Grand Teton National Park

Driving from Rapid City to Cody, Wyoming we head into steep, narrow one-lane mountain passes. The morning sun gives way to cloudy skies, then wispy fog which quickly becomes thick and impenetrable. Here we are driving a 38-foot motorhome towing a Jeep on this narrow, spiraling road, with fog so dense we can see only about 10 yards ahead. I’m sitting in the passenger seat, gripping the arm rests as Steve deftly and confidently maneuvers our vehicle around one turn after another at 15-20 miles an hour. We’re moving at a snail’s pace and to me, even this speed seems too fast. We crawl along for 10 miles or so, past dense forest on our right and to our left, the sharp rise of mountains, then steep canyon. At last we slip out of the fog, leaving it gratefully behind. The scenery, of which we were dimly aware through its shroud, is breathtaking: tall ponderosa pine, granite mountains clefted by cataclysm and the patient, endless effect of wind and water over thousands of years. On our right, we see a deep and rocky gorge; a river courses far below, continuing its timeless work. It is a dramatic vista which we discover is one of many in this part of the country.

We are scheduled to reach Grand Teton National Park by Monday evening; we have made non-changeable reservations. But even as the miles slide past us, it becomes apparent there’s no way we’ll reach Teton this evening. We pull into Cody, Wyoming, around 6:30 p.m. and notice a WalMart as we head toward the edge of town. We see a few RVs in the parking lot and I say to Steve, “Why don’t we just stay here tonight and leave early tomorrow morning for Teton?” It’s late and he’s tired from a long day of difficult driving. He agrees and we pull into the WalMart and head around to the side of the parking lot where we think it’s less conspicuous and safer. There are 8 or 10 RVs and 5th Wheels camped out here, and it appears some of them are well-established – I wouldn’t be surprised if their children are enrolled in the local schools.

The next morning we head out, passing through landscape that gives meaning to the term “Big Sky Country.” The mountains roll on endlessly, vast and humbling. You feel power and confidence here – the landscape doesn’t allow whining or excuses. As we get closer to the east entrance to Yellowstone – the route we must take to get to Grand Teton National Park – we realize there’s no way we could have made it to our destination last night. The entrance road to Yellowstone is under construction; it’s narrow and unpaved in places, and because of the construction, the entrance closes at 8 p.m. Even if we’d made it through the entrance in time, there’s no way I’d want to be driving on this road at dusk or in the dark.

We arrive mid-morning at our campground in Teton National Park. It’s the only full-hookup campground in the park, and the nightly rate is proof – we’re paying $44 a night to be squeezed in cheek by jowl with other RVs. Nevertheless, it’s a pretty park, tree-shaded and in a great location near the visitor center, grocery store, museum and other conveniences. After getting hooked up, we ride around on our bikes to check out the area. We discover there’s a no-hookups campground nearby; set in the woods, each site is tree-shaded and only $15 a night, with beautiful views everywhere. We move to this campground on Friday and spend 3 days there.

Grand Teton National park is far more spectacular than either of us had imagined. The Tetons (French for breasts!) tower above the park, distant and postcard stunning in the flat light of midday, then subtle and deceivingly close in the waning twilight.

