Catch Up With Us If You Can

As much as I had hoped to blog everyday, today is the first day we have been able to get onto the internet other than on my phone (if you have Twitter, follow Veggie_Car for more frequent updates). It has been a thrilling six days on the road so far! We have been able to get a lot of grease from pizza shops, japanese restaurants, and diners. And now, in Colorado, we are snagging some internet at Starbucks to update our friends, family, and followers about our grease journey thus far.

Day 1:
On Saturday, July 2nd, Kyle and I left Andover, MA around noon with a tankful of grease and a reserve that included twenty gallons contained in four, five-gallon buckets. The trunk was so weighed down that the frame of the car was about six inches lower than it usually is! Huge thanks to Jim from the Live Free or Diner in Plaistow, NH, and Louie from Milan Pizza in Lowell, MA, for supplying us with as much grease as we could take with us! We made our way South celebrating every hundred miles we drove, with a surreal feeling that we were actually embarking on this adventure.

Somewhere before Pennsylvania, the car started to feel funny. "I must need a new secondary filter," I said. "We should probably get off the next exit so I can change it." But before we could make it to the next exit, the car started decelerating rapidly, no matter how hard I pressed my foot on the gas pedal. We rolled over to the side of 81 South to check the trunk where my grease tank, filter, pump, and reserve buckets are located. It turns out that I simply misjudged how far a tank of grease would take us by about fifty miles. Since the tank was empty, and the switches were still on to start on grease, we had to pump grease from our reserve buckets into the tank on the side of the highway! It must have been quite an unusual sight to see for most drivers, but we filled up safely and continued on our way. Scare #1, three hours in, pretty minor.

Later that day, we decided to stop in Duncannon, PA. Kyle remembered the sleepy, thru-hiker's town from two years ago when he hiked the Appalachian Trail. Our plan was to visit Vicky, owner of the Doyle Hotel, and ask her if she would be willing to donate her waste french fry grease for our travels. We were so concentrated on following directions to get there, that we forgot to switch the fuel to diesel to stop. We switched over to diesel, but had to continue driving for five more minutes to clear out the engine and surrounding hoses of grease. There’s not a whole lot going on in Duncannon, so we decided to pull into a gas station to fill up on diesel just in case we couldn't find more grease in the next few days. As I tried to open the locked flap to fill my diesel tank, Kyle and I simultaneously noticed a HUGE leak coming from the side of the trunk where the Greasecar pre-filter is located. Horrified, we opened the trunk to see that a large amount of vegetable oil had leaked from the filter or connected hoses. I felt around with a white cloth to make sure that the leak was only grease and not coolant, which also runs through the filter housing. Unfortunately, the colors of liquids on the cloth revealed that there was both grease and coolant leaking. I called Patrick Keaney, the Green Grease Monkey, for some mechanical support and maybe consonance, but I wasn’t able to get in touch with him on the spot. As I frantically cleaned up the spill at the gas station, an attendant came over to make sure that it was not fuel that was spilling. I started to assure her that it was not fuel - well, it was my fuel, I had to say, but it was not gasoline or diesel. She raised an eyebrow and stared at me, so I told her that we were leaving instead of trying to explain. Extremely disappointed, Kyle and I drove back to The Doyle Hotel and parked for the night (although we thought we would have to be parked for much longer).

Since there was indication of a coolant leak, I was certain we could not continue our road trip. If enough coolant leaked, my engine would overheat and could seize up, not only leaving us stranded, but damaging my car permanently. In addition to the detrimental grease and coolant leaks, the flap to fill up diesel would not unlock. I realized that it was due to the fact that a vacuum in my car stopped working a few days ago, controlling the central locking system. I hadn’t needed to get diesel recently, so I hadn’t tried opening it until now, and hadn’t fixed the vacuum because I was fine with manually opening and locking the doors. Kyle and I spent the majority of the rest of the night thinking of other adventures that we could spend our free month doing. We considered having the car towed back, and hiking the Appalachian Trail home to Massachusetts. We talked with Vicky at the bar about our predicament, and in addition to giving us a discounted room, free camp stove fuel, and a good laugh, she offered us a parking spot in her lot for a week! In her words, though, the Doyle Hotel “hasn’t yet received a star.”

Day 2:
Without much sleep due to an intense storm the night before, Kyle and I woke up early to a call from Patrick. He explained a way that I could disconnect the coolant hoses from the filter to bypass the leak in order to drive home on diesel. Still though, I couldn’t open the diesel flap in order to put diesel fuel into my car. After taking a good look at the filter, and troubleshooting some more, we found a solution to the leak that allowed us to continue. Scare #2, less than a day in, pretty significant.

During the two hours that we tinkered in the trunk, we caught the attention of Glen, an intelligent and genuine AT thru-hiker and engineer. I got the pleasure to discuss the modifications on the car with him. I won’t be surprised when I see his name on a super lightweight hiking pack that he will design. We also figured out how to open the diesel flap with an emergency lever in the trunk before we packed up to continue our trip. Scare #3, less than a day in, not so bad.

