A sign???

Sunday morning began perfectly. The weather was nice; we got an early start to our day; everything was GREAT. We pulled out of the crappiest campsite yet at 7:00 a.m. in order to have plenty of time to hang out in Santa Fe before heading to Amarillo for the night. The drive to Santa Fe from Colorado Springs was lovely, if uneventful. The landscape was unlike any other we had seen. Mesas popped up randomly on either side of the road as well scrubby trees and bushes. Approaching Santa Fe, the colors began to change. Short little trees became a darker green against the deep red of the earth. Deeper into New Mexico from Colorado, the architecture also changed. All around us the buildings became flat roofed adobe structures of light browns and pinks. It was unlike any place I had ever seen.

We arrived in the downtown Santa Fe area without any trouble even finding RV parking without much work. The employees of the tourist information office were incredibly friendly and helpful offering plenty of advice on how to spend two hours in the city. They gave us a great map and set us on our way.

The first stop on our self-guided tour of Santa Fe was the Mission of San Miguel, the oldest church in the U.S. Completely charmed by this little church, I had a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that it was constructed before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock. I was ashamed to admit that as a history buff I knew so little of the Southwest and the people who inhabited it well before the Europeans landed on this continent. Inside the church, the adobe walls had been plastered over but sections of the original walls were visible behind the safety of plexi-glass. The beams in the ceiling had been replaced in a still very impressive 1710. Cordoned off holes in the floor allowed us to view the original 1610 adobe altar steps and the floor of a dwelling that was erected on this site long before the church. The floor was dated c.1300. Aidan was thrilled and excitedly jumped from one display to the next. Even Abby and Ella seemed intrigued. After making a couple of small purchases in the church gift shop, including fifty cent plastic wayfarers marked San Miguel Church for Abby and Ella, we began again our abbreviated walking tour of Santa Fe.

Behind San Miguel is the oldest house in America. The date of its construction is merely approximate, but what is certain is that it was built before the seventeenth century with some experts dating its construction as far back as the 1200’s. The adobe structure was two stories tall with exposed wooden beams poking through the walls. It looked exactly like the illustrations of the typical Navajo dwellings in my 5^th grade social studies textbook. Unfortunately, it wasn’t open for tours on Sunday. We spent a few minutes examining the mud and straw exterior, no doubt refurbished recently, but we were still impressed. Aidan was excited to have his picture taken in the doorway that wasn’t much taller than he is.

Continuing into the center of town, we passed some newer structures built to blend perfectly. The area was full of shops advertising handmade jewelry and rugs. If we had the luxury of time there, I most certainly would have found something wonderful to bring home; alas, there wasn’t time for shopping. We wanted to check out the Spanish Festival and have some lunch.

Wandering through the narrow lanes, we came to the beautiful Church of Loretto. The church sat on a small but beautiful square of land surrounded by a lovely low iron fence. Inside the fence, vendors had erected tents to sell their art, jewelry, and locally made crafts. I really wanted to tour this church as well but the girls were getting very cranky. I was forced to bypass the “miraculous staircase: As Seen on Unsolved Mysteries.” Bummer.

Unfortunately, the rest of our visit to Santa Fe was hurried and hectic. Abby and Ella were having some serious meltdowns. We rushed through the Palace of the Governors, stopping to check out the flamenco music coming from a stage on the square. The sun was shining brightly, the music was great, the crowd was energetic, and I could have stayed all day, but we needed to get these kids some lunch right away.

On the walk back to the RV, we passed a restaurant called the Pink Adobe touted as the “oldest and most well-known restaurant in Santa Fe.” We were shown to a table in a shady part of the outside dining patio. The setting was perfect and the food was great… too bad the kids didn’t want to cooperate. We spent much of our lunch apologizing to the waitress for kid malfunctions as Abby, Ella, and Aidan fought and argued mercilessly. Still, we had a wonderful lunch and reluctantly headed back to the RV for a four hour trip to Fort Amarillo RV Resort in Amarillo, Texas.

While driving east on I-40, we ran into a thunderstorm of enormous proportions just outside of Tucumcari, New Mexico. Mildly concerned, we considered pulling over on the side of the road to try to wait it out, but there was nowhere to stop safely. I was concerned about pulling over on the shoulder as the size of our RV would leave us barely over the white line. We would certainly be in as much danger there as we would be driving into the storm. Out west, the far reaching horizon allows one to see deep into the distance. Up ahead, we could see the lightning streaking from sky to ground. This was dangerous stuff. Aidan turned to me and asked, “What happens if we are struck by lightning?” “We’ll be fine, honey,” I replied. “The tires will keep us from being shocked,” I promised. We kept driving knowing that a rest area was only two miles ahead. Just then, the unthinkable happened. The air around us turned bright green and a thunderous boom-boom shook the RV. It seemed that we even came off the ground for a split second. We, a moving target on a crowded stretch of interstate, had been hit by lightning. Two alarms immediately began to sound and made thinking nearly impossible. Brent, however, remained incredibly calm and focused as I surveyed the damage. Everything but the engine was dead. We lost all power to the cabin as well as to the dashboard. We no longer had so much as a functioning speedometer.

We finally reached that rest area and began searching for ways to turn off the security alarm as well as the fried carbon monoxide detector. When the torrential rain passed, Brent opened the door to inspect the generator. The smell of sulphur was overwhelming. We were only a few miles from Roswell and it felt like the Twilight Zone. Brent popped open the door to the generator and asked for a pair of scissors. I reluctantly agreed to hand a man standing in a puddle a pair of metal scissors to cut a wire, but the sound of the alarm was driving us all mad. With one swift cut, Brent successfully disarmed one of the alarms. Now we had to find the source of the alarm ringing inside the cabin. Finally, we found the carbon monoxide detector and had to restrain ourselves from ripping the ting out of the wall. We needed a tiny Phillips head to unscrew it. Unfortunately, we didn’t have one on board. We would have to wait until we reached a truck stop where we could buy one. In the meantime, Megan stuffed paper towels into the alarm speakers and provided some relief to our ears.

Perhaps most shocking of all was that Abby and Ella slept through the whole thing… lightning and alarms. Of course, I assumed the worst. They couldn’t be sleeping. They must have been knocked out by some mysterious gas or worse. I think I checked for pulses every five minutes until they woke up cranky and hungry… in other words, completely normal.

We called Roadside Assistance who basically told us, “Too Bad. As long as you can still run the engine, we won’t be coming to your aid.” Ok. So what do you do when you’ve been struck by lightning in New Mexico? You make like heck for Texas. We decided to press on to Amarillo and stay the night in a hotel.

I found a Hampton Inn in Amarillo with an indoor pool. Brent was a little more than annoyed by the cost of our rooms, but I knew that he would be leaving us there for hours while he searched for a mechanic to diagnose the problem and potentially fix it. I wasn’t backing down. We needed entertainment options. My plan worked perfectly. The kids enjoyed their morning swim while we waited for Dad to return with the verdict. When he arrived at noon, the news was not great. There was nothing that could be done quickly. The RV, it seems, would need a long stay.

We made the decision to keep on trucking as far as we could without A/C, a refrigerator, or working dash gauges. We are calculating our seconds between mile markers to estimate our speed and keeping track of the gallons of gas left in the tank by counting the miles between fill ups. As I write, we are closing in on Fort Smith, Arkansas. The kids are restless, but so far, no one has completely flipped. We are staying the night at another Hampton Inn and planning to be home tomorrow sometime in the afternoon. Sadly, the Big Big Trip is coming to a close….mixed emotions all around…regardless of broken coffee pots, bored kids, and lightning strikes.

Salt Lake City to Denver

Friday morning we awoke to another hot, dry day. We were anxious to get out of Salt Lake City because this was Pioneer Day, a HUGE state holiday with a 5,000 float parade. Since we were staying downtown we feared that if we weren’t out before eight we might just be the 5,001^st float. The kids were up late so we expected them to sleep in for a while. Unfortunately, we left the awnings out overnight and when we retracted them they slapped against the RV with an enormous boom. The girls were up and it was only 7:00. By 7:30 we were pulling out of the RV park. In our push to get out of dodge, I was not fulfilling my duties as co-pilot. I got sloppy.

We expected an interstate on-ramp before reaching Temple Square. When Brent realized that there was only an exit ramp and that we were heading into the heart of SLC on Pioneer Day, he released a flurry of expletives. In my haste to help him find the interstate before we became anachronistic cross-country-traveling pioneer re-enactors I left a steeping French press and a coffee mug on the kitchen counter. As the coach swung a hard left to reach the interstate on-ramp, the press and the mug slid off the counter and hit the kitchen floor with that hideous noise of exploding glass. Coffee and wet grinds were splattered from floor to ceiling. The walls, windows, and floors were now a corded off hazard that the already confined twin terrors were forbidden to cross. They stood on the couches and howled like monkeys at Mommy’s mess while Brent released more expletives, Megan got the cleaning supplies, and I fought back tears. This was the first moment of the Big, Big Trip that I felt truly overwhelmed.

As Megan and I cleaned up the mess, Brent fumed and the kikis continued to ask questions about why mommy was so silly. Did I know there was coffee on the blinds? Meanwhile, I was lamenting with a deep and utter sadness the fact that when the press fell I had not yet had my first cup of coffee. I was REALLY longing for that coffee. I begged Brent to stop at a grocery store ASAP, preferably a well-stocked on that might have a French press on the kitchen supply aisle. I was sure that I would be in luck when we saw that the next town over on the interstate was Park City. Park City hosted many Olympic events only 6 years ago. Surely I could find a French press in that kind of town.