We spend the next 5 days biking and hiking on the roads and trails of Teton. One day we drive to Jackson Hole to take Princess to the vet for her weekly blood test. The vet charges $65 to draw blood and clip her nails. Guess you pay a premium for everything in celebrity-studded Jackson Hole. We walk around town, grab a one-buck burger for ourselves and a vanilla yogurt for Miss Priss at Mickey D’s, and leave. It’s the typical tourist town – lots of high priced shops filled with stuff you don’t need and wouldn’t take a second look at if you saw it at home.
We’re told by the campground host that the Snake River dinner raft trip is worth the $52 each, so we sign up. We take a vintage ‘60s bus to the site on the river where pontoon boats wait. Dinner is early – 5 p.m. – but good: New York strip steak grilled to order, fresh pan-fried trout, corn on the cob, homestyle red potatoes, salad and rolls. We strike up a conversation with another couple at dinner. We agree that all that’s lacking is a bottle of cabernet, and they tell us they almost brought wine, but decided not to at the last minute. So we quaff our iced tea and finish up with cherry pie for dessert. The raft trip follows the 2-3 foot deep Snake River for 8 miles; the water flows relatively fast if placidly. The big draw of the trip is supposed to be the wildlife that can be seen on the shore. We see a herd of elk and some bald eagles and not much else. But we enjoy the peaceful journey and listening to our guide’s stories about the region. Most of all, we marvel at the strength of the young woman manning the oars on the bow of the raft. She’s the one doing all the work, shifting the large, heavy oar from one side to another in the water while constantly adjusting the rudder to keep us from running aground or into the rocks. She’s one of only 2 women doing this job. Her quads, lats and biceps are well-developed but sleek, and seeing her fit body makes me vow to renew my workout regimen.
During the next several days, we hike a variety of trails, but our favorite is the Jenny Lake trail. The day we head out for this hike, it’s overcast and drizzling, but we decide to go anyway, figuring if it starts pouring we can always head back. We take our Niagara Falls “Maid of the Mist” plastic ponchos just in case, and sure enough, just a few yards down the trail, raindrops spatter on our heads. The ponchos keep us dry and the rain is light so we keep walking along the path which follows the shore of the lake. Soon we’ve left the lake behind and are deep in the forest. Wildflowers and berries bloom along the path – bright crimson Indian paintbrush, lavender asters, fireweed, yarrow, queen anne’s lace – and the leaves shimmer with moisture from the rain. Occasionally we pass massive boulders that have tumbled down from the granite peaks surrounding us. The trail winds along through lush undergrowth, then climbing as it coils around rocky cliffs, then again disappearing into the forest past waterfalls and rushing creeks to emerge in a meadow that’s both desert-like in appearance yet verdant with plants and flowers. And everywhere are the Tetons – sprawling slopes of granite, igneous, gneiss, limestone and sandstone, rising to nearly 14,000 feet into the sky at the highest peak (Grand Teton). As we walk, we see evidence everywhere of natural history in process . . . mountainsides strewn with the rocky litter of glaciers, water carving niches into the face of cliffs as it splashes over the edge, tree roots easing open cracks in billion-year-old stone, decaying stumps nursing seedlings into life. As we hike, the rain clouds dissipate and sunshine and blue sky put a sheen on the landscape. We hike for 5 hours and then turn around to catch the boat shuttle back to the trail head. We decide we should have started earlier in the day so that we could have gone farther; this was one of our favorite trails on this whole trip.

Most people who come to Teton and Yellowstone, the park rangers tell us, spend a week or more at Yellowstone and one or two days at Teton. We do the reverse and we’re glad we did. The two parks are connected so it’s easy to drive from Teton to Yellowstone; we discover that Yellowstone is interesting geologically, but it doesn’t have the breathtaking beauty of Teton, and while there are some interesting hikes and more wildlife to be seen (especially elk and bison), in general we’ll take Teton.

After several days at Teton, we drive to Yellowstone for the de rigeur viewing of Old Faithful spouting off and to see the mudpots, hot springs, fumaroles (steam vents) and geysers for which the park is famous. Yellowstone sits atop a live volcano, and its many thermal features, we learn, are a result of superheated water trapped in the earth and seeking a means of escape. When the water or steam finds a crack or fissure, it bubbles up as mud mixed with sulfuric gas or a skin-singeing hot spring, spurts out as steam or explodes furiously in an airborne geyser, depending on the amount of water present and the size of the vent or fissure. The mudpots are interesting to watch as they burble and spit, but after a while the rotten-egg smell of sulfuric gas is overpowering and makes me sick to my stomach.

The Black Hills from Lovers Leap 

An American Icon 

South Dakota

We are in Blackhawk, South Dakota – near Rapid City. It’s 95 degrees – the heat wave across the U.S. shows no signs of abating. 95 degrees is fine in Arizona; you don’t expect these temperatures in Wisconsin or South Dakota.
We arrived here after spending a few days in Sious Falls, SD, where the temperature was even warmer and more humid. Actually, I didn’t spend any time in Sioux Falls – I left the afternoon we arrived to drive (in a rented car; it is too hot for our noisy, unairconditioned Jeep) to Omaha, Nebraska to visit my best friend and college roommate. Despite the fact that we see each other only once a year (sometimes less), we take up where we left off as though it were just yesterday. We stay up late solving each other’s and the world’s problems (or trying to), then next morning, take a walk in her tree-lined neighborhood. After breakfast we drive to downtown Omaha for quick tour, then make a short visit to the impressive Omaha Zoo. All too soon it’s time for me to leave – I have to return the rental car by 5:30 p.m. or incur additional charges which I don’t want to pay.