We said goodbye to Vicky and promised to send her a picture of us on the west coast before we headed towards the Shenandoah National Park. For most of Day 2, we drove on Skyline Drive admiring the amazing lookouts along the way. We camped outside the Punch Bowl shelter on the AT after watching some beautiful surprise fireworks from a lookout.

Day 3:
The Blue Ridge Parkway, a scenic roadway that winds through both America’s southeast countryside and some of the world’s oldest geologic formations in the Appalachian Mountain Range, is a route not to be avoided. Even if your endless days of driving for ten hours on end are leading you to the 10,000 foot peaks of the Sierra Nevadas or the smooth, swiveling, iron-rich curvatures of Utah’s Navajo Sandstones, (west coast features that most of New England’s youth cannot begin to fathom), this road should not be bypassed for the fast pace life on the freeways. The Blue Ridge Parkway reveals America’s beautiful landscape through its frequent roadside overlooks that peer out on some of our country’s oldest villages in Virginia. Separated from the bustling communities below, people traveling the BRP have the opportunity, for at least a few hundred miles, to feel as though they are meandering through a world that is still blessed by the restful charm of untouched nature. That being said, however, we are still talking about a road that we forcefully introduced to a once unsullied expansive forest!

Eventually our second day traveling the Blue Ridge Parkway became tedious, and more importantly, proved to be unfruitful when it came to the grease hunt. On more frequented roads, we were able to identify restaurants immediately off the highway where we could inquire   about grease with little delay to our schedule. We made one stop of the parkway in the town of Big Island, VA- and by town we mean a gas station/diner. A stop frequented by AT hikers, the diner had provided me with a heavenly break from hiking some two years ago. On our way to Big Island, I thought to myself, this was the place where some supposed Vietnam veterans (their wives denied the claims) tried to convince us, in southern accents so strong I thought I was hearing a different language, that some kind of hurricane was moving through. No hurricane made its way to Big Island, and I never saw those men again. However, the moment I stepped out of the car, I heard that same inaudible accent- something about southern Virginia seems to embody what most “yankees” envision the deep south to be. The southern culture is alive and well- the friendliness of the small town residents are a reminder of the community feel that the American Dream used to manifest... The diner had no grease, so we bought some diesel and regained our treads on the parkway. Mid day we realized that our grease search would be more successful on another road, any other road for that matter, so we we tried our luck on rt. 52 west to Damascus, Virginia. From hiking the AT I knew that Damascus, known to hikers and bikers as the friendliest town on the Appalachian trail, had plenty of restaurants that without a doubt fried an unhealthy amount of chicken and french fries. What I did not know from my time down south was that rt. 52 was a winding country road that seemingly made its way up, down and around every peak en route to the friendly Virginia town. Alyssa even thought she spotted Big Foot in the foggy mountain mist. Despite traveling at the sluggish speed of 10 mph through torrential rains for more miles than we can even recall, we eventually made it to Damascus where the folks at Quincy’s Pizza hooked us up with some of their waste vegetable oil. As usual, we pulled the car behind the restaurant and backed right up to the tank. With the exception of a dead raccoon, a half eaten rib eye steak, some whiskey bottles, a unicorn’s tail and some frogs hopping around, the grease looked pretty clean. We filtered a few gallons through our system to our reserve buckets and continued on to Gatlinburg, TN, home of the continuous roadside Disney Land of the deep south with ludicrous attractions as far as the eye can see... oh- and Great Smoky Mountains National Park. If you want to avoid traffic, never travel through Gatlinburg on the 4th of July- believe us, these people love their fireworks. The Sugarlands Visitor Center sits at the bottom of the Smoky’s Newfound Gap road, an uphill battle the Veggie Car would take on for its next twenty miles. It was eight o’clock when we filled out our backcountry camping passes, indicating that we would be sleeping at the Double Spring Gap Shelter, 2.5 miles south of Clingman’s Dome on the Appalachian Trail. We raced to Clingman’s Dome, the third highest point east of the Mississippi at 6,692 feet, in hopes of viewing the holiday’s fireworks from the peak’s observatory tower. Expecting the summit to be crowded with locals and tourists alike, we were surprised to walk up the spiraling walkway to find only three other people atop the observatory. As darkness set in, the fireworks sprouted from towns in every direction. Miles away and thousands of feet below, the shows looked to us like mere dots exploding below the tree line. We cooked pasta over our camping stove as more and more fireworks bloomed from far off locations. By 10:30, Alyssa and I had no intention or desire to walk nearly three miles to Double Spring Gap Shelter. We unpacked our sleeping bags and waited for any clouds to roll in that may have indicated a potential storm. The stars were killer, to say the least. Some time around 11:30 we heard faint noises from the bottom of the tower. Peering over the railing’s edge we noticed somebody walking up the spiral walkway. As they approached the middle of the concrete path, we yelled a welcoming ‘hello,’ a gesture that would have hopefully convinced a possible ranger that we did not have any intention of sleeping on the tower, despite the fact that under no circumstance would a ranger be oblivious to our sleeping bags that were laying only a few feet away. Instead, a ragged hiker yelled back to us. Tall and slender, the young man approached us in nothing but short cut black jean shorts, carrying a hiking stick with an American flag taped to it. We immediately sensed his frustration with the park’s infrastructure as he incessantly cursed the park, its rangers, the signs and trails, and most importantly, whatever god damn people put up those signs and designed those trails. Needless to say, Justin, as we came to know him by, hiked a few more miles than he had planned to. Justin rigged his hammock to the tower’s railings and prepared some food before slipping into his makeshift settlement. We too dosed off under the gleaming sky light of eastern Tennessee. Little did we know, that would not be the last time we would be in Justin’s company.