We exited and headed for the local shopping center. Oops. Park City was apparently built for small cars only. The only store we could access in the rig was a Wal-Mart. I was still not yet distressed. It’s a ski town….an expensive one. They must have a decent Wal-Mart. Walking inside, my heart sunk. It looked like Lewisburg’s old Wal-Mart, the one we had after TG&Y and before the new Super Wal-Mart. This was the forgotten Wal-Mart. It still sported the old colors of brown, tan, and more brown before they upgraded to blue and yellow. I knew I wasn’t going to find a French press here. I walked dejectedly to the coffee pot aisle. I really didn’t want a coffee pot in the RV. They take too long. I pictured myself standing in the kitchen aisle hanging on to the coffee pot while it brewed only half of the coffee into the pot while the rest splashed and ran onto the floor. Reluctantly, I bought a very small one anyway. It was the $15 Mr. Coffee like the ones in hotel rooms. The whole thing was a rush job because Brent was idling on low fuel and had warned me that I better be quick. We needed gas in a hurry.

We drove across the street to the miniature Chevron and worked hard to find a way into the parking lot. Once in, we received another shock. NO DIESEL! Ironic, I know. It’s the MOUNTAINS! Doesn’t everyone in the mountains drive as diesel? Where do the weekend skiers fill up the Mercedes? We gave up and jumped back on the interstate to look for fuel.

A couple of miles later we found a Sinclair with diesel. Brent pulled up to the pump and I ran into the station to buy a cup of coffee before setting up my new pot. When I got back to the RV I took my first sip of the gas station coffee and nearly gagged. I am not such a connoisseur of coffee that I can’t drink the 7 Eleven variety of the stuff. On the Run markets tend to brew a fantastic morning coffee. This cup, however, was horrible! It tasted like the teenagers loitering near the coffee inside had salted it as a prank. I almost cried. Brent hopped back in the coach and fired her up. He pulled quickly away from the station slinging my computer onto the floor. EXPLETIVE! In HIS haste, the well wasn’t closed to the stairs and the Mac took a serious tumble down the stairs breaking the Verizon air card that had until now allowed me to access the internet while in motion. Knowing Brent was close to his boiling point, I rushed up from the kitchen where I was attempting to make coffee to grab the computer and pretend everything was ok before he lost it. In the meantime, he made the turn for the interstate and my second carafe shattered on the floor. I had broken TWO coffee pots in thirty minutes and I still hadn’t finished a cup of coffee. I was so upset that I couldn’t even cry. I demanded an end to the Big, Big Trip.

I sulked up to my chair after vacuuming up a second crime scene and began drinking the now lukewarm salt coffee. What could I do? I had to have coffee no matter how horrible. After about thirty minutes of driving, I spied perhaps the loveliest sight my eyes have seen on this trip. A beacon of hope rose up ahead in the form of a bright green Starbucks mermaid. Her siren call was luring me there and I’ll be damned if I was going to ignore her. I pleaded with Brent to stop and he obliged knowing that an Egg McMuffin was also in play. It was possibly the best quad venti non-fat latte of my life. Humbly, I purchased another French press and walked back to the RV.

Refreshed, we were finally ready for the long drive to Denver. Due to the weight of the RV we decided to take the less scenic route, I-80, into Colorado rather than attempting the mountain passes through the Rockies on I-70. Originally disappointed that we would miss the Rockies, we tried to make the best of Southern Wyoming instead. The route took us through some very interesting if less than awe-inspiring landscapes. This part of Wyoming consists of high plains, the winter home of the indigenous wildlife. While stopped at a rest area, we did a little reading and discovered some interesting facts about this part of the West. The wind is wild here with frequent gusts of around 70 miles per hour. It makes the drive difficult and challenging, but as we learned at the rest area, “The wind is a friend.” In Winter, the higher elevations of the cool Summer grazing lands become buried in snow. Without tree cover or food to eat, the local species would starve. The wind whips across these high plains blowing the snow elsewhere and exposes food for the elk, moose, etc. to eat in the frigid winter months. Who knew?

All along the highway, energy companies were also taking advantage of this wind corridor. Hundreds of windmills stood sentry on the horizon like a giant alien army. It was almost unsettling and certainly Orwellian. In Oregon, the gleaming white sentinels represented a new way of thinking and a positive change in our energy production methods. In Wyoming, their presence was just too out of sync with the sweeping vistas around us. There seemed to be no people here. Without supervision, the windmills were just creepy.

Coming into Denver for the first time since 2005, I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. Our surrogate delivered Abby and Ella at Rose Memorial Hospital in downtown Denver and we haven’t been back there since our Amtrak train left the Denver terminal. We have since seen our surrogate a handful of times but seeing the city itself was a tangible reminder of the incredible number of people between here, Nashville, California, and Maryland who worked together to make the twins possible. I told the twins repeatedly as we passed through that they were born here, but it didn’t mean much to them. They just wondered why mommy had tears in her eyes.

We had planned to stop long enough to have dinner with Jodi’s family before heading back to the campground for some sleep before taking off on our southerly course. When I told Jodi that we would only be able to have one meal together, she was so disappointed that we just had to change our plans.

When we couldn’t find a campsite in Denver, we had to punt and stay in nearby Colorado Springs. I was worried about all the driving that she would have to do to take us back and forth to Colorado Springs, an hour away, but Jodi was undaunted. We parked in a Safeway parking lot long enough to meet her family and have dinner in Castle Rock before driving the RV on to Colorado Springs that night. We had a lovely bbq in the backyard of Jodi’s parents house and spent a couple of hours with members of her extended family. The girls and Aidan were spoiled by gifts and attention while Brent and I feasted on some wonderful pork ribs.

The next morning, Saturday, Jodi and family drove to Colorado Springs to spend the day with us. They took us to the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo high in the hills surrounding the city. The kids had a fantastic time riding the lift to the top of the “mountain” where the views of Colorado Spring down below were spectacular. I, however, didn’t enjoy this part as much as they did. My fear of heights had me white knuckling the twins in my lap while my heart beat out of my chest. We all survived and when we reached the end of the ride we headed for the face painting cabin.

 While Ella was having delicate little ears and whiskers drawn on her forehead and cheeks, Abby was busy requesting that the artist make her a “brown doggy.” I was mortified when the painter began covering her face in dark brown paint. She didn’t look like a puppy; she looked like Al Joelson. I couldn’t wait for the opportunity to wash it off.

After the zoo, we left Colorado Springs for Parker to attend Connor’s basketball game and have a dinner together. We had a wonderful visit with Abby and Ella’s surrogate family and then it was back to the KOA in Colorado Springs. When we got back to the KOA, I opened the refrigerator and a shelf holding the beer fell off the door breaking two bottles and splattering beer all over the kitchen. Are you kidding me? I got out the vacuum for the third time of the day. Unbelievable. Side Note: Colorado Springs KOA is not OK.

Salt Lake City

Thursday morning we left Boise thinking it was a lovely place, albeit a bit hot in the summer. We didn’t waste any time getting camp packed up since we didn’t bother with the hookups the night before. We simply pulled in the sides around 7:30 and were off. The kids slept through the all the noise and we had a nice quiet hour of driving before they woke.

We drove South on I-84 through yet another mountain range. The brown mountains dotted with a rare tree rose two-dimensionally from the earth like a painted backdrop on a movie lot. In front of those mountains were valleys being irrigated for crops. Overhead bi-winged crop duster appeared to be landing on the road in front of us only to drop down mere feet from the interstate onto a dusty runway. Again, as in much of the West, the inhabitants seemed to be up against a lot from Mother Nature. The signs along the road warned travelers of gusty winds and frequent blinding dust storms. They even left off the “in winter” part of the ubiquitous “Bridge may be icy” warnings.

Approaching Salt Lake City, the mountains cradled the city surrounding it on all sides. The capitol building sat on a hillside looming stately above the city. Up ahead, we could see the spires of the Temple topped by a golden Angel Moroni rising up from what must be the center of the city. All around were cranes and construction cones. The city was experiencing a major growth spurt.

We checked in to our downtown KOA campground. When we opened the door, we discovered it was even hotter than Boise. How is this possible? The “Sunshine Greeter," Marla, told us it was the hottest day all summer. The thermometer read 104. It was like someone had pointed a giant hair dryer toward my body. With no humidity, it was possible to endure but just barely. Marla was eager to share as much information as possible about Salt Lake City with us. She began telling us all about her life and her children. Marla has seven kids, but she was quick to tell us that she is not mormon, nevermind the big family. She also shared a dozen maps and pamphlets for us. She advised us that a “free” shuttle ran every hour and half hour to Temple Square with the only catch being that once inside “they” expect you to take a little thirty minute tour. “Great,” I told her. Sign us up for the freebie to downtown.

We got in the shuttle with two older gentlemen that were excited to discover our Nashville provenance. “Whatever happened to Opryland?” Don asked. “Have you heard that your weather back home has been unseasonably cool?” Darrell inquired. It also intrigues me that no matter where you go people love Nashville. I wanted to know about Salt Lake City and they wanted to talk country music. Oh, well. Soon enough, the driver, Darrell, began his scripted tour of the city. He told us a little about the city’s most important buildings and a lot about its religion. When he dropped us at the square, he directed us to the information booth inside the iron gates.

Inside those gates were some of the most beautiful flowers I have seen outside of Victoria. The courtyard was spotless without so much as a decaying leaf on the concrete walkways. It sparkled. A very dapper older gentleman approached us and informed us that a tour would begin in about 15 minutes if we were interested. “Well, I have all these kids with me. Maybe we should just show ourselves around,” I told him. “The children will be fine. Won’t you kids?” he replied. Just then, I was certain that the tour was actually a requirement rather than a suggestion. “The sisters will be around in a minute to conduct your tour. They are all here on their mission requirement. Each woman is twenty-one and many will be conducting tours in their second language. Remarkable young women,” he said, “Have a seat on the planter.” Ok. Kids don’t misbehave! PLEASE! I know a little about the Mormon faith. I know that family is hugely important. I also know that their children are expected to behave and when they don’t it is due to some failure of the parent. YIKES! Pressure is on! Suddenly, I had an epiphany. Everyone on the square was wearing modest clothing. I was wearing shorts and Megan was in a tank top. We were both mortified upon the realization that maybe we were dressed disrespectfully. Great, I thought, my kids are tired and ready for meltdowns and I’m wearing short shorts! What a disaster!

