cross-country road trip Archives - Jared Kuvent

Showing Up: You Drove!?

Jared Kuvent — Sun, 26 Jul 2026 07:33:12 +0000

Showing Up: You Drove!?

All week at SIGGRAPH, the same conversation kept happening. Someone asks where I’m from. Maine. How long was the flight?

I drove.

You drove? From MAINE?

I did. It’s my eighth time crossing the country, and when people find out, they ask how I do it like I’m carrying secret knowledge. I’m writing this from the road home, so let me finally reveal the secret: I have almost run out of gas twice — once on my first crossing in 2015, and once on this one. My eighth. I forget sunscreen on day one of every single trip and rediscover my left arm at the hotel, medium-rare. I once lost two hours of my life in a laundromat because I didn’t check whether my hotel had laundry. Earlier this week I walked into my room, got comfortable, and realized I’d forgotten the ice. Again.

This is exactly why you should take my advice.

Everyone who is good at something got good the same way: by doing it badly, repeatedly, on purpose. That’s been the quiet argument of this whole series — the first dispatch was about asks that felt too small to matter, the second about walking up when it would be easier not to. Nobody involved was qualified at the start. The country looks uncrossable the same way the room looks unenterable, and it comes apart the same way: into small pieces, learned one mistake at a time.

So this dispatch is the manual — written by a man who has personally field-tested every error in it, so you don’t have to. Though you will anyway. That’s allowed.

The shape of a day

Six or seven hours of driving is my ceiling when I’m doing back-to-back days. Ten is my absolute maximum, and I don’t recommend it. I’ve done ten. I did ten this month. Somewhere around hour nine, your thoughts get replaced by a low hum, and the only remaining goal in your life is the next exit sign.

Stop at least every two hours. You’ll probably have to pee anyway.

Here is the single best stress-reduction technology I know on the road, and it costs nothing: pad your arrival estimate by an hour to an hour and a half. If you tell yourself you’ll arrive at six and hit traffic, every red brake light is a personal attack. If you told yourself seven-thirty, the same traffic is just scenery, and a longer-than-planned stop is just a nicer stop. It’s okay to relax. It’s part of the journey — arguably it is the journey, and the driving is what happens between relaxing.

A good stop has a bathroom, some shade, and a building cold enough to reset you. Since your trunk is fully stocked — we’re getting there — a stop is also lunch, whenever you decide it is.

As for planning: I map my legs a few days ahead, except when I don’t. On some crossings I haven’t known my next destination until I arrived at the last one. Both approaches work. Watch the weather for major storms along your route; I’m comfortable driving through bad weather, but if you’re not, re-routing or staying an extra day is not a failure. And if the interstate is boring you into a trance, pull off at the next exit and ask your GPS for a route that avoids highways for a while. It costs less time than you’d think, and the country you’ll see is the reason you didn’t fly.

The arrival ritual

Years of refinement have produced the following procedure, which I execute nightly with the precision of a launch sequence.

Get naked.
Put your clothes back on, because you forgot to get ice.
Now get naked.
Turn the thermostat to your preferred temperature. I prefer icicles forming on the windowsill.
Enjoy an ice-cold, hydrating drink. Something with electrolytes, preferably.
Do something that relaxes you. Give yourself at least an hour before dinner if you can.
Take a long shower and get the road gunk off of you.
Find a good, hot meal. I like local pubs and diners where I can sit at the bar and talk with the staff and locals.

I’ll spare you the photos of this section.

Step 2 is not a joke. Step 2 is the most consistently executed step of my travel career. Eight crossings, and the ice machine has never once been remembered on the first pass. At this point I consider the second trip down the hallway a form of light cardio.

Step 8 gets its own section later, because step 8 has gotten me into some of the best nights of my life.

The refrigerator in your trunk

The best two hundred dollars I’ve spent on any of these trips was a cooler. Not a cute picnic cooler — a fishing cooler, the kind that looks like it should have a marlin in it. You don’t need the six-hundred-dollar Yeti. But spend close to two hundred, and here’s what you get: a working refrigerator in your car. It fits in a trunk, takes about three bags of ice, and holds its cold for three to four days. It has a drain spout, which matters more than it sounds — you drain the meltwater and pour fresh ice on top without ever unpacking your food.

