Up the coast.

It was difficult to push on from the Tahoe area; there was a sense of so much left to see and do. But push on we did, heading over toward the California coast. We spent a night in Ukiah (just up the road from the more well-known wine country) where we savored good beer and food amidst an eclectic group of townspeople. Wound about the oak-covered hillsides the next day before reaching the ocean, where cold fog greeted us. Definitely not my preferred vacation weather, especially after enduring a bland, gloomy spring that stretched well into summer. The bay below Mendocino at mid-day. I wasn't kidding about the fog.
Doesn't this plaza in the northern coastal California town of Arcata look pleasant? Seems like a gathering place for locals and tourists alike. A spot to enjoy weekly music, festivals, and such. One only needs to spend a night at the historic Hotel Arcata, in a room overlooking the plaza, to experience the reality: young vagrants boozing up ~ and exercising their vocal capacity in the process ~ 'til all hours of the night; a row of reeking bars open 'round the clock; and a token squad car that circles the plaza hour after hour, the officer within showing no interest whatsoever in enforcing noise ordinances. Such a shame. It could have much to offer ~ if it wasn't bathed in fog half the day and the July high crept past 60, that is. Surely this is captured within the pages of a volume dedicated to roadside American kitsch.

The Oregun dunes are stunning ~ even if the ocean in the distance is obscured by fog.
Inland again to the warmer climes of the Willamette Valley, where I ran the trails in Eugene ~ "Track Town, USA".
Home again, home again, jiggety jig. The end of the rainbow.

The splendiforous Sierra Nevada

We spent a couple of nights in Truckee, at the north end of Lake Tahoe. Another place I could live.

Totally Board. I love the combination of this building and the snowboard benches outside.

Donner Memorial State Park would be my ideal camp spot. (Except over the winter after crossing the Oregon/California Trail.)
Squaw Valley had one chairlift and two rope tows when it was awarded the 1960 Winter Olympic bid. It's still a reasonably sized resort, given its popularity. Nothing like the sprawl that's overtaken Whistler/Blackcomb. We loved it.
Some people claim it's worth $12 to bungee tramp for 5 minutes. They spend the first minute getting the hang of it; the next three attempting all manner of gymnastic feats; and the last hanging like rag dolls, wondering when the 5 minutes will end.

The gondola ride is so worth it. Totally different landscape from the Cascades and hard to believe this is a couple thousand feet higher than the ski area at Baker.
On top of the world with Lake Tahoe in the background.
A pool at the top of the mountain. Does it get any better than this? I think not.

High Desert

The only logical way to get from Yellowstone to California is via Nevada. That, in turn, requires crossing down through southern Idaho. So we spent one night in Twin Falls and here is what you need to know about Twin Falls: A mall sits virtually on the precipice of the Snake River Canyon. Lovely.

Driving I-80 across northern Nevada means you can drive fast and zone out for a while and not miss or hit anything. Elko is a good place for a break, if you must stop. The Ruby Mountains are actually quite nice to look at, the town has a good chamber of commerce in a historic ranch house, and the history of the area is indeed interesting. Other options aside from Elko include "towns" consisting of a handful of run-down trailers parked amidst ancient vehicles, or "recreational areas" so-named because three gallons of water were found there at one time.

Whatever you do, do not assume major intersections ~ say, where I-80 crosses 95 south ~ will offer anything aside from a frighteningly comical rest area from hell.

Numerous signs here warn that travelers may only use the picnic tables for 18 consecutive hours. Just in case you want to linger.

"For the Benefit and Enjoyment of the People"

You see a lot of buffalo at Yellowstone. Close up. Alone.
From afar. In herds. (Off in the distance...Per & Kai don't qualify

as wildlife in the true sense of the word.) This guy was quite entertaining. Get in a

head-on crash with him and he's not losing.

And elk are of course part of the landscape. Grazing in front of the post office.
Sporting new head gear.

Striking a pose.
And you may see black bears. We happened upon a couple,
but missed a grizzly, which was Per's true desire.
You look with interest upon hot springs and try to ignore the rotten egg aroma.
You wait around with the masses to gaze upon Old Faithful.
And when it's done it's thing, you ask your mom, "Was that it?"
Yes, dear. This was it.