The young ladies who conducted our tour were very warm and sweet and dressed very conservatively in long skirts. Their shoes were also modest and I could see that they were all also wearing hose. I can only imagine how hot they must have been. As they began the tour, it was evident that they were not professional tour guides with one of the ladies looking vaguely pained by the public speaking. They told us tidbits about the founding of the city and the leadership of Brigham Young and Joseph Smith. DISCLAIMER: what follows is an accurate account of events. I am NOT making fun, but I will be using humor to describe the rest of our visit. Dear reader, if you are sensitive to such things… STOP READING.

In the first building, the original temple, we learned that the organ inside was called the baby organ because it only has 3,000 pipes. The benches, original to the building, were made of white pine, the only tree in the valley, but were hand painted to look like oak. The building’s columns were also made of pine but had been painted to appear marble. Everywhere one looked something was trompe l’oeil. I haven’t seen so many faux finishes since my last house. As they told us the history, the ladies must have mentioned Jesus Christ and the Bible fifty times. It was clear to us that they wanted to be sure that we understand that Mormons are Christians. Somewhere along the way, the general public became confused. Many people falsely believed that the Mormons were not Christian. These sisters were out to clear that up. Each one carried a copy of both The Bible and The Book of Mormon in her hands at all times and reminded us of that fact every couple of steps.

The second building on the tour was the original tabernacle. The building was built in the late 1800’s under the leadership of Brigham Young and is acoustically perfect. It is in the building that the Tabernacle Choir performs with the exception of Christmas and the Summer months when more tourists are in town. The tabernacle holds thousands but the convention center where they perform during the busy months holds 20,000 and not a single seat is blocked by a column or other obstruction. These guys are serious about their architecture.

Right outside of the tabernacle, one of our fears came to fruition. From the moment we put Salt Lake City on the route, we laughed about having Megan along with us. We feared people would think her a sister-wife. Sure enough… outside of the tabernacle one of the sisters said to Megan, “Your kids are so beautiful.” Megan answered, “Thanks, but they aren’t my kids. I’m the babysitter.” “Ha. I thought so. I was just testing you,” said the sister. YIKES! 

Next we were led into the learning center. Inside was a rotunda called “The Center of the Universe.” The walls and ceilings of the rotunda were painted dark blues and purples and depicted the universe as we know it and the planets of our solar system. In the middle of the rotunda, set against the dark background, was a blindingly white and enormous sculpture of Jesus. In the surrounding hallways, giant murals depicting scenes from both the New and Old Testaments adorned the walls. There were also wax statues of the prophets Isiah and Joseph Smith and a huge well-lit portrait of “The Living Prophet.” It was in this room, that Megan asked a sister for directions to the restroom. The sister made a grand gesture with her hand and proclaimed, “Just follow Jesus.” Yep, she was telling us to follow Jesus to the bathroom. Was she kidding? Was she tempting us to laugh? It was all too much. I’ll admit here and to all of you that I did laugh. To do otherwise would have been impossible. On the way out, they asked me if I would like a free copy of the Book of Mormon. Of course I would! I love world religions and this one is particularly fascinating. I needed to know more. The sister was excited by my enthusiasm and asked for my phone number. She would be sending a missionary to my home with my free copy. I told her thanks and gave her my sister’s number. HA. Just kidding. I was sooooo tempted. I told her that I am a happy Methodist and that I was only intellectually curious. The poor sister looked so sad that I almost changed my mind. I gave her my address instead and she promised to MAIL me a free DVD.

When the tour ended, we headed out to meet Jim for dinner. He happened to be in town on the same day for a trade show. The kids were thrilled to be having dinner with “Uncle Caca” in Salt Lake City. Aidan thought it was hilarious to be meeting up so far from home. The girls still have no idea where we are. While we waited for Jim to finish at the show, we walked around Salt Lake and looked for a Starbucks. Did I mention it was 104?

By the time we found a Starbucks, we had walked several blocks. The girls were begging to be carried. As soon as we got inside the store, the girls both fell asleep on a couch in the café while we enjoyed a few quiet moments. The girls slept for about an hour and we were off to meet Jim. As expected, it was great to see him. We had a very relaxing meal at the Red Rocks Brewery and then headed back to the KOA for an evening swim. Salt Lake City: Added to the list. We MUST return. 

The Toutle Lake RV Resort (yep, I said “Resort”) was almost perfect. Less than a week old, the amenities were outstanding… playground, ping pong, giant croquet set, etc. There was only one drawback…AMTRAK. We had no idea that we were so close to the tracks when we checked in around 9 p.m. The horn would startle us and the RV would rock every time a train passed. We were exhausted after a less than perfect slumber, so we allowed for some down time the next morning. Wanting the kids to be good and tired before another long day of driving, we let them run and play for a couple of hours before heading off for Boise. Our plan worked and they all had a nice long nap in the afternoon.

The drive that followed definitely made the list of the top five best stretches of road on our trip. As we approached Portland, I was initially disappointed. I knew the city was supposed to be wonderful but from the interstate it didn’t look like much. I was afraid we would miss seeing something of Portland’s beauty because we were in a rush to make it to Boise. There was no time to stop since we let the kids play all morning. On the phone with Leigh, I was just telling her that Portland looks a lot like Seattle only without all the water. It had that industrial meets technology feel that can leave you feeling cold and uninspired. I was about to give up on Portland when we approached the Columbia River. 

Here, the river is large and swiftly moving. It isn’t a murky, muddy, brown like the Mississippi, nor is it as large. From the overpass, it appears to be quite clean and a nice dark blue. Over the river, there were several bridges almost all with lanes for biking and walking. We saw dozens of people running in a park alongside the river and on the bridges. All of this activity gave Portland a youthful and energetic feel. The kid of place where young parents feed their kids organic berries and meet for stroller jogs in the park. The restaurants are probably hip and fabulous serving only local delicacies. I had to add Portland to the list of places worthy of a return trip.

Leaving Portland, Mount St. Helens was off to our left and Mount Hood was ahead of us. The stark contrast between the two provided a fascinating back drop. While Mt. Hood’s snow covered peak reaches sharply into the horizon, Mt. St. Helens wears a flat top. Mt. Hood shines brightly in the sun while Mt. St. Helens is ashen and appears crestfallen and sad. It’s been more than twenty years since the volcanic eruption of St. Helens and yet the evidence is still there.

The Interstate met up with the Columbia River once again and followed it for miles and miles. Here the landscape begins to change. It no longer feels coastal. We were moving inland. The wind whipped through the Columbia River Gorge making waves on the river and encouraging windsurfers and small sailboats. The gorge rose on either side of us and as we traveled eastward the green pine trees gave way to golden grasses. The RV warmed right up and it felt like we were traveling in a toaster. After being on the West Coast for two weeks, we were incredibly sensitive to the rising thermometer. We turned on the A/C and wondered why we had ever complained about the cold of Victoria. When we stopped for gas, the temperature had gone from a gorgeous 70 to a stifling 90.

Floating on the river beside us was a small cruise ship, no doubt this was the Lewis and Clark experience. I thought of my grandparents and especially Daddy Bay. He and Nonnie once took that cruise and touted it as one of their favorites. I can just imagine my gradfather sitting on his balcony with a camera and some historical tome about the adventures of Lewis and Clark. Daddy Bay was never content as a passive explorer. It was one of my favorite things about him.

All along the hills above us giant, blindingly white windmills churned in the wind seemingly exclaiming, “T. Boone Pickens was here.” Up ahead, the Dalles dam was busy creating yet another form of energy with its hydro-electric generators rising from the top of the concrete monolith. The harnassing of energy from the environment around us through hydro-electricity, windmills, even wind surfers powered by the gusts was a fitting comparison to the energy projected by the nearby city of Portland. The sliver of Oregon along I-84 was wild and energetic. I loved it.

Continuing on to Boise, the mountains became hills. The Blue Mountains reminded me in size of the Smokies. They weren’t as dramatic as some of the others we passed, but they were a soothing, calm, and lovely respite from all the drama of the coastal ranges. These hills were sparsely dotted with dark green pines and shrubs. Continuing eastward, these hills looked drier and hotter prompting Abby to look out the window and ask if they had been burned. “Only by the scorching heat,” I told her. It was getting hotter and hotter with every mile.

By the time we rolled into Boise, the temperature on the bark marquee read 98 degrees at dusk. Again, WHY DID WE COMPLAIN ABOUT THE COLD? We stopped for the night at a clean and friendly yet no-frills campground. We were only staying for one night. No need for the amenities. As soon as the coach came to a stop it was time for the dinner drill. Megan and I jumped out of the rig to retrieve the grill and get it set up to cook those kebabs I didn’t have time to cook yesterday. As we opened the door, we were nearly knocked over by the scorchingly dry heat. After weeks of cool, damp air and hanging out on the patio while we cooked, I threw the meat and potatoes on the grill and ran back inside the coach, watching the grill from the kitchen window. One night here would be plenty. We agreed to set the alarm for 6:30 and take off ASAP. I even skipped the Starbucks that was right across the street. When I’m too hot for coffee, you know it’s miserable. 

Shangri-La, Xanadu, Washington Coast + Twilight Territory

Convincing Megan to come along on this lengthy journey confined to an RV with three kids for a good part of the month of July took some persuasion and good old-fashioned bribery. The most effective enticement was the promise of seeing the towns and beaches that make up the setting for the Twilight novels. In full disclosure, I must admit that I was also intrigued; however, if it weren’t for that promise to Megan, we might have missed some of the most beautiful scenery in America.