If that’s not in the budget, get the biggest cooler you can and plan on daily ice. The system still works; it just asks more of you.

Then add a small second cooler — an insulated lunchbox is perfect. Three or four cans and a scoop of ice from the big one. It rides up front, so cold hydration is always within arm’s reach and never requires pulling over. The big cooler is the warehouse. The little one is the storefront.

Don’t skimp on lunch

Road food wants you to fail. The default options out there are bad fast food and gas station sandwiches — expensive, gross, and somehow both at once. The cooler is how you opt out of the whole economy.

My lunch is ham, brie, and arugula with preserves on a fresh bakery roll. Yes, I stop at a grocery store every three days specifically to buy fresh bread. I spend eight hours a day in a car; lunch is allowed to be the good part. Make yours something you actually look forward to. This is not the place to economize on joy.

The rest of the inventory, refined over eight crossings: diced cheese, eaten by the Solo-cup handful. Hard-boiled eggs — great pre-made protein, with the caveat that they’ll turn on you fast if the cooler warms up. Cold diced melon, which on a hot desert afternoon is roughly a religious experience. Yogurt cups, granola to go with them, trail mix (the classic kind with the M&Ms — I don’t make the rules), a favorite salty thing, a favorite sweet thing, apples, energy bars. Nothing that melts. You will only make that mistake once, and it will be a chocolate-based mistake, and you’ll think about it every time you see the stain.

Drinks: I basically want a convenience store in my trunk. Milk, for lunch and for coffee. Gatorade or some electrolyte drink — sugar-free versions exist if you want them. Cold seltzer, which is somehow ten times more satisfying than the warm water bottle rolling around your footwell. Soda if you must, but know that regular soda is quietly dehydrating you while pretending to help — drink water alongside it. Simply Orange makes little four-pack juices that feel like a hotel breakfast you didn’t have to attend.

And coffee. If you’re a coffee snob, most big grocery stores stock at least one acceptable bottled cold brew. If you’re a serious coffee snob, we need to talk about mason jars. Take two half-gallon jars. Grind a pound of coffee medium-coarse, split it between them, fill with water. Steep 24 hours for nice, 48 for serious — past 48, keep it cold. Filter through cheesecloth into clean jars. You now have better coffee in your trunk than most of the towns you’re driving through, and you made it in a parking lot. Insulated mugs elevate the whole operation.

The part I hope you never need

I’m going to set the jokes down for a minute.

Just east of Indio, California, on one of my crossings, the car in front of me hit an embankment. It flipped. A tire came off and flew. There was no warning — one second of ordinary highway, then a car in the air. I was driving defensively, with real following distance, and that’s the only reason I wasn’t part of it. The driver, remarkably, was okay. Traffic stopped. I put on my hazards, pulled to the side, and checked on him.

I had no emergency gear with me that day. Flares could have diverted traffic around the scene. A first aid kit would have mattered if he’d been hurt. A fire extinguisher — cars that flip sometimes burn. I carry all of it now, and here’s the part I want you to hold onto: emergency gear is not just for you. It’s for whoever’s accident you happen to be standing next to, because things happen even to good drivers.

What rides with me now: a first aid kit. Road flares or LED flares. A car fire extinguisher. A safety hammer for breaking glass, kept within arm’s reach in a holster — because in the moment you need it, it cannot be somewhere in the back seat, and an unholstered hammer in a crash becomes a projectile. And water: four gallons minimum, more with passengers. If you break down in 120-degree heat, that water is the whole game. I’ve also handed it out the window to stranded drivers who needed it more than I did.

One absolute never: never carry gasoline inside your car. The fumes can cause an explosion. There’s no trip where that’s worth it.

The two mistakes I see first-timers make are the two this section and the next exist to prevent: not enough water, and running out of gas.

