**** I set off from Pittsfield, Massachusetts, in July 2011...and ended up in Aspen, Colorado, in February 2012. Along the way, I visited 28 states, three countries, dozens of national parks, hundreds of cities and towns, and countless friends and strangers. Why? Why not? In fact, I lost my job of seven years when Berkshire Living, the regional magazine I helped launch, folded. Then my apartment building burned down while I was in Miami for the weekend. A breakup and a stolen bicycle figured in shortly thereafter. Wouldn't you hit the road, too? Enjoy my virtual scrapbook of anecdotes and eye candy from a freewheeling, cross-country, cross-cultural odyssey--past, present, and future.Amanda Rae Busch
amandaraewashere@gmail.com
HIGH CONTRAST
Sunday, 2 p.m., Adams, Massachusetts:
Tuesday, 2 p.m., Santa Monica, California:
(OK, I confess: the latter was shot using the Super Vivid setting.)
My Father the Hero (quote)
My friend Sam sent me a series of four rapid-shot photographs, including this one, from the Josh Billings RunAground Triathlon in the Berkshires on Sunday. His vantage point is from the corner of Route 183 at Hawthorne Street in Lenox, Massachusetts—where I’ve stood every third Sunday in September for the past, oh, eight years or so. His note, concise yet illustrative:
“we all missed you this year amanda! your mom and i were there early on “the” corner. your dad, aka: the hero, has a sweet new bike, evidenced by that smile that few others have at mile 26.5 of 27. he’s smiling in all four photos. everyone else is smirking pure gruel.
I was sitting in Jackson Hole Roasters, one hand glued to a carafe of fresh brew, the other to my laptop trackpad. A grin spread over my face and my eyes welled up—partly out of love-pride for my dad, and his team’s fifth-place finish (hey, they won coffee mugs!), partly out of sadness that I missed the annual family celebration, and partly because I have the kind of friend back home who will deliver news to me when he knows I can’t be there to see it unfold.
**UPDATE: My dad also noted: “This year marks my 30TH race…I missed the first [4] from 1976 to 1979; started in 1980 and missed [1] year when I just didn’t manage to get on a team…This was the [15]TH year with Rotary. That’s over [800] miles of Josh races….
The KiMo Theatre in Albuquerque, New Mexico: landmark hub of the the Albuquerque Film Festival (AFF), which ran August 18-21, 2011.
I found myself comparing AFF with the Berkshire International Film Festival (BIFF), which I’ve attended nearly every spring since its inception six years ago—mostly for pleasure, partly for work.
And my immediate impression of the KiMo: it is a slightly smaller, Southwest version of the Mahaiwe Performing Arts Center in Great Barrington, Massachusetts, the Southern Berkshire home (along with the Triplex Cinema) of the BIFF.
Even the balconies felt familiar. Well, minus the sand-colored stucco, Native-American motifs, and bull skulls with glowing eyes.
Bye-Bye, Berkshires
So Friday—tomorrow!—it’s ON, and I’m OFF. I’m anxious to the point of mania, true, but nostalgia for summer in the Berkshires is giving me pause.
Finally, we’re in the best of seasons (let’s pause for a few !!!!!!!!!!!), brimming with outdoor music, dance so intense it steals a few beats of your heart, languid chatter-filled art openings, wine-tastings (the bacchanal returns), festivals galore, picnics under trees in fields, mountaintop shenanigans, s’mores from bonfires, fireworks, twilight canoeing, butterfly chasing, blueberry picking, lookout looking, swingin’ through treetops, and lounging on decks long after the sun dips below the hills. Hence, I’m outta here. :::?::: 
I was reminded of all this, eventually, after sneaking by Shark Rock on Lenox Mountain the other day, which also made me ponder other cool landmarks in these parts. There are quite a few, but I’m in packing mode right now. Oh, but the Mohawk Trail, or all of Route 2 from about Shelburne Falls to up and over the Petersburgh Pass in New York, is the ultimate drive in my mind. It’s totally FernGully 3. If you go, pose for a picture under the enormous multicolored Indian statue along the way, it’s a good photo op.
Back to rocks, though. If the painted hillside turtle somewhere south of GB in Connecticut is in fact on Route 7, then I might pass it on the jaunt to New Canaan tomorrow. Maybe it’ll bring good luck.
Or maybe it’ll remind me to s l o w d o w n and enjoy the scenery….