 After the ferry docked and we cleared customs, we headed straight for the Safeway in downtown Port Angeles. From the looks of the town, I didn’t expect much of the local grocery store; however, what I discovered was a foodie heaven. From produce to wine selection, this Safeway didn’t disappoint. Side note to interested parties: Washington may be worth the visit simply for the ridiculously low prices on decent to good bottles of wine. I spent $6 on a Chateau St. Michelle Pinot Gris that would easily have been in the $12 to $14 range at home. Score! With the RV fully stocked, we eagerly set out.

Our route took us around the horn of the Washington peninsula, the mainland’s most western point. Going west on the 101, the road followed a winding and curvy path through a thickly wooded pine forest and alongside several sparkling glacier lakes. The water in these lakes was so clear that you could see the rocks at the bottom of the teal blue water. The road rose only a few feet from the shores of the lakes and offered several spots to pull off the road. When we finally stopped, we took off our shoes and walked into the lake surprised that it wasn’t as cold as we imagined. If it were possible, we might have set up camp right there and stayed for a swim; however, we had to press on. 

After an hour of driving, we left the lake area thinking that we had seen the most beautiful places we could possibly see on that day. We were wrong. A few miles North of Forks is the turn off for LaPush, the reservation of the Quileute people and home to the beaches known as First, Second, and Third. A couple of miles off of the 101 onto 110 the once bright blue skies became eerily grey and cloudy. The dividing line between sun and clouds was strikingly definitive. We were driving into a thick bank of coastal fog.

 Both Second and Third Beaches are obscured from the road by a dense pine forest and required a hike to reach. Unequipped for a hike and with sleeping kids in the RV, we were becoming discouraged. Just then we entered the center of town and the views of the beaches opened. First Beach lay straight ahead and was unlike any beach I had ever seen or imagined, and I’m not unfamiliar with Northwest beaches. This beach was different. It appeared wild and untamed and somewhat unwelcoming. This was not a beach for relaxing. I got the feeling that when on this beach you must remain alert to danger. I had no idea what that danger could be… maybe only the weather. It didn’t matter. I just knew we were certainly not meant to idyll there in that unresponsive way we can on a Florida beach. In terms of literature, this beach was not a Nora Roberts paperback. It was a survival manual.

In the town behind me, handmade signs advertising smoked salmon were everywhere as were tidy but modest wood framed houses. The community center in the middle of the town was freshly painted and embellished with the tribal symbols for the eagle and the orca. The people we passed as we drove through the town smiled and waved, no doubt riding the wave of a tourism boon due to the success of the Twilight series. Clearly the town was embracing its fame. The businesses posted signs warning that vampires weren’t allowed in town. One such establishment advertised its property as the official treaty line between the fictional vampires and the Quileute werewolves. Although I thought it was amusing to witness all the Twilight hoopla, I got the feeling that this place deserved better. The Olympic peninsula is far too majestic for such nonsense. I was almost embarrassed. This was a place with a “Tsunami Evacuation Route.” First Beach is hardly playful. Side note: Unless one is already in one’s car when the tsunami hits, how does one actually drive away from a tsunami? It’s not a hurricane, is it? 

Driving away from LaPush, we knew from reading the novels that we were only about fifteen minutes from Forks. Ten minutes out of LaPush the sky was once again clear and blue as we were welcomed into town. Forks was tiny, but it was clearly taking full advantage of its newly found fame. There were even more advertisements for Twilight t-shirts and Team Jacob hats. Strangely enough all of the souvenier possibilities seemed awkward. Clearly, Forks is experiencing growing pains and possibly an identity crisis. I wondered as we drove by what kind of merchandise the stores along the main street once sold. The newly established outlets dedicated to selling only Twilight gear seemed forced and anachronistic. I imagined that prior to the huge success of the series these establishments must have sold things like toilet paper and greeting cards, garden stones and rakes. Who was selling that stuff now? The answer was the largest store in town, a combination grocery store, hardware store, and clothing store known as Forks Outfitters and the employer of the fictional Bella Swan. We couldn’t resist stopping as it was advertised as having the largest selection of Twilight gifts. I mean, when in Rome…. Once inside, we were surprised to find that the largest supplier really didn’t have all that much. Alongside the “Love at First Bite” t-shirts and mugs were all the usual sundries found in a hardware store. Clearly the Forks Outfitters was prepared to survive the eventual decline in popularity of the Twilight series but until then they will sell the heck out of some Twilight water bottles.

At the checkout, I asked the clerk about the drive from Forks to Aberdeen, the proposed stopping point for the night. She told me that we should probably just head back to Port Angeles and go from there to Olympia because the rest of the 101 was just a bore. Against her advice, we decided not to backtrack but to take our chances with the “boring” route to Aberdeen. She couldn’t have been more wrong. What followed was by far the most interesting and at times breathtakingly beautiful stretch of highway thus far.

 After twenty minutes, I was sure that this was going to be a bit dull and that the clerk was right. Just then we entered the Hoh National Rainforest and the coastal fog returned. The forest was thick with pine trees that stretched up into the mist, their tops disappearing. The lush, green ground was covered with wild ferns and moss. Suddenly, through a clearing, we could see the shoreline and the ocean. The fog once again prevented us from seeing farther than one-hundred feet from shore. Spires of rock jutted up from the beach and bleached logs, smoothed by wind and water, lay deposited wherever the ocean tossed them. The forest crept right up to the shore and the trees nearest the coast grew slanted against the wind. The hostility and aggression of the ocean and the wind here was more than intimidating. It was downright threatening, but its menacing beauty was beyond gorgeous. It was magical. These beaches were practically deserted. It brought to mind the desolation of a desert. The sand, although not blowing, looked wind-blown. It was practically sand blasted and save for one message written on the sand telling Helen that her friends had headed back to camp, there were no signs that anyone had ever walked upon that shore.

We passed over several rivers and saw where the river literally meets the sea. The river water drained into rivulets streaking through that unmarked sand. Each one was like an aerial view of New Orleans where the fingers of the Mississippi spread out until they touch the Gulf of Mexico. At one point, Brent pulled over for Megan and I to look at the beach from a cliff not too high above the shore. As we stood there in wonder, something large rustled the tall grass in which we were standing. I jumped to the side only to discover that it was a large lizard of some sort, no doubt as startled as I. No matter how benign my run-in with nature, I decided to take it as a warning and head on back to the safety of the motorhome. Surely there were far more dangerous beasts lurking in the forest behind me.

 After passing through one last rainforest, the 101 made a left and we headed inland. We arrived in a very damp, gray, and depressing Aberdeen around 5:30 p.m. It was so gray that it could have been 10:00 p.m. We decided to skip the grilled kebabs I had planned for dinner opting instead for microwaved soup so we could press on to a less depressing locale. We were planning an attempt on Portland knowing full-well that we probably wouldn’t get all the way there. We made it to Castle Rock at the foot of Mt. St. Helens instead, just fifty miles from Portland.

This was one HELL of a day. If it were at all possible, I would have suggested that we stay. As it is, we have added the Olympic Peninsula to the list of places deserving of an extended visit. The town of Forks advertises itself as a place where, “You CAN live forever.” Maybe so. It is pretty close to the beach.

Victoria: A Summary

Now that the kids are older, the trips to Victoria have become fewer and much farther between. It has been a year since we were last there. This trip was timed to encompass two of life’s most touching and emotional events. The cold and damp weather of our first week was a fitting backdrop to the emotion surrounding the one-year anniversary of the death of Brent’s mom. Since Eli chose to be cremated, we waited until the anniversary of her passing to inter her remains at the cemetery. On the day of our service, the weather finally broke, echoing the closure we felt as we marked the end of the unofficial year of mourning.

 The next week was a near opposite of the one before as we began the festivities surrounding the marriage of two dear friends. It was the perfect antidote to the difficulties of the previous week. The wedding week began with an invitation to dine with Stephen (“The Major”) and Rusty Petzing, the parents of the groom. We spent an absolutely lovely evening in their very British home furnished in the comfortable, casual, yet proper way of the English country style. Rusty and Stephen are perhaps some of the most enjoyable people I have ever known. It is always a pleasure to be with them. Later in the week, as the couples’ friends from the U.K. began to arrive, a cricket match was played between the native Victorians/Canadian friends and their friends from “the world.” Brent was somewhat disappointed to discover that he was no longer considered Canadian in such events. He was forced to play on Team World with the other Americans and the Brits. In the end, Team Canada was victorious. The wedding that followed was a casual but elegant garden event complete with Pimm’s cocktails and croquet as well as bar-b-qued Pacific salmon reflecting the couple’s roots as well as their “new” lives living in the U.K.

 In between these two events, we spent as much time as possible with family and Brent’s incredibly loyal, entertaining, and loving friends, many of whom have added to their families since we were last together. In the time since we have seen them, four new babies have been born among this close-knit group. Our get togethers begin a little earlier and end a little sooner now, but we are never at a loss for conversation. You know how with some old friends all you can think to talk about are the old times? It isn’t this way among these guys. They never miss a beat. 

 As a mother of three kids, I fully acknowledge that a tantrum-throwing toddler is easier to leave with a babysitter than the one who sweetly asks you not to go. Victoria can be such a child sometimes. When we arrived at the ferry dock this morning, Victoria politely and humbly asked me to stay. See, she said, I can behave. When I am good, I am very good; I am perfect. I almost forgave her for the miserable way she treated us the week before.