Gas

About that.

My first crossing, I watched the range readout count down — thirty miles, twenty, ten — while the world offered nothing but horizon. When a gas station finally appeared, it was on the other side of the highway, and the U-turn I took to reach it was not, in the strictest legal sense, a turn that exists. I rolled up to the pump showing zero. Not “low.” Zero.

You’d think that lesson would hold. This month — crossing number eight, the one where I’m the guy writing the manual — I did it again. Not the U-turn; I’ve grown. But the zero. It is so much easier to do than you think.

So, the rules I mostly follow: always fill the tank completely. In populated areas, start looking for your next station at thirty miles of range. On long, desolate stretches — and there are interstate stretches where stations simply stop existing — start planning eighty to a hundred miles before empty. The gauge is not a dare.

On price: gas costs what it costs where you are. I look for something reasonable, but I pick reputable stations first, and they usually have the best prices anyway. The big travel stops are your friends. Love’s is a great trucker stop with genuinely clean showers — remember that detail; it matters in the camping section. Pilot and QuickTrip are solid. Bigger stations mean cleaner bathrooms, friendlier staff, real parking, and knowing what you’re walking into. But when the options thin out, don’t fret: a crappy, tiny gas station will get you everything you need, as long as it has a bathroom.

Under $120 a night

I try to book hotels in advance. The road has other ideas — see above about not knowing tomorrow’s destination until today. Fortunately, booking along the way is usually easy, as long as you don’t expect to sleep in a major metro.

My target is under $120 a night. The brands that have earned my loyalty: Holiday Inn Express, Fairfield, Courtyard, La Quinta. Best Western is hit and miss. I stopped staying at Days Inn the night I met a cockroach the size of my hand in the bathroom. We did not exchange information.

If you’re staying somewhere more than a night, check whether the hotel has laundry before you book. I did not do this recently, which is how I came to spend two hours of my Los Angeles trip watching my clothes go in circles when I could have been doing literally anything else in Los Angeles.

Three packing rules that keep the nightly stops sane:

One trip in, one trip out. You’re at this hotel for twelve to fifteen hours. One bag, one suitcase, optional backpack. Before going up, grab a few cold drinks and snacks from the trunk so you’re not going back down. If travel makes you feel disorganized, this rule is the cure.

Compartmentalize everything. A dopp kit you can toss onto the bathroom counter and be done. Soap in a ziploc if you bring your own. Clothes in the suitcase, essentials in the laptop bag, snacks in their own bag, cups and silverware in another — and a dedicated trash bag for dirty clothes, so the worn things never mingle with the clean ones. Future-you, packing at 7 a.m., will be grateful.

Prepare your cockpit. You’re spending six-plus hours in one seat, so decide what belongs within reach — for me: the small cooler, the snack bag, the iced coffee, the sunscreen — and figure out before you’re driving how you’ll grab each thing safely.

The road

Rules of conduct, learned the long way.

Let it go. People out there are, let’s say, jerks sometimes. You’ll meet them across all three thousand miles, and engaging makes every one of them worse. The goal isn’t to win. Nobody wins the interstate.

Don’t speed. You won’t arrive meaningfully sooner, you’re driving dangerously, and eventually the math catches you — no app, map, or radar detector changes that. If you want a spirited drive, that’s what backroads are for, and they’re more fun than the interstate anyway.

Use cruise control; your foot has done nothing wrong and deserves the break. Watch your tire pressure. Keep the washer fluid full — it’s trivial right up until the moment a truck baptizes your windshield and it’s the most important fluid you own.

Sunscreen. Every trip, day one, I forget it. Every trip, day one evening, I meet my left arm: medium-rare. You would think eight crossings would fix this. The evidence says no. Learn from me anyway: cover everything that catches light, including your legs, which you will forget about because they feel like they’re indoors. Polarized sunglasses. And aloe at night and in the morning — even without a burn, you’re getting more sun than you think, and your skin deserves the apology.

