It’s about half a day’s drive from where I sit now, on the tired carpet of a Ramada hotel room, to Seattle. Before you get started on us, it was 104 degrees yesterday and yes, we either could have camped or toughed it out and arrived home around midnight, we chose to do neither, opting for a good night’s sleep, a shower, and sanity. Our mosquito ridden campsites and truck stop showers have proven that we’re no sissies; our refusal to tough it out when there’s no need shows that we’re smart.
Yesterday we crossed the Rockies through Glacier National Park. It was a wildflower extavaganza and the sky was so bright, so blue. The road is a little asphalt shelf high along the mountains, every now and then there’s a stone archway to let a waterfall or creek continue downwards. We saw mountain goats finding their way up, up, up, at the pass, we saw more prairie dog hilarity (lord, those are funny critters) we saw flowers, flowers, flowers, did I mention the flowers?
Now, we’re back in the land of strip malls and traffic. And tonight, I’ll be in my own bed. We won’t have to pack up a wet tent, find our route for the day, figure out where to sleep, chase off bugs, wander around in the dark looking for the loo… it will be easy and sweet for the first night or two.
But after that, I am quite sure I will miss the road. There was not enough time for everything, anything, there never is. A day in Glacier? What kind of craziness is that? A week, that’s more like it. Flying through Montana’s abandoned little roadside towns? That makes the photographer in me die a little. Missing all the second hand stores where ukulele themed treasures languish, tossed out after someone’s uncle’s trip to Hawaii? Oh, just break my heart again, why don’t you?
Yes, I’m complaining even though the trip was the right side of perfect. Sure, there was a little bad weather, some ugly welts from biting bugs, and bad coffee. But there were no sour moments and wow, the US is a grand place to travel! Wow! You should go!
This afternoon, we’ll unpack the van and go for pho. Tomorrow morning, I will shuffle barefoot into my kitchen and make my tea exactly the way I like it. I will shop for vegetables and make big salads to counter the awesome greasy breakfasts and diner lunches of the road. I will sleep quiet in my own bed, in clean sheets. And in a day or two, I will wish, with no hesitation, that I was still traveling. Peter, Kelly? What about you?
Kelly and I are parked in the Routan, drinking beer and eating pretzels. Our tent is pitched, our beds made, and we’d hoped to take a walk through “downtown” Medora to find out about the famous musical and the pitchfork fondue, but it’s raining, raining, raining. Hard. With thunder and lightning for extra flavor.
Earlier today, we drove down the Enchanted Highway — which was cool, indeed — in a massive hail storm, stopping at the end of the wacky, sculpture punctuated stretch in a Regent cafe.
“Oh NO! The crops!” said the nice lady behind the espresso counter, and then, “What can I get for you?” The manic tone of this conversation continued, “Oh dear, oh my, the hail!The crops!” following such mundanities as “What size drink?” and “Separate checks, dear?” She’d relocated three years ago back to her home town, but she’d been living just down the road from me in Burien, where, it turns out, she loved to go eat at my favorite Mexican joint. Twenty to thirty thousand people take the Enchanted Highway each year, we learned, and we also learned that the crops around us were sunflowers, canola, and soybeans, and wheat.
While we’re sticking to our routine of talking to strangers and bringing wacky sense of humor to our adventures, we do miss our third. Peter left us in Chicago to head off to Australia and now, pitching the tent is sound track free, as are a number of other events. I never would have guessed that three is a magic road trip number, but it is better than two because you’ve got one person in the back, minding their own business, napping away or thinking big thoughts, one person up front helping the driver with, well, everything including staying awake, and a driver. I’m absolutely comfortable enough to doze off while Kelly is at the wheel, but I feel like I’m shirking my co-driver duties when I do. Peter, we miss you.
Fargo was a terrible bust for camping, we caved and booked a hotel while perched in an absurdly named coffee house on Main Street. We hauled ourselves across North Dakota in a day, dulled into lethargy by the flatness of the eastern regions, pounded awake by pellets of hail in the afternoon. It was a long day with a lot of weird intervals. A Twilight Zone gas station in an abandoned town, a giant metal farm family, a campground serenade by a creaky duet in spectacular matching cowboy shirts. The fact that now, we’ve made the minivan into our happy hour cocktail room, complete with cold beer and snacks, well, that doesn’t seem so weird at all.
I’m going to tell you a secret, right here on the Internet and blow Leif Pettersen’s cover. Sure, that blog of his is full of snark, but you know what? Leif is a nice guy. A really nice guy.
Leif and his friend Rachel met us on the corner outside his building, they had a pocket full of quarters for the meter and a parking space scoped out for us. We went for a walk through the urban planning wonder of Minneapolis’ skyways, had coffee, and wandered back to Leif’s rooftop patio where we talked Flip Cam, TwitterFone, and fame.
