experience. Many had wine, most had blankets or tables, and few hesitated to strike up conversations with the proprietors.
We waited. And waited. And waited. The sun set, the dearth of artificial light (a lone lamp dimly lit the pizza area) revealed the night sky, and our stomachs growled. The operation was in its fourth week, and the pizza-production-line inexperience was showing.
A pizza maker samples her product as she stares into the oven
Finally, about two and a half hours after we placed our order, our pizzas came out.
I wish I could tell you that they were amazing and that the wait had been worth it but… I can’t. The pizzas weren’t all that great. I won’t go so far as to say they were bad, but the crust was generally too thick and underdone, the top was burnt, there was waaaay too much of something that tasted lemon-y in the sauce, and there was too much sauce in general. The cheese on the pizzas was excellent, however. I’d comment on what the pizzas looked like, but by that time it was so dark that we could barely see the outlines.
Nighttime pizza consumption (4 sec. @ f/2.8, ISO12800)
A long drive, followed by a ridiculous wait, all for disappointing pizza. But would I go back? Absolutely — with a caveat. I’d like to go there again in about a year. Why?
What I haven’t mentioned is the passion the family displayed for their farm, their cheese, and their pizza. They seemed to genuinely care about what they were doing, and they appeared to be enjoying the work. Pizza production is difficult, especially when a wood-fired stone oven is involved. They need to work out the kinks and keep on iterating, like any good startup should. I’m confident that they’ll nail it eventually. They already managed to figure out award-winning aged cheese, after all.
For the pizza farm experience now, try the A-Z farm. For the pizza farm experience in the future, keep Love Tree in mind.
I have a new appreciation for the dismay that early pioneers must have felt upon encountering the Badlands of South Dakota. Imposing dirt-and-rock features rising from the prairie, they were a formidable opponent to forward progress. Last weekend, I went backpacking in them.
The Badlands are not for backpacking novices. I was in the Sage Creek Wilderness area of Badlands National Park, which has neither established trails nor sources of water. The summer weather is hot and dry, and the terrain is exhausting.
When you’re not hiking up and down bluffs, you’re slogging through soft sand in washes or through knee-high thick grass, which threatens to trip you on every step. You’d better watch those steps, too, because a poorly placed one could find your foot in a prairie dog hole — or worse, on top of an angry rattlesnake.
In exchange, you get fantastic views and immense solitude. I hiked from one of the most popular backcountry access points, and according to the log book, there were only two other hikers out there at the same time I was. Compare that to, say, Yosemite Valley, which is crawling with tourists.
The route I followed is generally known as the Sage Creek Loop. There were no trails, and footprints in the mud are erased whenever it rains, so my guides were my topo map, my GPS, and some vague waypoints. Backpacker.com suggests it as a three-day route, but I did it as an overnight. The 4.1 liters of water that I carried wouldn’t have lasted me through another day.
The author in front of Sage Creek Basin
I hiked west from the parking lot, encountered a lush oasis called Deer Haven, did some route finding, did some scrambling, encountered a dead-end on a route up a bluff, and cursed the many curves of the Sage Creek wash. At midday, I was approaching heat exhaustion when I stumbled upon a rare bit of shade in the shadow of a bluff. It was out of the sun, had a nice breeze, was bug free, and wasn’t muddy. Perfect for a couple-hour nap.
Looking out over Sage Creek
Rejuvenated, I pressed on to the Tyree Basin, where I set up camp on the prairie for the evening. In the background, there were massive banded earthen features. In the distance, thunderheads loomed. I set up my ultralight camping shelter — a tarp and my hiking pole arranged as a lean-to — and hunkered down for the storm.
The rain came, and so did the lightning. I was the only thing on the prairie for some distance, and my hiking pole was made of aluminum, so all I could think of during the storm was, “Don’t die. Don’t die. Don’t die.” I watched the hair on my arm intently for any signs of static buildup, some vague notion in my mind that if I saw impending doom I would somehow be able to run away from the bolt.
When the storm passed, I was treated to a spectacular sunset. A cool breeze blew throughout the night, and I had one of the best nights of backpacking sleep that I can recall.
In the morning, I hiked down the Sage Creek Pass and back to civilization.
Total distance (according to my GPS): 24.0 miles
Even though my Subaru had been great for me, I doubted its ability to transport me through to the completion of my pending round-the-continent trip. I needed something newer.
The search process began with a wide survey of the options. Would I be best served by a sports car? An SUV? A sedan? How much space would I need? How much power? How new would be new enough? What could I afford? What would best fit my personality?
I decided that the trip would require ample cargo space, so that narrowed the field to SUVs and wagons. (Sorry, minivans failed the personality test.) I liked the romance of a true body-on-frame SUV, but more efficient use of space and superior gas mileage made the crossovers and wagons attractive, too. Ignoring the fact that I don’t ever do any serious off-roading, I very nearly purchased a Toyota Land Cruiser, but that deal fell apart during negotiations.