My car is a Mazda CX-30 Turbo, and it has some of what makes long crossings easier. The full wishlist, for anyone choosing a road-trip car: radar-assisted cruise control (dramatically less tiring), lane-keep assist (same), heated seats and steering wheel (a luxury that stops being one the first cold morning), and a moonroof. The moonroof is technically optional. Morale-wise, it is not.

The people along the way

When I plan a route, I think about who I know along it and pin those places as stops. Usually that’s lunch with a friend. If I’m in their town for the night, it becomes dinner, or an arcade, or drinks. Sometimes people reach out when they see I’m passing through; sometimes I’m the one reaching out of the blue. And sometimes a friend hosts the whole night — on this leg, MK Haley is graciously putting me up in Austin.

But the people layer isn’t limited to people you already know. One crossing, I stopped for dinner at a small-town pub — at the bar, per the ritual. The only people in the place were the wait staff and the bartender. By the end of the meal I knew everyone by name. By the end of the night, we had all gone out together to the bar-arcade down the street, and I’d been briefed on the town gossip like a visiting official. It remains one of the best nights I’ve had on any road.

If you read the last dispatch, you’ll recognize the move. Walk up, say something true, want nothing. It works at a conference of fourteen thousand people, and it works at a pub with a staff of four. The country is full of people who will talk to you. Most travelers never find out.

What it costs

Real numbers, because everyone asks and nobody publishes them. My round trip — Maine to LA and back — cost about $2,000: gas, maintenance, and hotels. Food isn’t in that number, because food is the cost that balloons fastest if you let it, which is why the cooler got its own section.

For comparison: flying to LA in summer and renting a car there would have run me over $1,500. So the drive cost roughly $500 more. That $500 bought me the country twice, a week of thinking time, every person in the section above, and a trunk full of brie. Driving is way more fun.

And if $2,000 is out of reach, you can delete the biggest line item entirely.

Without hotels

Camping removes lodging — the single largest cost of the trip. If your budget is limited and your deadline is soft, this is the way. Your daily costs drop to gas and groceries.

The gear: tent, sleeping bag, sleeping mat, camping pillow if you’re fancy, a small camping stove, a pot, something to scrub the pot, a spatula, LED lanterns with spare batteries, a headlamp. Extra water beyond your normal supply — you’ll be washing dishes and yourself. Consider a five-gallon water jug with a spout, the kind REI or L.L. Bean sells: fill it with tap water, stand it in your trunk, and the back of your car becomes a mini sink. I’ve showered out of mine.

Better still: a camping shower. This is a black bag with a spout. You fill it with water and leave it in the sun, and the material warms the water all day. Hang it from a tree branch, and tomorrow morning there’s a warm shower waiting for you in the middle of nowhere. Civilization, it turns out, is negotiable.

Where to camp free: west of the Mississippi, the land opens up, and a lot of it is public. The reading list is short — Bureau of Land Management, U.S. Forest Service, State Forests, Wildlife Management Areas. These unlock free, primitive campsites. Primitive means primitive: open land, no plots, no toilets, no entrance. Sometimes reaching your spot means driving across grass or through trees — which comes with its own rule: do not push your car through terrain it can’t reasonably handle. Stuck on a backroad with no cell service is not the kind of adventure this essay endorses. And know that not even all BLM land is free to use — some is leased out for forestry or agriculture — so check the maps before you commit.

Primitive camping is some of the most beautiful camping there is. I prefer it to organized campsites. East of the Mississippi the land gets dense and open country gets scarce; look for backroad tent sites there, and skip anything advertising RV camping — RV camping and tent camping are different worlds, and you want the quiet one.

Two honest warnings. First: camping makes you kinda gross, pretty quickly, and you’ll need a real shower sooner than you think. Don’t punish your skin by skipping it — those clean Love’s showers exist for exactly this, and diaper wipes are a great freshen-up in a pinch. Second: don’t camp on private land. You don’t know the owner, and the best-case outcome of being found is an extremely awkward conversation, with police as the runner-up. I can add this to my list of field-tested errors: I did it exactly once, in a pinch, at dusk, when there was nothing else. I set the tent up close to the car, woke at six, packed, and was gone before the coffee. No stove, no shower, no lingering. It’s not worth the sleep you won’t get.