The next morning Steve and I leave Sioux Falls with no regrets. It’s an unimpressive city in a flat and barren landscape.
Southwestern South Dakota, we discover, is a land of contrasts – golden grass-covered prairie interspersed with pine forests with massive outcroppings of granite and slate. On Saturday, we drive 30 miles to see Mount Rushmore. It’s one of those icons – sort of like Graceland - we feel we have to see since we’re in the area. But surprise – Rushmore turns out to be truly magnificent and inspiring. The sculptor, Gutzon Borglum, was asked to carve regional heroes into the granite buttes by South Dakota Senator Peter Norbeck as a means of generating increased tourism. It was Borglum who said that the faces should represent the best of American democracy – the birth, development, preservation and growth of the U.S. as represented by Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and Teddy Roosevelt. When you see the faces staring out from the side of the mountain, you feel a sense of awe, appreciation and respect – for Borglum and his vision as well as the ideals he represented in the work he oversaw. We learn that 90 percent of the “sculpture” was done with carefully placed dynamite; the honing of the faces was completed by workers using jackhammers, chisels, hammers and awls.

We spend Sunday at Custer State Park, a sprawling wooded preserve in the Black Hills. We're told we'll see all sorts of wildlife, including buffalo, but all we see is an oversized squirrel (maybe it's a woodchuck?). We hike the 3-mile Lovers Leap trail which climbs up to the fabled promontory where 2 Native American lovers supposedly leaped to their deaths. When we reach the peak, we sit enjoying the view, the breeze and the quiet.
The first half of the trail is strenuous in places; the second half is fairly easy, as it’s either flat or downhill. The air is warm but a breeze makes the walk comfortable, and the scenery is worth a little sweat. Later that night, back “home” at our RV, there’s a beautiful sunset (which I learn later is aided by a forest fire to the south) and much-needed rain to soak the earth.
Tomorrow we're off to Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons . . .

On to Minneapolis

July 12
We don’t have to be in Minneapolis until Thursday, so we debate about where to go next. Milwaukee is too far out of the way, so we head toward Wisconsin Dells in south central Wisconsin, which we’ve heard is a “must see.” It’s a must-see, we discover, if you have a carload of kids. The city of Wisconsin Dells is sliced by a river with 400 million year old glaciated sand rock layered like pancakes along the banks. But what families flock there for are its four amusement parks, each with 2 or 3 or 4 roller coasters, and adjacent water parks with super slides, sluices, pools and fountains. We pull into the RV park where we’ve made reservations and discover it’s basically an RV parking lot with electric and water hookups. We spend one night there and the next morning find a place on the edge of town with grass, trees and a more inviting environment – and one-third cheaper too. In the morning, we take Princess for her weekly blood test at the vet (her blood count is down again, we learn) and in the afternoon, drive south to a winery that was recommended to us. Our expectations for the quality of the wine are low after our experience with the New York wineries but we’re pleasantly surprised to discover this wine is quite drinkable; we buy 2 bottles. Then we take a jet boat cruise of the Wisconsin River to see the rock formations along the river banks. The boat captain takes great joy in making sudden stops and swooping turns to splash water on his passengers. We’ve been warned we’ll get wet and in the near 100-degree temperatures, it feels wonderfully cool.

On Thursday, we depart Wisconsin Dells with no regrets and drive 225 miles to Minneapolis where unfortunately the heat wave continues. The temperature is 96 degrees as we pull into the RV park and with the humidity, it is energy-sapping. I am leaving the next morning for Phoenix for my Thunderbird class 10th reunion and I feel sorry to be leaving Steve in such miserable weather. Phoenix will be hot, but as they say, it’s a dry heat!

Ohio Sunset 

USAF Museum 

Steve, Aunt Jane and Gene, downtown Indianapolis 

Old barn - Wisconsin 

400 billion year old rocks at Cove Point, WI 

Steve contemplating - Life? - on Contemplation Trail at Whitefish Dunes Park, WI 

Cleveland, Springfield, IL, Indiana and Wisconsin

June 25
While Steve is packing up the motorhome this morning in preparation for our 150-mile drive to Cleveland, I go to Wal-Mart to stock up on a few items we need and pick up a prescription for Princess. A part of me dislikes patronizing Wal-Mart; it seems to represent everything I am against - but truth to tell, it’s very convenient, both in location and in the products stocked, and the low prices are appealing for anyone on a budget (like us). The “few items” and the prescription add up to $113. That’s the problem with Wal-Mart, Trader Joe’s and Costco – it’s too easy to find things you can’t live without because the price is so low. On the way to Cincinnati and Dayton, we stop in Columbus where there’s a Trader Joe’s, and spend $300 on groceries and wine. Oh well . . . our freezer is full and we won’t have to restock for quite a while.