After more research, test drives, and soul searching, I did what has got to be one of the stupidest financial transactions in the world. It’s something that I’ve written and spoken against. It’s something that I’d never done. It’s something that I swore I’d never do.
I bought a new car.
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The flat-6 engine is a thing of beauty. The pistons in the opposed cylinders balance each other giving the machine incredible smoothness. The horizontal (or “boxer”) configuration sits low in the engine bay, which endows the vehicle with a low center of gravity and thus superior stability. The unusual shape also makes possible unusual drivetrain layouts, which allow the rise of vehicles with charisma.
Only two mass-market car companies currently manufacture flat-6 engines: Porsche and Subaru. My Outback had a flat-4, so I had already experienced the Japanese take on the layout. Porsche has been my favorite car company for a while now, so I gave them serious consideration, too — but their SUV, the Cayenne, did nothing to stir my passion, and a 911 would be totally impractical for the trip. Subaru won.
Last Wednesday, I closed on a brand new dark red 2011 Subaru Outback 3.6R Limited.
My 2011 Outback
The 2011 model is very similar to the SUV-of-the-year 2010 model, a fact that I at first found a bit unsettling. I bemoaned the Outback’s transition from quirky wagon to mass-market crossover. “Why?” I asked the automobile gods. To which they responded, “Drive it.” So I did.
After that first test drive, I knew my car search was over.
The Outback with Split Rock Lighthouse in the distance
Roomy, powerful, capable, and comfortable: the Subaru had what I wanted. The only thing I would have liked to have had was a manual transmission, but the 5-speed auto is a tolerable compromise.
Near Finland, MN on MN-1
Mine is the top-of-the-line version, with the 6-cylinder boxer engine, leather interior, nav system, sunroof, and a host of electronic gizmos and mechanical whiz-bangs. It took me a couple of weeks to find the right one after that first test drive, but I succeeded.
Also on MN-1
Will it be a good car for me? I hope so. It doesn’t have the cachet of the BMW in the public’s eye, but the Subaru nonetheless has a very devoted following. It’s the right car for me for the time.
This new Outback is a substantial 13 model years newer than my old one, and it’s 11 years newer than the next-newest car that I’ve owned. There has been incredible technical progress in the intervening decade, but the new Outback still reminds me of the old one. It’s about the same size, just a few inches taller, wider, and longer. It has a lot more power, which is nice, as well as a few more cubic feet of cargo room, but when I slip behind the wheel, I can tell that the two machines are brothers. It’s Subaru magic.
The 1998 Outback with the 2011 Outback
Stats
As you’ve been reading this series, you might have noticed a trend in my car selections. As I moved from one car to the next, there was always a bump in horsepower. Plotting the horsepower versus the car number makes a tidy chart. It also shows how well a second-order polynomial can fit.
Horsepower versus the number of the car
Based on the curve, one might expect my fifth car to have made nearly 400 hp. Was it an M5? A Corvette? A Ferrari? No, it was better: a Subaru Outback.
My 1998 Outback
Coming to the table with a whopping 170 hp, the Subaru wrecked the trend, but what it lacked in power it made up for in utility. My 1998 Subaru Legacy Outback hauled anything and everything. It was already pre-scratched, so it could be parked anywhere without worry. On the rare occasions when it needed repair, parts were affordable. It even got decent gas mileage.
Snowy Outback
The Outback is the car that carried me and all of my worldly possessions between Minneapolis and Palo Alto. It was severely overloaded, but it made the 2100-mile trip (twice!) with only one glitch. Deserts, plains, mountain ranges, heat, and cold; none of those things could stop it.
Loaded with everything I owned for the move to California
(it was a tight fit)
It’s funny how each car model draws a certain crowd. The Bonnevilles drew the practicality-minded gearheads. The BMW drew the “go fast through the twisties in style” enthusiasts. The Subaru draws the outdoor adventure crowd.
I’ve quipped in the past that you know you’re at REI when the parking lot looks like a Subaru dealership. Not only that, but most of those Subarus are full of mud, are plastered with outdoors-related stickers, and bear the occasional kayaks strapped to the roof racks.
I still have the Outback, but I am getting ready to sell it. What could possibly take the place of such a dependable, affordable, useful car? Stay tuned.
Stats
Update June 28, 2015: I decided to run a title search to see what became of my trusty green machine. Turns out, it’s still running and registered! About two years after I sold it, it was sold again, this time to somebody living in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. About two years after that, in September 2014, it was sold again, once more to somebody living in Steamboat. I like that. It was a good car to me, and it makes me happy to see that it’s still on the road, carrying its new owners on their own adventures.
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