Home

I’m about a week out from Maine now. The big cooler needs more ice — assuming I remember to buy the ice, which history suggests is a coin flip.

Eight crossings in, I still get something wrong every time. This trip it was the gas again, and the sunscreen again, and the laundromat. Next trip it’ll be something new; I look forward to finding out what. That’s the actual manual, underneath all the tips about coolers and flares and brie: you do not have to be good at this to do it. You just have to leave — and be willing to be bad at it in a moving vehicle until, seven crossings later, people at conferences start asking you how.

One dispatch left. It comes from Maine, once the photographs are delivered and the miles have had a chance to settle.

Tonight, somewhere ahead of me, there’s a hotel room with a thermostat waiting to be set to icicle. The ritual will run again. Step one: get naked.

Step two — you already know step two.

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Finally in Maine: A Journey’s End and New Beginnings

Jared Kuvent — Wed, 13 Nov 2024 01:38:45 +0000

Finally in Maine: A Journey’s End and New Beginnings

I’ve finally arrived in Maine—my home for the next month and a half, and the last stop on this long cross-country journey. It’s been over 3,500 miles of highways, unfamiliar towns, beautiful landscapes, and countless memories, but the feeling of landing somewhere familiar, with time to truly settle in, is incredible. Maine brings a new pace, a chance to unwind, and the joy of reuniting with lifelong friends.

A Rhode Island Send-Off

Before Maine, I spent one last morning in Rhode Island, taking things slow and enjoying the company of my mom and brother, Zack. Waking up to the smell of coffee drifting up the stairs, I joined them in the kitchen for one last round of conversation. We caught up on life, the road so far, and what was coming next. It’s those simple moments of sitting together, without the hurry, that feel grounding and make it hard to say goodbye.

After coffee, I joined my AJS networking group and updated everyone on my interview with Angel City Data. This group has been such a supportive part of the trip—they know the demands of this adventure and were excited to hear about the interview’s highlights. It feels great to have that kind of support, especially on the road. Knowing a few of them are following the blog brings an extra sense of connection to what I’m sharing.

Saying goodbye to family is always tough, and leaving Rhode Island was no exception. Mom and Zack have been my core support for so long, so those final hugs held a lot. I could feel the weight of the miles already covered and the relief that I was so close to the last destination.

Hitting the Road for Maine

As I drove through New England, a familiar sense of calm washed over me. The skies were partly cloudy, with just enough sun to light up the landscape of tall pines, rugged terrain, and the remaining fall foliage that New England is known for. The crisp 60-degree weather reminded me of all the reasons I love this part of the country.

After weeks of travel, I’m feeling the weight of balancing the blog, the videos, and the driving. Documenting everything has been rewarding but demanding, requiring careful planning and a lot of energy. As much as I love capturing each piece of this journey, I’ve been craving a chance to stay in one place, to focus on these reflections without the need to pack up and go again the next day. Maine is my chance to do just that—capture, reflect, and let the experience unfold in a more settled way.

Arriving at the Historic Whitten House

I finally pulled off the highway and arrived in Topsham, where I’ll be staying with my close friends Andrew and Scott. They live in the Whitten House, a beautiful 200-year-old home with layers of history. Originally owned by the Whitten family, it was later a public library before Scott began restoring it to its original charm. There’s something timeless about this place—the way it stands proudly in its own little piece of Maine history.

Andrew and I go way back to our childhood karate classes. For years, we were inseparable, always finding a way to connect even as life took us in different directions. Coming here feels like returning to a second home. I was greeted with hugs, immediately caught up with tales from the trip, and settled into a familiar setup. I’ll be working from Andrew’s desk, a space I know well since I helped him build this computer. With my light and microphone in place and a fantastic BenQ monitor, I’m ready to get to work and bring all these stories to life.