 We have taken the Sidney-Twassen-Blaine-Seattle route so many times that it is no longer a challenge. To shake things up and to allow a side-trip to Twilight country, we took the Port Angeles ferry known as the Coho to the U.S. The Coho boards right in the inner harbor within sight of the Empress Hotel and across the street from the parliament building. The ship is smaller, older, and much less crowded than the B.C. ferry to Vancouver; however, she held a certain understated charm.  The coffee shop is also smaller with fewer selections, but it was only breakfast. We got by with coffee and pastries. Upstairs, the observation deck was generously appointed with rows and rows of theatre style seating. We took a row of seats for ourselves and settled in for the trip.

 The route is a straight shot due South to Port Angeles, Washington. As the Coho began her slow journey across the water, the view in front of us was just as magnificent as the one we left. It was a perfect day for ocean travel. The air was completely still and the water was as smooth as glass. Rarely is it possible to see one’s reflection in the ocean but today was not one of those days. The water was an undisturbed lake. Even several miles from shore, there was no need for a jacket. Victoria was her sweetest, most beautiful self.

 

 

Victoria : Day 8

Today is July 13th and I am thinking of Mom and the weather. Happy birthday, Mom. Three years ago Mom and Dad, Leigh and Jim and A.G., and my crew spent a week together in Victoria. The island was experiencing a heat wave unlike any they have ever had here. It was near 100 degrees for 3 days in a row and we were without air conditioning as it is rarely needed here. Today it's barely 60 degrees and we are FREEZING. Extremes are rare for this area, but I keep hitting them. Lucky me.

In the middle of all this unfortunate and cool weather, we had a fantastic Saturday. With clear, blue skies and the mid-80's, we loaded up the car for a day at the beach. Parksville is the island's beach destination. When the tide is out, the shore is long and spotted with wonderful shallow tide pools that warm quickly in the sun and leave behind all kind of aquatic life. Clams, oysters, and scallops are picked from their shells by hungry sea fowl. The shells left behind are sometime cracked by their beaks but sometimes you find them completely whole. Sand dollars are everywhere. The walk out to the water takes about 15 minutes. In the distance, snow capped mountains seem to rise straight out of the Pacific. When the tide comes back in, the water warmed in the sun is shallow and perfect for the kids. They ran and splashed in the knee deep water until they were exhausted.

Yesterday, we were invited to a bbq at Nick and Colleen's house. A lot has changed since we were last here. A dinner at Nick and Colleen's house always started at 5 p.m. and lasted until midnight or later. We would leave Aidan with family and enjoy an adults' night out. This time everyone had kids. Nick and Colleen have a toddler, Pete and Lucia have a toddler and newborn twins, and Damian and Ellie have a six month old. The kids threatened to outnumber the adults. The bbq began at 3 p.m. and was over by 7:30 p.m. Oh, how times have changed.

Today is once again cold, so we are going to see a movie this afternoon with all the kids. Good thing none of us have seen Up.

Victoria: Day 5

There is no place on earth like Victoria when the sun is shining. It's picture perfect. This morning Megan and I went for a walk while Aidan was at basketball camp and the girls were with Brent at the beach. We walked from the house down to Cattle Point. After days of clouds and mist, Mt. Baker was clear and beautiful on the horizon. We continued our walk down to Willows Beach to meet up with Brent and the girls.

The girls played on the sand while a blue heron plucked fish out of the chilly Pacific water. He picked his way along the shore until a little red-haired menace in a long-sleeved sunsuit chased him away. At least this time it wasn't one of mine harassing the locals.

Brent left for a round of golf at Victoria, so Megan and I walked the kids up to the Willows Beach Tea Room. Built in 1949, the Tea Room is run by the local Kiwanis Club which must surely make a fortune in the summer selling "freezies" and fantastic crinkle fries. After lunch, we picked up the boys at camp and headed home.

We brought the kids back to the house where they enjoyed a good two hour game of hide-and-seek on the lawn for what could be the last time. The house is now officially on the market and getting some "nibbles." The kids will miss driving their "cars" on the tennis court and hiding in the 100 year old Rhododendron trees in the front. I wish we had been here in the spring to see the purple blossoms that cover the area of a small bus. It's going to be tough to leave next week.

We are off to Julie and Chris' house for a swim this afternoon. The water will most likely be below 80 degrees. UNACCEPTABLE for me. We'll see what my kids think about swimming in Canada.

Victoria

Two days in Victoria and still not more than three minutes of sunshine. It reminds me of the summer of 2000 when my mom and dad and sisters came up for the first time. It was so cold that summer that we were forced to buy a great number of CANADA sweatshirts from Roots and new shoes from Aldo. Nearly a decade has passed since then and I am not happy about this return to "frigid" July temperatures. Supposedly, there will be sunshine this weekend. Let's hope. I'm one day from buying all new "summer" clothes at Roots.

Aidan joined his cousins at the Oak Bay Rec Center for a 9-12 basketball camp. He and the boys are having a great time together. It's hard to believe that it's been a year since they have seen each other. I guess the excitement went to Aidan's head because he didn't notice the cold and left his only sweatshirt at on the court. He will most certainly be getting a new Canada sweatshirt out of the deal....maybe it was his plan all along.

While Brent hung out with his dad, Megan and I took the girls shopping at Grandpa's store. The girls went wild picking out new t-shirts and stuffed animals while I searched the store for new beaver "Dam it" shirts for mom. We left the store with three bags of new Canadiana and we're no where near finished.

After shopping, Megan and I took the girls to Ferris' Oyster Bar for Victoria's greatest fries. We ordered the large mixed bowl of both Irish and sweet potato fries and a trio of dipping sauces. Since we had eaten fries only once in 8 days, I didn't feel guilty about this indulgence. Nearing the bottom of the bowl, Megan and I finally gave up. They were even better than I remembered.

Today we will be looking for something to do in this less than stellar weather. It's 60 and raining... in other words, I guess we'll go the the mall.

Next stop:Vancouver Island

We woke up this morning to a dramatic change in the weather. Last night we turned off the AC and slept with the windows open. When the kids woke us at 7:30, no one wanted to get out from under the covers. I jumped out of bed and started closing windows. The sky was completely overcast and it was about 55 degrees. Once dressed in proper Northwest attire, the crisp and cool morning felt absolutely wonderful.  Yesterday, we had our geographic and topographical welcome “home,” and today it was the weather. Welcome to the Pacific Northwest. Hope you brought closed toe shoes.

 Abby has been composing a new song or two each day of the trip. Yesterday the lyrics said something about “Ella scared the hippopotamus.” Today she is singing about meeting Grandpa on the boat. These songs are utterly hilarious. The poor thing couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. She is probably tone deaf like her mother, but she is loaded with confidence.

 Abby was practicing one of her compositions as we pulled up to the Canadian border around 9 this morning. The RV had mere inches on either side as we approached the checkpoint. As Brent worked up a sweat trying not to knock off a mirror, I got the passports ready for inspection. The border agent looked on incredulously as I explained that we had indeed driven from Tennessee with three kids. She asked if we were planning to also drive back. When I told her we were, she looked even more confused and just waved us on through to Canada.

Now on the road to the ferry, we have reservations for the 1:00 p.m. sailing, but with any luck, we’ll get on the 11:00 a.m. In unison, Brent and I read the sign “11:00 sailing 33% full.” I can’t wait to see how we maneuver this rig on Vancouver Island. 

The beginning of the (first) end

Leaving the road less traveled for a road more familiar, we are feeling some mixed emotions. As we crossed the Snoqualmie Pass today we left behind the excitement of the unknown for the ease and comfort of the known… Seattle, Bellingham, Victoria. Although we have another week in the RV ahead of us on the return trip, I can’t help but think it won’t quite carry the same feeling of accomplishment as this one has. This, the maiden voyage, was full of challenges but knowing that we were “in this together” kept the stresses of the road from getting to us. There were close to no short remarks and not a single argument. Will we still see the adventure in all of this when we turn around and head for home?

 Until then, we have a lot of time in Victoria to relax and unwind in very familiar territory, even Megan has been there already. No need for maps. We know where to eat. The anticipation of seeing friends and family is growing as I can sense that Brent is a little more eager than before to just get there. We skipped the Cascade Loop today, opting instead for I-90 straight into Seattle… fewer challenges and half the time.

 This morning Abby declared that she was ready to go home. I hardly believed that since she has been so excited about seeing Grandpa. When I pressed her, she cried and said, “I just want a bath.” I assured her that Grandpa has bathtubs at his house and that she doesn’t have to have another shower for 2 weeks. It’s funny the things that are important to kids. I guess she just wants a sense of familiarity and routine.

 The Wenatchee Mountains are on our right and the Cascades lie ahead. It’s a strikingly beautiful part of the world, but it’s familiarity is takes away the sense of wonder. Patches of snow are still clinging to the craggy peaks around us. A large lake is to our left. We can see clearly the ski runs that probably closed only two months ago. The valleys here are deep and a lush, dark green. The mountains here are “new.” They rise dramatically to the highest peaks we have seen on our trip West and we are almost over them. Relatively speaking, the Pacific Ocean is just on the other side. Each new mountain pass on the road behind us made me nervous. I took pictures. I got sweaty palms…. Not this time.

 Soon, we will be in Seattle and then Bellingham for the night. It may not be new, but at least I know where to find a Starbucks and we can give the Garmin a rest.

Coeur d'Alene and Aunt Prickley

After missing the turn for Camp Jellystone and having to travel about 5 miles out of the way to find a site big enough to turn around, we finally arrived at Camp Jellystone, Missoula, MT. The campground was isolated from the city located on the Going-to-the Sun Highway. We would have loved to spend some time in Glacier National Park, but the motorhome is too large for many of the mountain passes. We decided just to hang at the campsite. As we pulled up, the check-in area was directly next to the swimming pool. Trying desperately to divert the kids’ attention from what was sure to be a miserably cold pool, they noticed. The whining for a swim began immediately. Megan and I decided that tonight just wasn’t a night for fighting. We agreed to the polar bear swim and got the kids dressed for the pool while Brent set up camp. I stuck some potatoes in the oven and we took off. Meg and I entered the pool area with the smug looks on our faces that say, “Just you wait. We told you so.” This time Megan and I were the ones who were mistaken. The pool, although a bit old-fashioned, was warm and clean. The sun was still pretty high in the sky even as the evening hours approached. Although I have spent plenty of time at this latitude, it’s a surprise every summer when the sun doesn’t set at 8:00 p.m.