Sunday, June 26
In Cleveland, we stay at Pier-Lon Park. There are warnings all over the park office, on signs and on the brochure for the park that NO alcohol is allowed in the park. There are quotations from the Bible everywhere too – it’s apparent they mean business. It’s a good thing they don’t inspect each motorhome or we’d be thrown out. We just stocked up at Trader Joe’s on a case of Charles Shaw chardonnay and a case of assorted other wines.

We’re in Cleveland to go to the Rock and Roll museum. There’s a Nascar race and downtown is crowded with fans – at the race and at the museum.
We spend the day at the museum; it’s not the tacky homage to musical celebrity I’d expected. Rather, the building is a superb architectural work of glass, steel and limestone overlooking Lake Erie, and the exhibits are at times respectful, at times brash acknowledgements of the contributions of artists ranging from Les Paul and Leadbelly to Buddy Holly and Elvis.

The next day, we drive to Cuyahoga Valley National Park. It is not a typical national park. Sitting in the middle of an urban area, it follows the Cuyahoga River, and preserves the heritage and historic sites of the Erie Canal. We hike through the forested trail in the park on a warm, humid day, eat a picnic lunch in the shade of a ramada, and then take another short walk to a beautiful waterfall, one of several within the 33,000 acres of the park . Cuyahoga Valley is not one of the most lush or beautiful national parks we’ve visited, but it’s a pleasant green oasis, especially considering its location.

From Cleveland, we decide to go toward Dayton, in the southwestern Ohio, and Cincinnati, in the southeast corner. We pinpoint Stonelick State Park for its location midway between Dayton and Cincinnati. A lush wooded green sanctuary, Stonelick Park is on a lake where the sun sets each night into a molten pool of orange. For some reason, I thought Arizona had a lock on gaudy sunsets. I did not expect to see memorable sunsets in – Ohio??

Stonelick is one of the nicest parks we’ve stayed at, but the day we leave, I wake up scratching, and when I look in the mirror, I discover why: Bug bites - I look like an army of insects marched up my torso, stopping every few inches to feast. Where there’s skin, there are bumps, red, itchy and oozing. I look like I’ve come down with chickenpox or some scary dermatological disorder. Fortunately the 101 bites only itch at night . . . or when I scratch. The bites take more than a week to fade and for the irritation and itching to go away. Strangely, Steve doesn’t have a single bite . . ..

Steve’s love of all things aviation means we will not, can not, miss the U.S. Air Force Museum in Dayton. In truth, it’s more than an Air Force museum – while the focus of the history and the exhibits is on the USAF contribution to aviation and World Wars 1 and II, Viet Nam and Korea, the museum is really a history of aviation. I especially enjoy the Berlin Blockade exhibit, and a special exhibit on Dayton Holocaust survivors. Steve, of course, could spend a week at the museum; he settles for two half-days. At the end of Day 1, I can tell he’s wishing he had more time and suggest that when we leave Stonelick State Park tomorrow in the RV, we come to the museum, spend 4 or 5 hours and then drive on to Indiana. He’s delighted with the suggestion and agrees without hesitation.

July 1
We spend three days in Nineveh, Indiana, at Steve’s Aunt Jane & her husband Gene’s house on Lake Sweetwater. We attend a pops concert with Jane and Gene on Friday evening, followed by fireworks. On Saturday, while Gene works on his boat and Steve relaxes on the dock, Jane and I take a pedal boat ride around the cove, past the homes on the lake where kids splash and play in the clear, cool water of the lake and parents sun themselves on the shore or putter with their boats and jet skis. Later, we take a drive so they can show us the sights around the lake and in Indianapolis, where Steve was born. During the next 2 days, we visit the cemetery where Steve’s grandfather is buried, have lunch at Jane and Gene’s favorite New York style deli where huge sandwiches feature 3-inch thick piles of meat on home-made rye bread. Yum! Steve and I share a corned beef sandwich; there’s not a scrap of fat and even a half is more than one person can eat – but somehow I manage to consume the whole thing (half, that is). We walk around a revitalized downtown Indianapolis, watch a bald eagle soaring on updrafts at a state park, and enjoy the green wooded hills of southern Indiana. Aunt Jane and Gene treat us like royalty – they won’t let us do anything or pay for anything. They are warm and hospitable and we thoroughly enjoy our visit. On Monday, as we’re getting ready to leave, they suggest we stay longer – but we know the time to depart is when your hosts still want you to stay, not when they’re wishing you would leave!