Reuniting with Traditions and Maine Flavors

After a quick nap, I woke to the smell of dinner—Scott had prepared a home-cooked meal, and the three of us gathered to eat. There’s a unique comfort in sharing meals like this after so much time on the go, grabbing meals from diners or take-out along the road. The food, the laughter, and the stories felt like the grounding I’ve been looking for.

Later, Andrew and I picked up on a tradition we’ve had for years with a trip to Gelato Fiasco, our favorite spot in town. This place is a must whenever I’m back in Topsham, with friendly locals, cozy seating, and flavors that never disappoint. I went with Maine Blueberry Cobbler and Toasted Coconut, two of my favorites, each bite bringing back memories of past visits and long conversations. Simple traditions like these feel like bookmarks in life, grounding you in the here and now.

Settling into Maine for the Long Haul

With dinner and gelato behind me, I settled into bed with a deep sense of relief. I left the window cracked to let in the crisp night air, wrapped myself in the quiet of the Whitten House, and drifted off to sleep. This stop is more than just a pause in the journey; it’s a place to dig in, reconnect, and embrace the slower pace I’ve been looking forward to.

Being in Maine feels like the perfect setting to wrap up this adventure, to let the miles and memories settle, and to enjoy the presence of lifelong friends and familiar landscapes. There’s work to be done and stories to be told, but for now, it’s time to rest, reflect, and make the most of this New England season.

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Embracing Stillness: A Day with Family and Community in New England

Jared Kuvent — Mon, 11 Nov 2024 17:11:40 +0000

Embracing Stillness: A Day with Family and Community in New England

Yesterday was one of those days that reminded me why I love being with family. After a solid rest, I woke up feeling energized and ready to take it slow. No plans, no rush—just family time. Coming down the stairs, I was greeted by the smell of coffee and the warm sight of my mom with a cup ready. She knows me well. We spent the early morning in quiet conversation, just the two of us, sipping coffee and enjoying the comfort of home. These small, simple moments have a way of grounding me, offering a sense of stability after so many days on the road. Soon enough, Zack joined us, and we settled in to chat about life, catching up on moments big and small.

Animated Memories of Dad

My mom’s house holds so many pieces of family history, including some of my favorite reminders of Dad. Among them are the animation cells he collected—original Looney Tunes cels, including characters like Marvin the Martian and Road Runner, his favorites. Seeing them framed on the wall is like a nod to the early days of my fascination with animation. My dad and I spent hours watching cartoons together when I was young. His love for animation became my own, and it eventually led me toward a career in creative technology. These memories, and these frames on the wall, feel like little threads connecting the past with the present.

Wildercraft Community Reps Meeting: Celebrating 8 Years

After some quality family time, it was time to hop online for the day’s first Wildercraft meeting. For anyone new to it, Wildercraft is a cooperative Minecraft server focused on community and creativity. What started as a simple survival server has grown into a strong, vibrant online community that’s lasted eight years—an impressive run for any Minecraft server. Over the years, Wildercraft has become a unique place where players find connection, creativity, and a sense of belonging.

One of the initiatives I’ve brought back to Wildercraft is our Community Reps program, which was initially created by a former staff member. The Community Reps serve as a bridge between the players and the staff team, giving us insights, ideas, and feedback straight from the player community. These reps are active players who answer questions, provide guidance, and help create a welcoming environment for new members. We meet weekly to discuss ideas and issues, and it’s been incredibly helpful for staff to have player perspectives in the mix.

Yesterday’s meeting was lively, with brainstorming sessions around upcoming events to celebrate Wildercraft’s 8th anniversary. Eight years is a significant milestone, and we’re planning a big event that highlights how far the server has come and the memories we’ve made together. We also discussed our annual Thanksgiving build contest, where players can showcase their creativity through impressive structures. Wildercraft has some exceptionally talented builders, and these events give them a chance to shine.