After about an hour, we were able to coax the kids out of the pool with promises of hot dogs and chips. We headed back to the RV, hung our wet towels and suits out to dry, and fed the girls some dinner.  Around 8, we put the girls in the back bedroom and turned on Sleeping Beauty hoping that it could calm some seriously stimulated 3-year-olds. Finally, Disney worked its magic and the girls were quiet. While Brent taught Aidan how to bunt, Megan and I got dinner ready. Tonight, I decided that in celebration of Montana, we should have a steak. After dinner, the four of us played some yahtzee on the picnic table beside the RV. The sun was beginning to cast long shadows across the nearby hills, but the latern was still not necessary. At 10, Aidan asked for bed. We tucked him in and headed back outside to enjoy the last few minutes of the sunset.

 Inspired by the scenery, we put on some country music and poured a glass of wine.  I found that even after my second glass of wine I still don’t like nouveau country music. I tried. I really did. Taylor Swift, Kenny Chesney, and the like still make my skin crawl. We did find a compromise with Lyle Lovett, Old Crow Medicine Show, and Sara Evans. It was Montana. We had to work to find the right music.

 We decided over night, that we really want to be in Coeur d’Alene for the 4^th of July. The idea of fireworks over the lake was just too tempting. Instead of spending the night at a campground, we will dry camp on A Street in front of Sara’s house and hope that neither the neighbors nor the fire department protests. 

We left Missoula on I-90 heading West. The drive from Missoula to Idaho is breathtaking. Shocked to see bicycles riding along beside us even on the steep mountain grades, I couldn't help but take some pictures of these thrill-seekers. The Bitterroot River and it’s tributaries run alongside the interstate for much of the trip. Everywhere we looked, there were people fly-fishing and rafting and swimming. The water was crystal clear and you could see straight to the bottom even from the road. We all thought long and hard about just finding a place to pull over and take a little dip. 

 Somewhere near the border, we passed into the Pacific Time Zone. It occurred to me then as it has several times now on this trip that we are really far from home. We have now traversed two different time zones on this road trip.

 We arrived in Coeur d’Alene just after lunch. We parked on A Street (that’s “A” Street, not a street) in front of Ripley’s house and shamelessly opened the slides right in front of the neighbor’s house. Good thing the home was now empty, the neighbors moving out only a few days before. The kids all put on their swimsuits and we took off with Sara as our guide down to the “beach.” Having been there once before, I knew what to expect on a normal day. What I was unprepared for was the heat and the crowds. It was HOT, HOT, HOT, but we managed to walk the mile from Ripley’s house to the lake. The crowds were a bit overwhelming  Once the kids got there, it took them mere seconds to come out of their cover-ups and shoes and charge the lake. The crowds were enormous down by the water, but we managed to keep up with all three of them. Aidan completely monopolized Ripley and took her off for a swim in deeper waters. The girls ran screaming in and out of the water happy to be out of the RV and free to run.

 After about a half an hour of playing with Aidan, Ripley suggested that we leave the others and have a beer at the beachside pub. It was great to sneak away from the kids for a few minutes after so much togetherness and catch up with an old friend. We talked about our friends from college and wondered how it is possible that we are now in our mid-thirties and that she lives in IDAHO. Although it has been four years since we last saw each other, we laughed and talked like we had never been apart. A few minutes later, the kids, Brent, and Megan caught up with us and it was time to head back to the house to get ready for the bbq.

 When we got back to the house, Sara pointed out the trees in the yard of the empty house next door. They were absolutely heavy with ripe, beautiful cherries. My kids went wild! Aidan climbed the tree and picked the fruit still warm from the sun and ate them while still in the tree. Abby and Ella begged us to pick them more and more and more. With cherry juice smeared across their faces like tribal war paint, I thought about my grandfather and how much he would have loved to see the kids gorging themselves on one of his favorite fruits.

 We moved around to the back of the house past the Roberts Toyota Forerunner parked in Rip’s driveway. Aidan was so excited to see a Roberts car with an Idaho plate. Out back, Ripley had filled a laundry hamper with costume jewelry, funny shoes, and wigs. The kids entertained themselves with those for quite a few minutes, long enough for mom and dad and Megan to have a little break.

 As the sun began to set, we contemplated a walk back to the mecca of Idaho, Coeur d’Alene Lake, but decided that the kids were probably just too tired. Just as I was beginning to feel guilty about putting them to bed before the 10:00 fireworks, the neighbors began their own fireworks show. “Yes, kids,” I said, “those are the fireworks we’ve been waiting for all this time. Cool, huh?” Satisfied with the neighbors’ display, we put the kids to bed for the night while Ripley, Megan, and I climbed on top of the RV for a better view of the “real” fireworks. Unfortunately, we could only see the colored halos around the trees on her block created by what must have been a great show down by the water.

 The kids woke us at 7:30 this morning and demanded a little more time with “Prickley” and her cat, “Kitty.” Ripley, now forever known as “Aunt Prickley,” invited us to join her for a big, greasy breakfast at a local restaurant before we head off to Bellingham. With the promise of blueberry pancakes, we gladly accepted. After waiting for half an hour for a table, the McLay kids were beginning to get a little squirrely. This was our first restaurant meal on this road trip and I remembered why we planned it that way. Aidan and the girls fought over Aunt Prickley as each wanted to sit next to her. “Look at this, Prickley…. Over here, Prickley…Play paper-rock-scissors, Prickley.” It’s a good thing we had time to catch up the day before because my kids were not sharing. After a breakfast of Eggs Benedict, blueberry pancakes, eggs, and bacon, the kids were exhausted. Ella demanded that she be allowed to stay and clear the table. For a moment I was proud that I must have taught her well. One must clear one’s plate after eating… UNTIL, she lost it. Right there in the restaurant she started yelling and screaming to have her napkin back. She needed to clean the chair. Megan scooped her up and ran for the door but not before enduring a few hateful, “Why did they bring all those kids into this restaurant?” looks. Painful as that was, it only got worse as each kid begged to be picked up as well. “Aunt Prickley” took it all in stride as the McLay family rained chaos on her Sunday morning breakfast.

 We pushed, pulled, and dragged the kids back to the RV. It was time to move on. As I hugged Ripley good-bye I made sure to remind her that the night before she had accepted an invitation to ride with us to Seattle. Did she still want to go?  

Montana

After an afternoon marked with worry and even a little stress, we crossed the border from Wyoming into Montana around dinner time. We didn’t stop to eat this time but made sandwiches in motion as we were anxious to reach Billings before dark. After putting the kids to bed around 8 (remember the sun doesn’t set up here in the Summer time until after 9), Megan and I sat on the couch and enjoyed watching the sun begin to set over a dramatic Montana landscape. The scenery along I-90 is mostly hilly and green and composed of what appeared to be enormous farms lined by miles and miles of fences.  As the sun began to set, the farmers drove along their fence rows, dogs enthusiastically chasing behind, obviously inspecting their fences for breaks. The interstate exits, almost all marked with signs that declare, “No services,” seem to be there only as access for the family residing on the roadside farm.  Running parallel to the interstate is a swiftly rushing river and alongside it are train tracks. The trees down alongside the banks reveal signs of a flood, perhaps recently, after the Winter snows melted in the Spring. Montana’s beauty is harsh, masculine, and more than a little threatening; yet, the landscape is also somehow inviting. It’s as if Montana says, “Yeah, come on in, but be prepared to suffer just a little.” I thought about all my friends from college who longed for the hard work on Montana ranches every summer and while once questioning their sanity I believed that I finally understood.

 

Not only was Montana decidedly NOT South Dakota, I felt our luck beginning to change. While playing a game of yahtzee with Megan, I rolled my first “yahtzee” in a half dozen games. When I looked at the miles left to our destination for the first time all day, it was 17, my lucky number. When we rolled into Billings just as the sun started to set the cloudy, red and pink sky was streaked with an enormous rainbow. Feeling my spirits lift, I checked on the kids who were resting in the bedroom. I was secretly hoping they were still awake so they could see the rainbow. When I opened the door, all three were on their elbows watching the sunset and the rainbow from the window. Peace.

 

We parked for the night a lovely and extremely well-maintained campsite in Billings. Since it was near dark when we arrived, we didn’t have much time to explore. We were all exhausted from a very long and very difficult day. This campsite offered free cable, so we hooked up and turned on the tv for the first time in days to something other than the kids’ once daily Disney movie. I thought about watching the news. While briefly scanning the channels, I caught glimpses of what the cable news networks were reporting…. Results of tests on the crash of the Air France plane over the Atlantic and speculations about Michael Jackson’s death. None of us possessed the constitution to do it. We just couldn’t watch. What was the point? Those were not our troubles… not today anyway. Instead we settled on Fox’s nightly lineup of 90’s sitcoms. We all fell asleep relaxed and worry-free.

 

Waking around seven, we did some laundry at the campsite before taking off for Missoula, 350 miles away. The drive across Southern Montana becomes more and more beautiful with each passing mile as the hills become mountains and open pastures become rocky, tree covered peaks and valleys. It’s no wonder this area has always been associated with rock climbing. These rocky peaks aren’t sheer cliff faces but what look like enormous boulders stacked on top of each other. The Bozeman area must be a climbers dream.