You ask strangers to take a family picture and when they do a bad job, you smile and nod and say, "Great! Thank you!' and wait for them to walk away so you can ask someone else.
You beg your children to stay away from the edge...
...while their father makes the helpful (?) point that going down the falls likely wouldn't result in death.

So goes your day ~ a long day, if you arrive at the crack of dawn ~ in America's most hallowed national park. It is indeed a treasure.

Butte, Bozeman, and Beyond

Garnet Ghost Town lies off the highway ~ way off the highway, when a winding, dirt road is involved ~ east of Missoula. It was well worth a visit. I could have spent hours simply meandering here, and as evidenced by the photo above, we had the place to ourselves. But the hour was late and the open road beckoned.So after poking around ghostly buildings, we forged ahead to Butte. You'll notice I have no photos of Butte. There's a reason for that. The only time, in the long two hours we spent in town, I felt compelled to use a camera was when I saw a sign affixed to a chain link fence ~ a fence surrounding a "house" as inviting as a portable toilet ~ that read: "I Bit the Head Off the Last Person Who Parked Here". Ahem. Rest assured I have no desire to park here, there or anywhere else in Butt(e), thankyouverymuch.

On to Bozeman. You'll notice I have no photos of Bozeman. There's a reason for that. A rather long, convoluted reason which can be summed up thusly: It was pitch black when we rolled into town. We took the proverbial last room in town. Being me, I could not help but express my displeasure at the moldy carpets and blankets riddled by cigarette holes. Whereupon the manager kicked us out of the last room in town. At midnight. True story. And while a certain Other Adult in our family was less-than-pleased at that turn of events, I found it quite thrilling. I left the premises head held high and pointed the car east.

In Livingston, as expected, there was no room at the inn(s). So I parked outside a hotel with a "No Vacancy" sign and spent the wee hours of the night hanging out in the lobby, chatting with the desk clerk (a likeable, overweight, two packs-a-day kinda guy) while the posse attempted, in various positions of disarray, to sleep in the car.

Much to my partner's chagrin, I enjoyed the early-dawn drive down to Gardiner, Montana ~ north entrance to Yellowstone. I was last here in 1984 with my parents and a trio of German relatives. It hasn't changed since then, and I mean that in a good way.

See? We're no worse for the wear. Sleep is overrated.

"The world is full of bastards, the number increasing rapidly the further one gets from Missoula, Montana."

"Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it." Like Norman Maclean, I am haunted by waters.

The Clark Fork river, and the canyon through which it runs, are examples of why Missoula is an outdoor enthusiast's playground.

Missoula is a great college town, not unlike Bellingham in many respects. I could live there.
And if I did, this would be one of my haunts. (See my new bike there?)

Alongside the river, where trails meander and green spaces abound, there's a hand-carved carousel. Absolutely perfect in every way.

I honestly thought, when I saw this ("Hellgate") in front of a school that it was a joke of some sort. Can you imagine the fun you could have with this school name? ("Welcome," intoned the principal at the start of each school year, "to the gates of hell.") The Hellgate High Knights. So named after Hell Gate canyon. If this is hell, I can't wait to see heaven.

"Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway..."

We went on a road trip! There were ups. And there were downs. I experienced yet again the joy of (relatively) unbound travel, hitting the open road with no particular destination in mind ~ an approach that's frustratingly incomprehensible to a five year old. The band of brothers are commendable travelers, though, and adept at cheerfully tuning out repetitive matronly utterances such as, "Keep your hands to yourself" or "Why oh why oh why are you doing this to me?!" They never threw up. They played nice more often than not and they settled for old-fashioned amusements like spotting license plates from each state and identifying roadkill.

Still, I was reminded that I'm not designed to be in close proximity to other people 24/7. (The feeling is no doubt mutual.) I remembered that I love hot, dry weather, and learned that running at sea level on a regular basis is not akin to running at altitude. I can testify to the realities of the phrase, "If all else fails, we can always sleep in the car!" and to the fact that the Wal-Marts of the world are fast creating one vast Anywhere, U.S.A.

But despite that sad reality, there's still an awful lot of interesting stuff out there ~ not to mention interesting people. The melting pot syndrome goes beyond the boundaries of class, race, and ethnicity. Only in America can you put ten white, middle-class people in one room and have such diversity in appearance and outlook. Many a small town in the upper left-hand corner of our country is "Northern Exposure" come to life.

It's Not About Politics, or Religion, or the Economy

Let's rejoice in the beautiful game.