Building and Innovating with the Wildercraft Team

Working with the Wildercraft team has been a rewarding experience filled with creative challenges. As a staff member, I help manage various aspects of the server, from community events to technical troubleshooting. We rely on a range of tools to keep the server running smoothly, from plugin management to custom configurations that create unique features for players. One of our biggest tools is LuckPerms, a powerful plugin for managing player permissions, which allows us to create a structured, tiered experience for players while keeping everything organized.

There’s always something to problem-solve or improve, whether it’s fixing glitches, optimizing the server’s performance, or introducing new items and experiences for players. The technical side of running a Minecraft server is complex but fulfilling. We work with plugins, configure YML files, and occasionally dive into custom Java coding to make sure the server remains engaging and user-friendly. Every new challenge feels like a team effort, and it’s incredibly rewarding to see players enjoying the end result of our work.

Editing the Drive from Madison to Providence

Once the meeting wrapped up, I switched gears to work on my blog and edit the timelapse video from my drive between Madison, CT, and Providence, RI. The footage was beautiful, capturing the clear autumn skies and the golden sunlight filtering through rows of bare trees. Each video I edit is a chance to relive these stretches of road, to remember the sights and sounds, the calmness of the drive, and the anticipation of reaching my next stop. These timelapses are like a visual diary of the journey so far, each one holding moments and memories I’m excited to share.

Productive Planning in the Wildercraft Staff Meeting

After editing, it was time for our Wildercraft staff meeting, which Redbau, the server’s owner, joined as well. Our discussions are always focused on enhancing the player experience and building a stronger community. We planned logistics for the upcoming anniversary event and discussed upgrading to the latest version of Minecraft—a big step that brings new features, but also challenges for a server as established as ours. Our team is dedicated to making Wildercraft the best it can be, and every meeting reinforces our commitment to that goal. Seeing everyone’s ideas and enthusiasm for the future is a reminder of how special this community is.

Dinner and Reflection

After a full day of meetings and creative work, I decided to take a short nap to recharge before dinner. We headed to a nearby restaurant known for its warm atmosphere and great food. I ordered the strip steak, and it was exactly what I needed after days of road food—perfectly cooked, seasoned with a peppery kick, and served with rich gouda mashed potatoes. Dinner was filled with laughter and conversation, from catching up on family stories to reflections on life. It was a reminder of how grounding it is to be around family, to have those familiar faces and voices that bring everything back into perspective.

Ending the Day with Gratitude

Back at the house, I could feel the weight of the day settling in. With a full stomach and a full heart, I felt ready for bed, grateful for a day of family, community, and the comforting sense of home. This trip has been filled with movement, but days like this bring everything to a quiet, welcome pause. As I drifted off to sleep, I felt recharged and ready for the next chapter, knowing that more family, more moments, and more memories were just around the corner.

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Breakfast In Nebraska: Meeting My Minecraft Friend In Real Life

Jared Kuvent — Tue, 05 Nov 2024 14:33:20 +0000

Breakfast In Nebraska: Meeting My Minecraft Friend In Real Life

The past 24 hours have been packed with the kind of magic you can only find on the open road. Last night, a message popped up from DarterSwiftblade – or “Darter,” as he’s known on Wildercraft, the Minecraft server I help manage. For those new here, Wildercraft is a community-centered, cooperative server that I’ve poured a lot of time and energy into over the years. Darter’s been one of our long-time staff members, a friendly face for players and a reliable hand on every project. His message was brief but exciting: he was in Lincoln, NE, heading west. Meanwhile, I was on my own path eastward from North Platte. Our routes were perfectly aligned for a meet-up – so, of course, we set something up.

The Morning Drive with a Purpose

With a plan to meet for breakfast at a Huddle House in York, Nebraska, I set my alarm early. There’s something surreal about planning to meet someone you’ve only known online. Darter and I have been working together for a while now, but it’s all been through the familiar screen of Discord, our avatars and usernames filling in for faces and voices. Now, I’d finally be meeting him in person. There’s a mystery to that experience, like the first time you hear the voice of someone you’ve only read emails from – a piece of the picture you didn’t even know was missing.

