These former York High School students recently returned to town after embarking on a great cross-country adventure to celebrate the transition from college to beginning their professional careers.
Courtesy photo
Last October, my close friend Adam mentioned the idea of expediting out on a continental United States road trip. He explained that the departure date would be on June 1, roughly two weeks following my collegiate graduation. I decided to join Adam, along with our fellow York High School classmate, Alex. We all agreed that this was an exciting way to celebrate graduation from our respective universities.
After receiving our diplomas, we returned home, anxious to hit the road. Our steed, a 1993 Ford Taurus, had been fixed up and was ready for launch. Eager to leave York, we moved our departure date to the night of May 30. After a hasty application of obligatory white racing stripes to the exterior of the vehicle, and a feast at Greenleaves, we started the drive down the East Coast.
We reached North Carolina in the late afternoon on the May 31. After driving 55 miles an hour, to conserve gasoline, for roughly 20 hours in the sweltering heat, we reached the inviting home of some family friends and spent the night underneath clean sheets.
The next leg of the trip took us through the scenic Blue Ridge Mountains. The deep green hue of the wilderness painted the valleys beneath us while a blue haze delicately cast itself over the mountain range in the distance.
The rest of our tour of the South brought us through Montgomery, Ala., and New Orleans and Shreveport, La. The French Quarter in New Orleans was an experience - public inebriation seemed to be the dominant theme. In addition, it is with deep regret I admit that the best seafood dinner I have ever had did not come from Maine, but Louisiana; the taste of red snapper smothered with shrimp and a creamy orange sauce was arguably the best meal I have ever tasted.
After a few days examining my collegiate classmate's firearms collection in Shreveport, the three of us prepared for the longest planned drive of the road trip. We drove in shifts through Texas and Oklahoma to Boulder, Colo.
We stayed in Colorado with a former resident of York, and surveyed the impressive, snowcapped Rocky Mountains. Next we moved south through Utah, traversing through the Arches, Canyonlands and Zion National Parks. At sunset, the outstretched mesas lit up into a litany of colors that reflected the sun's light.
After several days of solely dining on makeshift chili, oatmeal and peanut butter sandwiches, we sped north to Las Vegas. We spent the night at Caesar's Palace. Our entrance was a grand one. The Taurus repeatedly powered down on the Las Vegas strip, and we were forced to push the car, while in neutral, into the hotel's reception area.
I flew from the Las Vegas airport to San Francisco to visit a friend, abandoning southern California. Adam and Alex, after replacing the faulty fuel pump on the Taurus, drove to Santa Monica for a night, then hiked through the Sequoia and Yosemite National Parks.
We explored the San Francisco area for several days, including the city itself, as well as much of Sonoma, Napa and Anderson Valley. Soon, we had the itch to continue, and progressed further north in California.
The Taurus's brakes failed outside of Fort Bragg. We limped to Eureka, Calif.
Instead of scrapping the car and flying home, we bought a 1988 Mercedes station wagon from a local impound. The vehicle had ostensibly been stolen at one point, the odometer failed to function and multiple warning lights on the dash flickered on and off at random intervals, but we learned to love our new car unconditionally.
Expecting to receive several hundred dollars from a junkyard for the Taurus was a mistake. We were bluntly offered $25, and sadly decided to accept.
With the Mercedes, we managed to sample brews in Portland, Ore., explore a waterfront arcade in Seattle, Wash., float down a river in Bozeman and examine geysers in Yellowstone National Park with Greg, another one of our mutual friends from York.
In a desperation effort, we drove from Yellowstone to Maine without stopping for anything but fuel. This translated to over 50 hours of driving. Adam remained in Boston to visit a friend, while Alex and I finished the last leg alone. Shortly after passing over the Piscataqua River Bridge with a triumphant, prolonged yell, Alex and I arrived in York at 11:53 p.m. on the first of July.
The entire experience served as an excellent transitional period between college life and the professional world. The trip made me realize how close Adam, Alex and I have grown since our days roaming the halls of York High School.
In addition, I learned to appreciate how wonderful a place York really is. Every town has its issues, but my travels across the country reminded me that living in York is ultimately a privilege for adults, adolescents and children alike. After over a month on the road, it's good to be home.
Nicholas Yeaton is a news and features intern with The York Independent.
