Roadtrip

This was the first time I went on a long trip all alone. Or, as alone as I could be with my dog and cat.

Day 1 was coming to a close and I still hadn’t figured out where I was going to park for the night since planning ahead is for losers. Instead I picked a nearby state park at random and hoped for the best, and got it. Providence Canyon state park in southern Georgia.

Apparently it’s the result of people messing up farming? I don’t know how you screw up growing plants badly enough to create a miniature replica of the grand canyon, but there you go. Hiking down into the canyon is easy enough, but coming back up with the royal bowling ball in my backpack was Not Great.

Onward I drove, watching the countryside gradually change. Soon something strange and unexpected began to appear along the roadsides.

Rocks!

Holy shit, just wild rocks laying around! Can you imagine?

Absolutely charmed and also concerned that I’d better pull over somewhere to get a closer look at these babies before I drove past them entirely, I pulled into Rickwood Caverns state park.

Wasn’t feeling the paid mile-long hike through the depths of the earth just then, but there sure were a lot of rocks!







Moderately satisfied by the number and quality of wild rocks encountered, I moved on to Springfield Missouri for the convention. Antsy in the city, I utterly failed to take advantage of the convention events and instead fucked off to look at even more rocks.







I did, however, see all the taxidermy. They're organized into mammals, birds, and others, so click below to check out the 2019 world taxidermy show.

Goddamn, would you believe this? These are the biggest rocks I’ve ever seen.

Of course I climbed one. Then I remembered that I’m getting a little old to be clambering up rocks, and acutely aware of how breakable my bones are, and also how expensive healthcare is, and sheepishly climbed down.

Oh yeah, here’s a queer interspecies poly goose family and there’s nothing you can do about it.

I left the city as soon as I was done with the dealer room and had pictures of everything, lured by the siren call of a town called Hot Springs.

First though, a brief stop through a park in the mountains.

More rocks!
And WATER!
At the same time!
Holy shit, what a world we live in.

Did I shovel particularly enticing damp rocks into my pockets as I walked along? You bet your ass I did.

Onwards and upwards, into the Ozarks! And up, and up, at some point figuring out that you’re supposed to change into 2nd gear.

Eventually the scenery was just too much and I desperately pulled over into a scenic overlook at a mountain top.
This is so high, oh man. For added context my home town is 15 feet above sea level.

Slate! Just a whole wall of slate with water trickling down! Yes, obviously I stuffed more damp rocks into my pockets. It was time to move on though, the town of Hot Springs still called to me.

Oh, but there was time to stretch my legs at the Iron Springs state park.

Finally though, we were closing in on the destination. Hot Springs, a town named for hot springs! Oh man, rocks have been pretty great so far, and springs continue to impress; I just cannot wait to see what adding geothermal activity to that mix looks like!

So hey, guess what? There aren’t actually hot springs for you to visit in motherfucking Hot Springs.

Bitter, but less bitter than I would otherwise be if I hadn’t spent the day driving through the most extravagantly fabulous roads you can imagine, I continued on towards home as it began to drizzle.

It was still raining the next day, putting a literal damper on any urge to explore. Still, a petrified forest in Mississippi? Drizzle or not, who could possibly resist that?

There was a giftshop full of rocks, and an overpriced lump of common sandstone from out further west polished into a sphere like a sandy gas giant replica caught my heart.













Kept moving, ended up in a skeezy gambling town. Tried to eat my lunch on a public dock, dumb mutt rushed into the gross water. No, stop…

I ended the day on the Gulf, hoping the morning would hold better things and the cops wouldn't wake me up at 2AM for sleeping in a parking lot on the beach.

It held a bland beach and a dead remora, which I only barely resisted dragging along with me as a souvenir.

Back in Florida, but in less of a hurry this time.

Moruti was unimpressed with the legendary Fountain of Youth, but perked up when she noticed a squirrel.

It turns out there -is- a waterfall in Florida, and it falls into a sinkhole. Because of course it does.

They dammed up a little lake to make it permanent so the waterfall always has at least a trickle for people to visit, otherwise you would just be visiting a regular sinkhole for half the year.