Day 4: On June 5th, we decided to take a day off from driving to explore the Smoky Mountains. After watching a beautiful sunrise, we hiked to Andrew's Bald. While we sat and enjoyed the view, we met Sargent Rock. He hung out with us for a while talking about lightweight camping gear and the serenity of being alone in nature. He also offered us some useful AT trail magic including food and information about an often overlooked shelter that we could stay at. Later in the morning, Kyle and I changed the pre-filter’s bag filter and the secondary filter with a little difficulty. Afterwards, we drove half way down the mountain to the Chimney Tops trailhead (a hike highly recommended to Kyle). The hike was beyond amazing!

At the top, we scurried up steep, smooth rocks with deadly drop-offs on both sides to reach the summit the common goer dared not to ascend. With a 360 degree view of the Smokys, Chimney Tops was surrounded by the defined mountains, rows of tree line chiseled like that of a body builder’s muscles, of the most visited national park in the United States. It was surely the most spectacular view we had seen thus far. What made the view even better was the delightful girls reading their bibles on the edge of the cliffs. It was reassuring to be atop Chimney Tops “with god on our side,” as Dylan himself would have put it. Despite the steep drop offs, we felt quite safe on the summit. Had Alyssa known the cliffs were teeming with rattlesnakes, tragedy would have likely ensued. Eventually the summer heat got to us. We raced back down the two mile trail to a swimming hole near the trailhead. We enjoyed the refreshing crystal clear water, whether leaping off a rock in the six foot pool or rinsing the veggie oil out of our hair under the picturesque waterfall.  That night, we headed to a shelter on the AT, where we met up with Justin again! We were entertained by our new friend’s life philosophy and crazy stories that he shared with us.

Day 5: In the morning, we headed down the mountain to Gatlinburg, TN, an overwhelmingly overstimulating town filled with more random attractions than Las Vegas. At an intersection, we switched over to veggie, but unlike the usual smooth switch, my car stopped dead. I tried to turn off and on again, but no luck. I tried switching it over to diesel and starting it again, but no luck either. We had to get out of the intersection, so I put it in neutral and rolled back into a side street. Since the power steering wasn’t working, it was one of the hardest arm workouts of my life! We pushed it to a nearby gas station and charged the battery, but it seemed like the battery was not the problem. After more troubleshooting, we got it started on diesel. I figured out that there was air in the veggie hoses from changing the secondary filter the day before. Since the secondary filter is the last thing the grease passes through before it enters the injectors, my car got the signal that I was out of fuel, and turned off. After some extra backflushing of diesel into the veggie tank, it switched over just fine. Scare #4, less than 5 days in, pretty frustrating, but not too significant.

Before we left Gatlinburg, we got an oil change and prayed that we’d make it to Nashville before another problem to pick up our friend Thomas at the Greyhound station. Once we picked up Thomas, we filled up our tank from our reserve and headed to St. Louis to stay with Kyle’s friend, Becca. We were unsuccessful in our search to find grease along the way in Illinois, and joked that we were really “illinoised.” Although we tried to make light of it, we were extremely disappointed to have to run on diesel, that being the first time on the trip that we had no vegetable oil.

Day 6: After staying the night on comfortable couches and stocking up on food (thanks to Becca and her extremely generous family) we started our hunt for grease in “The Valley” outside of St. Louis. We were so determined to find grease that we decided we weren’t leaving until we did. Since it was early in the morning, most restaurants were not open for us to ask if they had grease or not. In the dumpsters that we looked into, most of the grease was bad quality or too little to take. After some good luck tunes, we hit the jackpot with over twenty gallons at San Sai Japanese Restaurant. Kyle was still hungry for grease though, so we decided to split up. Kyle and Thomas dropped me off at Starbucks so I could work on this blog post while they searched in dumpsters for more five gallon containers and collected more grease. We left St. Louis with more grease than we had ever had in the car, but not without run-ins with cops and raccoons.

The past two days have been spent in Kansas and Colorado. We are currently waiting for a restaurant in Denver to finish their dinner rush so we can load up on fresh grease. We’ve met a lot of interesting people so far, and have had a few good laughs. Our next blog post may not be for another week, but you can follow us on Twitter (Veggie_Car) for more frequent updates. Pictures to come soon!