July 4
It is July 4th. We are on our way to Springfield, IL, home of the Abraham Lincoln Museum. We are driving across Indiana on the Ernie Pyle Memorial Highway, which seems a fitting route on this day, as does our destination. We pass several iconic images of Americana enroute – an old red farm tractor parked in the field along the way; an American flag flies proudly on the tractor. We pass fields of corn – waist-high sweet corn, ready for eating by September; and field corn for livestock, “as high as an elephant’s eye.” I’m just thinking that in all our journey, I can’t recall having seen any corporate farms – the fields we’ve passed are relatively small with family homes and barns centered in them. Just as this thought flits into my mind, we pass huge fields marked with very official looking signs, each named and numbered. It’s apparent the signs designate tracts of land and what’s planted in them – these are no family farms.

We’ve seen many images of Americana in our travels – images I haven’t always been able to record photographically. For example:
- In the Hudson River Valley of New York, a deteriorating barn with a hand-painted sign on the side: “Farm For Sale.”
- Small ‘50s era motels with names like Ed’s Motel, Smith Motel, Friendly Inn. These are often small, one-story L-shaped buildings with 10 or 15 units, each with two weatherproof resin chairs precisely positioned by the door. The building is often white or grey with a contrasting color door – bright blue, red, forest green. The architecture is efficient, serviceable. I can envision the rooms – 2 double beds covered in ‘60s style “modern” print bedspread of aqua or green; blond or “faux walnut” formicaq nightstands with lamps that are efficient and uniformly ugly; a triple-drawer dresser of the same blond or brown formica; a 25-inch TV with bad reception and a clicker that doesn’t work; and an open closet intersecting the passably clean bathroom with sink, toilet and tubless shower. There will be menus for the local pizza parlor and Chinese take-out. And of course, there’s the faded floral still life or seascape print in aq cheap glassless frame hanging on the wall above the bed. It’s a functional room meant for sleeping and leaving, nothing else.

We’ve also visited many, many museums – and missed many others, to my dismay. It is remarkable how many unique, inspiring and just plain wonderful museums there are in places where you least expect it. Buffalo, New York has a renowned museum of art (which unfortunately we didn’t get to see); Cincinnati has the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center – newly opened in 2004 – with dramatic architecture and exhibits that explore all aspects of freedom – genocide, poverty, resources, slavery, oppression, injustice. We visited the Freedom Center expecting to spend an hour or two and instead spent the day, departing at closing time with disheartened at how inhumanely humans can treat each other – and with renewed awareness that freedom – and its counterpart, oppression – is not the responsibility of world leaders or countries, but each of us everyday. It’s much easier to shift the burden and the blame to the impersonal, distant “they” rather than acknowledge the impact of our own everyday words and deeds.

“Become the change you seek in the world.” – Mahatma Ghandi

July 5
Today it’s the Abraham Lincoln Museum in Springfield, Illinois. The museum opened in April 2005; it provides a chronological view of Lincoln’s boyhood, pre-presidential years and presidency. The exhibits are interesting, and a short video attempts to “de-mythologize” Lincoln, but at the end of the day, I believe the museum perpetuates the iconic, mythic Lincoln rather than depicting him as a human with flaws and strengths, a political man with integrity, a leader who vacillated and put off making decisions, but ultimately made the right one, whether it was finally firing the spineless McLellan, or making Grant head of the Union army despite his past failures. Although history refers to Lincoln as The Great Emancipator, his primary goal from the start of the war was to save the Union, and emancipating the slaves was a decision he made only after many years and much thought, and always with the idea that the or freed slaves might be colonized in South America or Africa, not in the U.S. – north or south.

Nevertheless, we spend the day at the museum, visit the Presidential Library briefly, then go to Oak Ridge Cemetary, where Lincoln, Mary Todd Lincoln, and 3 of their sons are buried. The Lincoln monument, with its sandstone tower reaching to the sky, is a powerful and moving monument to one of our nation’s greatest leaders. We visit the tomb and return later that evening to watch the flag ceremony with members of the 114th Infantry Regiment Illinois Volunteers.

The next day, before leaving Springfield, Steve vists Shea’s Gas Station Museum, where gas station and Route 66 memorabilia are plentiful. Since he managed a gas station in his teens, he’s always had an affinity for old gas pumps, and he spends a couple of hours with Mr. Shea hearing how he bought the Marathon gas station after World War II and eventually converted it to a museum.

July 11
Door County, Wisconsin
We picked cherries today – a gallon of Montmorency tart red cherries for $5.50, and bought fresh-made Wisconsin cheese at Renard’s cheese shop – extra sharp Wisconsin cheddar for $2.49 a pound!

Abraham Lincoln's Tomb 

Poetry House 

Our Mattress Factory tour guide, Jason