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Aug 6

To be back on the 5th, we stayed in Missoula for only one night. The KOA we picked was also the choice of several groups of Harley Davidsonians who graciously provided a 90dB rise in ambient noise at both midnight and 5:30 AM. There was also a never-ending supply of them blasting through the serenity of Glacier Park. Why are cars required to have functional mufflers yet two-wheeled, rattle-trap, rude, exhibitionist haulers are allowed to explosively fart down the road all day and night long?

On Sunday, we biked through the University of Montana, went down town and got a thick, straw-licking, old-fashioned chocolate milk-shake and a most excellent green salad at Butterfly and Herbs, I hiked up to see the town from the big M on the hill (the tiny wite dot near the center of the picture just at the left corner of the semi-circular section of the auditorium is our camper, where the kids sat and waited for me to lose a bet I could climb it in half an hour), and then we said good-bye.

We made it to Missouri Headwaters State Park that night where Lewis (of Lewis and Clarke) supposedly stopped and declared the area the beginning of the Missouri River. We barbequed chicken on the grill and swatted mosquitoes until finally settling into the camper to watch the fifth Harry Potter movie. Ursula and I were steeling ourselves for the three-day, 2,100 mile driving marathon we were about to undertake.

Monday got us all the way through incredibly long Montana, Wyoming and just past Rapid City, SD to a little town called Murdo. As we neared Rapid City, the highway became a long parade of bikers. We found out later they make an annual pilgrimage to Sturgis where the town then becomes the largest collection of Harleys and pot bellies in the world.

Murdo was really quaint and the campground people spoke with an accent that made me really miss my Grandma and Grandpa who came from that part of the country. I have to say that although this trip was a tribute to those two, I also miss my other two grandparents every day. My entire life, as well as the way I’m raising my kids has been a tribute to the love and guidance they provided. When I think of home, I think of them.

After our second day of 700 plus miles, we had dinner at a Cracker Barrel restaurant in honor of Gee Gee (and also to make it a little easier on the crew). We then unromantically slept at a rest stop in Illinois. I woke up early so we could visit Bloomington Indiana for breakfast. It’s a nice, small university town with a conservative center and a more hip, eclectic area near the school.

Our last stretch of road was the curvy, extortionist, West Virginia turnpike, the only toll-road we had to take on the entire trip. Toll roads, what an ancient concept. They rank right up there with out-houses and tube radios. Obviously, governments that run armies, police forces, fire departments. trash collection, utilities and numerous other civil services are incapable of maintaining the roads they commissioned to begin with and have maintained for years, so we have to give them away for nothing to the KBR’s of the world who can then milk what has thus magically been turned into a commodity (that once was public infrastructure) to put more money into the rightful, scheming, crooked, Mafioso hands where it belongs. “Here take my wallet, my government, and my kids for your resource-grabbing invasion too, just don’t tax my gas, that would be socialist and downright unfair to the poor, struggling, little, social security check-thieving energy corporations.” I’m already losing my vacation zen.

We rolled into the driveway at seven thirty Wednesday evening in the pouring rain. I had to jump start one of the cars to clear the driveway for the camper and got a little wet doing it while Ursula made spaghetti. Everyone is happy to stretch out on a real bed, and having a clean shower and toilet only steps away is also pretty handy.

What a feat, we traveled over 8000 miles in 31 days! We missed a lot covering that much ground, but the trip was totally worth it. Now we know where and how we want to go the next time around and there will be less traveling and more camping.

Today, the strangest thing happened when I took the dogs out for a real hike after being away for so long. While walking on my favorite trail, I got to see the very animal we were so convinced we would see in Montana: a big, long-limbed, shiny black bear loping gracefully across the path away from the dogs about ten yards in front of me. I didn’t have time to be afraid. The thought that crossed my mind too quickly to be in words was an appreciation of its size and beauty. Its back would have easily come up to my belly-button. In two heartbeats, it was down the hill and I was yelling at the dogs not to chase it. They intelligently obliged. In the words of each of my grandparents, “How ‘bout that!?” “Well for cat’s sake!” “Holy mackerel!” and “Oooh!” I’ll remember that bear as one large, furry punctuation mark at the end of my vacation.

Montana

Aug 1,

 

We changed our plans in St. Regis and headed to Flathead Lake up 135.  Another evening arrival left us fruitlessly searching for an available campsite on the lake.  We settled for a little Mom and Pop park across the road with zero view to keep us until morning when we would head out early to find a site at our real destination, Glacier.  The Pop of the operation mentioned he had camped there many times, so I thought he would be a good person to allay Aidan’s fear of becoming a Grizzly snack should we choose to go hiking.  He wasn’t there however, when we went back to the office, and the Mom had to wax truthful and say, “I’m not going to lie to you now, people have been mauled.” My efforts to convince Aidan a hike would be well worth it were set back considerably.

 

We did make it to Sprague Creek campground in Glacier at about 10:30 the next day and were able to occupy a very nice little campsite just behind the trees from Lake McDonald. The park is really busy with visitors (the camp host said this is the busiest he’s ever seen it) so you have to try and time your arrival to get there as other campers are leaving. 