Here’s a short clip of Leif talking about the Minneapolis skyways.
We’ve tried really hard to stay connected while on this adventure, but it hasn’t been easy. We were psyched when Boingo offered us access to their connectivity service, but I found a Boingo hotspot one time, while in a parking lot in Keystone, South Dakota. We haven’t expected wifi in the state parks, but the commercial campgrounds are serving up signals – I can read one now, camped by a river in Monroe, Wisconsin, but it’s weak – I’ll have to stop up above by the office in the morning to upload this post. We spent some time in the bar at Cedar Shores Resort in Oacoma, South Dakota, the waitress kept us topped up while we updated our photos. That was the best connection we’ve had, the rest of the time we’ve done our writing and editing while sitting at picnic tables, slapping mosquitoes and prepping our data for the moment when we can find a decent connection.
It’s this hunting for wifi that found us squandering the afternoon in a Dubuque, Iowa, coffee house. We had time, we were feeling really behind in our updates, and Dubuque is darned cute. After we’d perched for a good two and a half hours, I went over to thank the guy behind the counter for not throwing us out or pestering us to buy stuff – though we had, indeed been doing so. “We’re on a road trip and we just haven’t been able to get connected,” I told him. “No problem! That’s what I’m here for!” he said, and maybe 20 minutes later walked over with three glasses of iced tea, followed, after that, by a plate of snacky cookie bites.
We spent about four hours in total in Jitterz, drinking coffee, loading pictures, chatting online with our pals back home, but we also spent some time talking to Bob, the owner, an ex-British Petroleum guy from Alaska. He declined to be interviewed on camera but he did ask if I’d like to learn how to make a latte. (There’s some video of that, you’ll get to see it as soon as it’s been editing.) Bob is planning – with his wife – to ride across the US by bicycle, all the way to Eugene, Oregon where his son lives. He sent us on our way to Galena, complete with a printed map and a recommendation to eat at an Italian restaurant in that impossibly cute little town. He did us right, the pizza was first rate, though my brain was a little distracted by the fact that the two guys working our table were such utter opposites, one slight, short, dark guy with a little mustache and the other, a towering big pale man, a near giant with a sweet soft voice and manner.
I digress. When you stay in hotels and visit chain convenience restaurants, wifi is easy to find, it’s nearly a standard service. But when you get out here in the middle of the corn fields, when you like to visit places that are off the grid a little, well, you’re off the grid. That shockingly cheap breakfast joint in Mitchell didn’t have wifi, but it did have chocolate cake for 85 cents.
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Biscuits and gravy, short stacks and tall, choice of meat, hash browns, scrambled eggs, omelets, whole wheat, sourdough, white toast, chili rellenos, fry bread stuffed with scam, pork hash, and bottomless cups of coffee. It’s the most important meal of the day not just for you, but for the TBEX Road Trip. We stumble out of our beds, have a snack, pack the car, and then, we drive. We’re looking for breakfast.
The first day, we dine at Minnie’s in Thompson Falls, Montana. “I’ll tell you one thing about our food,” the adorable and very efficient waitress said. “It’s BIG!” She wasn’t kidding. Peter’s cinnamon role was the size of a loaf of rye bread, my pancakes sprawled to the edges of the plate. Kelly went for the half order of biscuits and gravy, it was a farmer’s breakfast, enough food to get you back out into the fields.
Day two, a perfectly fine diner meal in West Yellowstone. There are lots of diner style restaurants there, we just picked one at random and ate more of the same totally predictable and filling food – hash browns and scrambled eggs, bacon, fried eggs with sides, biscuits…
Day three, Lisa’s in Graybull, Wyoming. The menu says the serve the best breakfast you’ll have on your vacation and so far, the menu has not been proven wrong. There’s lots to choose from, fluffy eggs wrapped around green chilies, frybread stuffed with scrambled eggs, polenta topped with pork chili and eggs however you want them. The plates were generous, the food was fresh and delicious, we headed out fully fueled again.
Day four, another diner. Right now, I’m sitting in the van outside Tally’s, my belly full of hash browns and scrambled eggs. The coffee – my first in two days—was decent, the hash browns crispy, the cheese on top of my eggs a slice of barely melted processed American. You win some, you lose some.
I love a big breakfast, late in the morning. It’s a great thing to do while traveling – go out for a big morning feed. You’re full up for hours and hours, it’s usually quite affordable, and often delicious. Breakfast joints are friendly, easy going places, people are sleepy, the waitstaff is indulgent, breakfast has no attitude. We sit in diner booths, Peter, Kelly, and I, silly in our morning moods, planning our day, talking about what happened the day before, and generously tipping our waitresses – they’ve all been perfect and oh so cute – before tumbling into the day ahead.