 

A few more miles down the road and we really start to climb. By Homestake Pass, we have reached 6,375 feet. At this point, we cross the Continental Divide and try to remember what that means. All we can remember is that it divides the continent into two and rivers on either side will run in opposite directions. I desperately want to look it up on the Internet, but as is the case since St. Louis, there isn’t any service out here. I decide that it’s just as well. If I had internet service, I might be tempted to check out the latest celebrity gossip on tmz.com or all the anxiety triggers on cnn.com. The time free from the musings and opinions of the talking heads on tv has given me more time to think…free from the influence of the 24 hour cable news networks, the world really doesn’t seem that scary after all.

 

Meanwhile, the kids are being really good and tolerant of all the time spent in the RV. Megan and I pulled out some toys I had kept hidden until now for the girls. They amused themselves with the plastic food and cupcakes for hours today while we enjoyed some time free from the demands of bored kids. Ella clearly needed some privacy today so she set up her kitchen in the toilet room and closed the door. One must be desperate for alone time to close oneself up in there. Aidan was allowed to play Megan’s Wii for a good long time this morning since we were all seeking a little silence. Abby, when not buzzing around like a hornet, was quiet and fairly serene… for Abby. It wasn’t until we began to approach the mountains did I request that the kids sit and pay attention. Aidan had a great time with the map during Abby and Ella’s nap. He sat on the couch and looked for mile markers and exits as well as elevations of mountain peaks. He was a little disappointed to discover that we were passing so closely to Yellowstone but not stopping. After the Black Hills yesterday, we are just too afraid of the winding, narrow, mountain passes in this big rig. He got over his disappointment when I revealed to him that we would be camping at another Jellystone tonight.

 

Tomorrow is the 4^th of July which poses a few challenges. We will have to decide tonight what to do about tomorrow. Only 3 hours from Coeur d’Alene, ID, we would love to head straight there in the morning to join my friend Sara for the holiday. Unfortunately, Cd’A being THE tourist destination of the area means that there are NO campsites available throughout the holiday weekend. We are thinking of dry camping in a parking lot, but that isn’t much fun. We may just have to pass some time in Missoula before continuing Westward. If you have to be stuck somewhere with your kids for a couple of days, I can think of worse places than a Jellystone campground in Missoula, MT, that is planning a big Fourth of July celebration for its Junior Campers; however, the grown ups in this rig are about ready for a restaurant meal and a proper night out. Until then, Jellystone it is.

Welcome to Wyoming

Welcome to Wyoming! What a sight. We were free from South Dakota’s grasp. After the relative metropolis of Rapid City, Wyoming was a real shock. Looking out the windows at the stunning nothing-ness was at the same time awe inspiring and anxiety inducing. The undulating topography was green and sparsely dotted with trees. Cows roamed enormous pastures meeting horses at the fencerows. It ALMOST made me want to learn to ride. It was here that I began to reconcile with the fact that we are indeed taking a cross-country journey. Here, the isolation became both a threat and a wonder. As a mother, I couldn’t help but run through my mental checklist of “what ifs.” I tried to settle down and soak in the beauty, but I just kept thinking about that “Water in Fuel” light that the repairman said would “probably go off in a few miles.” It clearly WASN’T going off and we just passed a sign that said next services 40 miles. I checked my cell phone. Do I have bars???? Yes, ok. Relief.

 BEEP! What the hell was that? All the lights on the dash came on for one quick second… even the RED ones. Damn it! Do I have enough milk? The red ones went as quickly as they came. Only two lights remained… “Water in Fuel” and “Check Engine.” I know in my Sienna that the Check Engine light is usually just an emissions thing. What does it mean on a Cummins Diesel RV? Just then…. A sign…. Cummins Diesel repair 14 miles ahead at Jack’s Diesel. THANK GOD! It’s 4:00 on the day before the long 4^th of July weekend begins. We have to get there before 5:00! What if they cut out early? I don’t want to spend the long holiday weekend in Gillette, WY, but it’s better than Nowhere, WY, which is where we have been for the last 100 miles. Still, I’m getting scared. We near the exit for Gillette and I realize that I am going to be ok. Right there on the exit shining like a beacon of hope is a Starbucks!!!! All is right in the world. If they have a Starbucks, they must have rental car places and hotels. We’ll be ok.

 We reached the Diesel repair shop at 4:30…. Cutting it close! The manager, Richard, was a Wyoming Roger Story. He even looked like him. Reassuring us that we’d figure it out, I wanted to hug him. His mechanics hooked the diagnostic meter to the engine and we waited for the results. What would they be? How sick is the RV? The result was “Water in the Fuel.” Further tests showed that it was most certainly a faulty sensor. A sigh of relief…. No need to investigate the link to “Things to do in Gillette” that my mom had already sent me. We were free to go with the blessings of certified Cummins Diesel mechanics.

As we drove off, I paid heed to the snow fences along the highway meant to drift the snow in the fields so that it doesn’t pile up on the interstate and imagined what it must be like here in the Winter. Passing through this desolate beauty during High Summer is nerve-wracking enough. I paused to think about it and then decided to pour myself a small glass of wine. I’m ready to simply enjoy the ride. 

The South Dakota Challenge

Well, we knew it was inevitable. Our otherwise near perfect vacation had to incur a set back. After a pancake breakfast at the KOA Kook’s Korner (what can I say? I was hungry so I ate there despite my serious disdain for letter play), we headed back to our site to break down camp and hit the road. Today is Aidan’r birthday, so we were planning to do lots of kid-friendly things in “Rabbit” City (Rapid to the rest of us). We needed an early start. Camp was broken down and we were preparing to pull away when it happened. We blew the main fuse in the coach. Now without power, I can’t even boil water for coffee. Desperately, we began searching through the cabin for manuals. There were plenty of those, but we don’t speak “electrical.” Disheartened and afraid that the solution would require ordered parts requiring us to stay in Rapid City for days, we drove into “the city” for help. Thankfully, we found a great little RV dealership that fixed our problem within two hours.

 While waiting for the repair, I had yet another run-in with a surly, frank, and hilarious South Dakotan. This time her name was Mary. Mary was the receptionist at this efficient little hole-in-the-wall RV store. While waiting to see the repairman, Mary and I struck up a conversation about tourism in South Dakota. She asked me what I planned to do in Rapid City. I told her that we were planning to take the kids to the Dinosaur Park. “Why would you want to do that? It’s a stupid little thing with a lot of stairs and some rinky-dink little dinosaurs at the top. It’s goofy,” Mary replied. Well, here we go again. I am beginning to think that maybe South Dakotans think their state is as strange and “goofy” as the rest of America thinks about it. She suggested instead Storybook Village, although she withheld a 100% approval rating. She said, “It’s ok, I guess. The kids might like it.” After the RV was fixed, we took off for Storybook Village. When we got there, we agreed that it was just ok.

 Storybook Village was basically made up of weird little sculptures of pirate piggies and Pooh Bear and friends, etc. It was like stepping back in time…. To the mid-70’s and 80’s. Remember all those McDonald’s playgrounds with the Hamburgler and a super shiny Ronald McDonald? These things must have been made by the same people. Super shiny Dorothy and friends linked arms under a shabby little hut…. Definitely not Emerald City. The slides were taken straight from the Marshall County Rec Center. Remember the metal ones that get rust spots and burn your legs in the hot sun? The kids didn’t seem to mind though. They enjoyed the time out of the RV and a chance to just run and play. It was actually a refreshing break from the must-sees and State Parks.

 When the kids were sufficiently satisfied by energy exertion, we loaded back up to look for a Wal-Mart. Yesterday was Aidan’s birthday and after spending half of it in the service lane of an RV dealership, we wanted him to pick out a new Wii game as a present. Setting the Garmin for Wal-Mart, Rapid City, we rode around for a good hour while the Garmin recalculated and recalculated again. This area of Rapid City was only fractionally navigable in the motorhome. When we pulled into the parking lot, Brent nearly had a panic attack. The thing was completely packed. We couldn’t even get past the door due to the number of people absolutely FLOODING in and out of the building. We must have waited 5 minutes. Finally, we had a chance to make a turn to the back of the lot to park when the RV stalled right in front of the building. Thankfully, it immediately restarted but not before triggering images of a tow truck attempting to pull us out of the overcrowded parking lot.

 It took quite a while but Brent, Megan, and Aidan finally emerged from the Wal-Mart looking completely dazed and confused. Apparently, everyone in Rapid City had converged upon the Wal-Mart for their 4^th of July needs. Rapid City was seriously losing its charm… quickly. A sudden and very lucky discovery of a nearby Starbucks managed to save the day from ruin.

 All of this and it was still Aidan’s birthday. We had to think of something FAST. There, across the highway, was the glittering oasis of Chuck E. Cheese. Well, at least we knew what to expect. The kids didn’t care that we were taking a break from sightseeing or that we were doing something we could do at home. They just wanted to play skee ball. We ordered a pizza, a birthday cake, and two beers for $75. We couldn’t help but cringe as we realized that $75 was equivalent to two nights in a very nice campground. It’s weird when pizza is double the cost of your nightly parking spot.

 Satisifed with their prizes and pizza, we headed to a campground on the Mt. Rushmore side of town. It was an absolute dump. We were packed in like sardines in a can and parked on fine gravel… no grass whatsoever. We toughed it out playing yahtzee until midnight.