With a two-and-a-half-hour drive stretching out before me, I hit the road under an overcast sky, the open landscape of Nebraska making for a peaceful morning. I shared my route on Google Maps so Darter – or rather, Hank, as he’d soon introduce himself – could track my arrival. As I pulled into the parking lot, I spotted him leaning against his car, as though he’d been waiting for this meeting just as eagerly as I had. We recognized each other instantly, laughed at the oddness of meeting, and headed into Huddle House to sit down for breakfast.

Waffles and Stories with Hank

It didn’t take long to settle in. When you’re at a place known for waffles, you’ve got to give them a try – so I went for a hearty breakfast plate with waffles on the side, ready to soak up the experience. Across the table, Hank felt instantly familiar, as if we’d known each other well before this breakfast. Over plates of food, we let the conversation flow naturally, with Hank sharing stories of his life beyond Minecraft. He works as an appraiser and auditor for car dealerships, a job that takes him across the country to various dealerships and showrooms. As someone constantly on the road, he knows this lifestyle well. He’s been to 49 states (only Hawaii left on his list) and traveled to every continent except one. We talked about our favorite places, with Hank mentioning a dream of visiting Australia someday. I couldn’t resist telling him about the Museum of Old and New Art (MONA), a unique, underground museum in Tasmania that completely immerses you in surreal art installations. Just hearing about it seemed to spark something in him, the way only a fellow traveler would understand.

The amazing thing about meeting an online friend in person is that so much of the groundwork is already there. We’ve worked together in Minecraft, tackled challenges side-by-side in the virtual world, and shared in the quirks and joys of running a community like Wildercraft. But here, sitting across from each other in a quiet Nebraska diner, that connection took on a new meaning. When breakfast wrapped up, Hank insisted on treating me, a gesture of kindness that made the morning feel all the warmer. It was a reminder of why I value the community we’ve built in Wildercraft, one that extends beyond the screen and can bring people together in real life.

Onward to Des Moines

With a wave and a thank you, I hit the road once again, leaving York behind and setting my sights on Des Moines, Iowa. Nebraska’s endless fields rolled by, framed by a steady drizzle and low clouds. There’s something meditative about driving in that kind of weather, when the landscape is quiet, and the sound of rain seems to match the rhythm of the tires on pavement. The road was completely open, not another car in sight, and for a while, it felt like it was just me and the Nebraska plains.

These stretches of solo driving give you a rare chance to unwind and think. It’s been a busy trip so far, and there’s still so much ground to cover. Each mile brings with it a little reminder of past adventures – other times I’ve been on the road, places I’ve seen, and people I’ve met along the way. I found myself reflecting on my first big road trip years ago when I crisscrossed the country, touching all 48 contiguous states. It was an incredible, life-shaping experience, one I didn’t share with anyone at the time. Now, it feels like this journey is picking up where that one left off, only this time, I’m sharing it with all of you.

Arriving in Des Moines: Catching Up on the Journey

By the time I reached Des Moines around 4 pm, I was ready to get off the road and unwind a bit. My hotel was right downtown, and as I checked in, I took a moment to appreciate the charm of the city. Des Moines has this welcoming vibe that makes you want to stroll around and take it all in. But with a bit of a backlog to catch up on, I knew I had work to do.

Setting up my laptop in the quiet of the hotel room, I spent the evening editing video, sorting through photos, and working on updates for the blog. There’s a different kind of satisfaction that comes from sharing the trip this way, piecing together moments and experiences for others to see. Every new post feels like adding to a living photo album, one that lets everyone who’s following along experience it with me.

Reflecting and Resting Up

After hours of working through the day’s content, I was finally caught up and could call it a night. I’d had the chance to see an old friend from Wildercraft, enjoy a quiet drive through Nebraska, and set foot in a new city – all in a day’s work. As I crawled into bed, I felt that familiar blend of satisfaction and excitement. Tomorrow, I’d be back on the road, bound for South Bend, Indiana, where more stories and maybe even some surprises would be waiting.

What’s the most memorable meal or chance encounter you’ve had on a road trip?

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