 

After a lot of persuasion, we talked Aidan into doing what is called the Garden Wall hike.  It’s a little less than twelve miles long.  We took a shuttle up to Logan Pass along Going to the Sun Road. This is the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen.  To fully comprehend the weight of the word magnificent, you have to make this journey.  We got off the shuttle at the top of the climb up to the pass and started the hike by trekking along a narrow path with a sheer drop-off and only lengths of garden hoses attached to the rock to grab. Ursula conquered her acrophobia and made it past this first part of the trail knowing it only lasted for a couple tenths of a mile. 

 

We passed a little family of mountain goats sitting on a ledge at arms-length above us and stopped shortly thereafter to have our sandwiches.  Wildflowers were everywhere and snow-melt cascading streams crossed the path again and again.  They extended miles up-hill to our right and miles down-hill to our left, weaving in and out of view in folds of the rocky mountain slope and running under tunnels of snow.  About five miles into the hike on a high mountain pass, we stood in a patch of snow about the size of a baseball diamond.  In our shorts and sandals, we threw snowballs at each other and let the cold stuff sting us between the toes.  Just six months earlier, this same soft and fluffy white powder, came crashing down the creases in the mountain in volumes the size of entire Virginia hills to comb the trees over and wipe out the roads below.   But the park is so big, these swaths of destruction aren’t really that disturbing. 

 

A Chalet for hikers to reserve sits two-thirds along the trail’s length.  About two miles before this place, we came across a Ranger and asked if she thought we were on track to make it to the end of the trail to catch the last shuttle.  She replied, “Not likely, but you can always hitch-hike.” We picked up the pace even though we were tired. 

 

The last four miles are in an area that was damaged by a vast forest fire six years ago.  The underbrush is well-established and all the thousands and thousands of trees are an endless sea of silver poles sticking out of waist-high shrubbery.  Whereas the first leg of the hike had been full of people (groups of two or four about every two tenths of a mile) we saw NO ONE on the last leg.  The reason, we ascertained, is because the recovering forest is prime bear country.  We walked fast, sang songs, and generally tried to get the heck out of there.  With frazzled nerves and aching feet, we made it to the pick up point with about twenty minutes to spare.  “Not likely” turned into “Wanna bet?”

 

The next morning we spent beside the lake and after noon, headed to Missoula.  We had worked up an appetite the day before and wanted to try the fare at a restaurant recommended by Markus, The Mustard Seed.  Vickie the GPS had the address in her memory; unfortunately, it happened to be a house on Russel, so we had to try our luck somewhere else.  Today is Sunday.  We’ll go into Missoula this afternoon and then strike out for Bozeman.

Vancouver and Seattle

July 30,

 

A short walk and even shorter bus ride took us from our campground to the sky train that then delivered us into the center of Vancouver.  The train is a sleek, air-conditioned automated system that runs on an elevated track encircling and running into the heart of the city.  The city is really hip with lots of fit and healthy twenty-somethings living there in ubiquitous glass, high-rise apartments.  It’s really clean and the people are inviting. Twice, at the sight of me looking at a map, someone walked right up and offered help.  The traffic is amazingly light when compared to most big cities.  High gas prices probably have more than a little to do with that, but the mass transit is first rate.

 

We made our way south to the waterfront market where you can buy almost any kind of grocery you can imagine (and it all looks delicious) and then took a little floating bus to Science World, getting there just as they closed.  Even though I liked Vancouver a lot, we decided to head for Seattle the next morning.  Ursula and I wanted to visit the museum of anthropology at the BC University, but the kids protested saying the needed “just a little bit of happiness,” referring to their planned shopping trip in Seattle.

 

We found a place to park the camper at the base of the sky needle and made our sweaty way into the city on foot.  The heat wave was in full swing and we did our best to navigate using the shady sides of the streets. We ended up at the waterfront market just like we did in Vancouver and had some frozen lemonades to cool  us off as we listened to street musicians and smelled the stink of an open air fish market on a 95 plus degree day.  Getting back on the road in the middle of rush hour, we braved the traffic to follow Ursula’s trusty Lonely Planet recommended dinner spot.  

 

The restaurant was Septieme Café. The beet salad really hit the spot and we thought we recognized the very boulongerie we got our bread from in Merrais district of Paris on one of the photos that lined the walls (painted to match the colors of a prominently displayed Van Gogh).   The kids got to shop in an Urban Outfitters just down the block and we ended the Seattle experience with more than “just a little bit of happiness,” we were all completely content.  Two cool Coronas with lime and the feeling we’d turned to corner to head home might have influenced the mood.  I need to consciously savor every moment to keep sneaky thoughts of returning to work from creeping in.

 

Easton Lake is where we camped that night.  It’s a nice state park right off of I90 with full hook ups an a little sandy beach.  The water is ice-cold.   Our plan is to make to Missoula this afternoon and head up to Glacier National Park early Friday morning with the hope of finding an available campsite.