 We woke up early this morning and headed out for Bear Country, U.S.A. When we pulled up to the ticket booth, we were charged $53. We thought it was a bit steep, but it was still cheaper than an evening at Chuck E Cheese. Handed our map, we were told the drive through park would take anywhere from 30-45 minutes and that we were to keep our windows closed. Minutes into the drive, we spotted an enormous herd of elk having their breakfast in troughs along the road. Immediately after the elk, we drove past reindeer, timber wolves, and big horn sheep. The kids were squealing with laughter and shouting each new discovery. I have never seen them so excited. The animals were free to roam the large property but many were hanging out mere feet from the side of the road. It was a kid’s idea of heaven, I’m sure. Ella and Abby kept asking us if we could invite them into the RV for a ride. Aidan took some great pictures. Things were already exciting, but when we rounded the corner, there in front of us were dozens of bears. Some were eating, some sleeping, some playing in the ponds. The kids’ excitement reached a fever pitch. When the tour ended, we headed up to Babyland where they keep all of the park’s baby bears. The cubs climbed trees, wrestled, and lazed around the enclosure. Again, the kids were overcome with excitement. Bear Country, USA, was worth every penny.

 Back in the coach, it was time to fulfill some more requirements. Mt. Rushmore was relatively interesting; however, we decided to park, take some pictures, and head out again. We really wanted to make Yellowstone tonight and time was no longer on our side. The Rushmore picture was snapped and Crazy Horse was waiting. We had to move! The road to Crazy Horse was narrow and curvy. It was a real test of Brent’s skills. He passed. We were skeptical from our first glimpse. The Crazy Horse Monument was only a face! We knew it was still under construction, but we thought surely there would be more to it than that. After paying $27 to enter the park, we felt that we had to get out and check out the museum. No surprise here…. There wasn’t much to it either. Aidan had a pretty good time though. He was excited by the fact that for $1 he could choose a rock blasted from the mountain.

 On the way to the interstate, the Garmin led us astray. It was confused. We ended up driving through the entirety of the Custer National Forest. Again, Brent’s skills behind the wheel were seriously challenged. He had white knuckles all the way. When we finally made our way out of the Black Hills, we wound up back in RAPID CITY! I thought I was going to cry. Just then, I really got nervous when a warning light popped up on the dash…. “Water in Fuel.” NOOOOOOO! The idea that the Bermuda Triangle was actually in Rapid City passed through my mind. We had already spent more time than we ever wanted in South Dakota.  The good news: we were almost to the exit for the RV dealership we visited only yesterday with the electrical problem. We pulled off the interstate and paid another visit to our pals at Dakota RV. They assured us that this was only a sensor issue and we should press on.

 Eager to leave South Dakota in the rearview mirror…well, camera….. we hit the gas and sped away before Rapid City could pull us back into her Black Hole.

Another note on St. Louis

The Gateway Arch-

 

Approaching St. Louis but still miles out and we can already see it. There it is. Wait, is it silver? I had no idea. I always imagined the arch to be made of concrete, whitish, stucco-ish. It isn’t. It’s a gleaming monolith of modernity. It almost seems functional. It’s purpose to actually cut a swath through the skyline to delineate a difference in the air from one side to the other. On one side, the fabled Mighty Mississippi. The muse of Southern writers and the focus of innumerable folktales, the Mississippi is magically separated from the rest of St. Louis by this one-dimensional brushstroke against the sky. On the other side, the city of St. Louis protected by her keeper. The city from the riverfront is somehow feminine and fragile, yet stately and bold. The juxtaposition provides a landscape like none other.

 

Climbing the steep and narrow steps from the riverfront to the park beneath the arch, I felt like a bit of an intruder. Once underneath the arch, it becomes even harder to wrap your head around the sheer size of the Arch. The bases are huge… larger than several cars. The line to access the lobby takes you underground the park. Passing through a security rivaling the TSA, the lobby is reminiscent of Grand Central Station only without the trains.  Various tunnels jut out from a central point like the spokes of a wagon wheel. One tunnels leads the visitor to the ticket booth, another to the 1800’s style General Store, another to the Museum of the West, and another to the queue for the lifts to the top of the arch. We followed the tunnel to the ticket booth but decided against the ride to the top after seeing a sample windowless elevator car. I’m out. Of course I couldn’t let my kids see my fear, but I am sure like the little raptors they are they could smell it. For once, they didn’t protest when we declined to purchase tickets. For now, they were on to something new. There across the wagon wheel lobby was a stuffed bear. The bear was the greeter for the FREE Museum of the West.

 

Hello, Free Museum and goodbye creepy little elevator. We entered the rotunda of the Museum and knew we had made the right choice. Stagecoaches and teepees, stuffed bison and steer, it was a kid heaven. All this buried right there under the ultra modern and sophisticated arch. More juxtaposition and studies in comparison. It was perfect.

The hits keep coming

I have always admired the Midwestern spirit. That "call em like you see em, can-do attitude." Tonight, we met a foursome that had that in spades.

More on that later... We mad our way from Sioux Falls to Interior, SD, population 67. Seriously. 67. After following the road side signs begging us to stop, we did... at Wall drug. It was incredibly cheesy, just as most of the attractions in SD have been thus far. Sure, there was free ice water and 5 cent coffee, but there were also $10 hats and $15 coffee mugs. We did take home the free Wall Drug bumper sticker though. That was cool. The kids had a ball with the "sculpture gardens." It was fun to pose on the giant jackalope. Then there was ice cream. Brent was tempted by the roast beef sandwich complete with mashed potatoes and gravy... on the sandwich, but we ate lunch in the coach. 

After Wall, we wound our way through the Badlands National Park. FINALLY, an attraction that didn't disappoint. It was like we suddenly landed on the surface of the moon. The kids were troopers. It was a curvy stretch of highway, so we forced them to buckle up.  We rode for a couple of hours that way... windows open with kiki hair flying in the warm SD air. 

Making our way through the Badlands, we arrived at the White River KOA in Interior, SD. We passed the homes of all 67 people before pulling into camp for the night. After parking the coach, we pulled out the Coleman grill and cooked some chicken. Picnicking under a giant maple, we had just finished dinner and were heading to the playground when we were approached by a gang of four boomers... one wearing a sweatshirt proclaiming that she was the proud grandmother of a pit bull. Turns out, we are now, wether we like it or not, members of a club... American Eagle owners. They were eager to introduce themselves as fellow American Eagle owners. They requested permission to come aboard. 

After touring the coach, Megan took the kids on to the park while we entertained our new friends. One couple was from Chicago, and attorney and his wife/secretary... Barry and Cherry of Chicago. She fired herself last Thursday saying she was tired of working for her taskmaster husband. They invited us on board their Am Eagle complete with 10 year-old poodle and an espresso machine. Their rig was retro-fitted with a pull-down flat screen tv hooked up to a Wii. No children on board... all are grown... she plays the Wii. Apparently, they are members of an American Eagle rally and we were invited to join. The next meeting is in Ohio in September. We were given some brochures and exchanged emails. Next, we were escorted tp the coach of the pit bill grandma where her two pomeranians and bread pudding with caramel sauce awaited. She, too, plays Animal Crossing on the Wii. After a brief demonstration, I was urged to buy the game so we could meet up on-line and visit their virtual worlds. I think the only world they were living in was the Twilight Zone, but there was bread pudding. 

We were invited to join them at their slip for libations and a campfire. I think it's important to note that these were lawyers and hospital administrators.. who also happen to go to RV rallies and play a Wii game whose only point is to plant virtual flowers and visit each other online... however, they did have a poodle. 

This RV world is a strange one, but it's never dull.

Last night I met a woman at the campground who was entirely Midwestern to the core. She was spending the night at a campground (jellystone) only four miles from her own home with her granddaughter. Her name was Gloria and she brought the granddaughter to the campground because she and her husband had just taken her big brothers camping on the Missouri River to fish and she felt she needed to do something for her. We talked about kids and camping. It was an very pleasant way to pass the evening.

 As we talked, I asked her what we should do and expect out of South Dakota. I asked her about a couple of places in particular. “Gloria,” I said, “we’re planning to stop in Mitchell at the Corn Palace. What do you think?” “It’s stupid.” She replied with a very frank and sincere Midwestern tone. “Really?” I asked incredulously. “It’s Americana.” “It’s goofy,” she replied. “If you are going to go, don’t bother going in. It’s just a big craft fair. It’s stupid.” I was sure at this point that even though Gloria had thus far been utterly delightful, she must just not GET IT. I mean, we are on a quest to see the strange. It’s all part of the fun. She must not have a sense of humor. “You know, Mitchell is a real bore of a town. Sure, it got a little better after the Cabela’s came to town (sporting goods store), but it still isn’t much.” Intrigued, I pressed on. “So, what about Rapid City? There has to be something worth seeing there,” I asked. What came next was perhaps the funniest conversation I have ever had. A good part of the humor lay in the accent, so be sure to imagine a hearty Fargo (the movie) style accent here… “Well, they have that dinosaur park. It’s kind of stupid. Goofy little dinosaurs. Then, there’s the reptile museum. It’s full of snakes. It stinks (picture a wrinkled nose). No, I’ve never heard of the pirate restaurant. It’s probably tourist-y. If you want to have a good time ditch the kids and head up to Deadwood to the casinos. They’re pretty good.” It was like I was talking to my mother-in-law. It was wonderful… a Midwestern Eli! I missed that kind of honest answer. Imagine a Tennessean telling the truth about Gatlinburg and Dollywood. “Yeah, the trees are nice, but there’s nothing up there but fake Indian drums and goo-goo clusters. It’s pretty much a big craft fair. Don’t bother.” I was floored.

 Today, when we pulled up to the Mitchell Corn Palace with it’s façade only partly covered in corn, Aidan pointed out a very large mouse running from the building with it’s cheeks full of kernels. I was disheartened at first when I saw that the corn portrait of the Seattle Space Needle and NY’s Lady Liberty were only about 50% complete, so I insisted that we visit the inside. Maybe there was something worth the detour from the interstate in there. There had to be! As we walked along the corn footprint pathway past the concessions selling all flavors of popcorn (naturally) and the pictures of the corn palace’s facades over the years (since the 1890’s, mind you). I couldn’t help but to think of Gloria. The Corn Palace was stupid.