A Counter-Clockwise Loop

When last seen we were heading east from Dubois, Wyoming for a brief second visit to Casper before heading north again.  This time we took the opportunity to pull off the road to admire Crowheart Butte and read the details of how it came to be called such.  Like Devil’s Tower, Crowheart just pops up out of a rather flat and undistinguished landscape and like Devil’s Tower it is considered a spiritual place by Native Americas.  We were fortunate that the smoke from the Wind River fire had abated somewhat and our view of the butte was better than expected.

As we drove on I-90 through Buffalo (Wyoming) I could not resist the impulse to call our friend Roger in Buffalo (New York) to tell him we were passing through Buffalo on I-90.  Had him going there for a minute but I couldn’t keep up the pretense – I could hear him mentally clearing his datebook for our surprise visit.  It did give us an opportunity for a nice phone visit which happens all too infrequently these days.

Our next stopping spot was in Sheridan, Wyoming where we once again stayed at Peter D’s RV Park.  Mrs. D has a wonderful little garden smack in the middle of the campground and is gracious in sharing the bounty with their guests.  We had some yummy lemon cucumbers, which we’d not encountered before. 

In the past we’d done a thorough job of exploring Sheridan and so one day we ran back to Buffalo to meet Russ and Rochelle who are spending the summer in Gillette.  First we toured the Jim Gatchell Memorial Museum and then had a late lunch at the historical old Occidental Hotel’s saloon.  The room is “decorated” by a number of dead animal heads and I find it an appetite killer to be stared at by a long-dead elk.  After lunch we all took a stroll down the main street with its plethora of funky shops, poking our noses in when something caught our eyes.

We then went our separate ways until we reunite back in Geezer Gulch in the fall.

The next stop on our itinerary was Billings, Montana where we intended to get two new tires for the coach and new shoes all around for the car and to visit as much as possible with one of my college roomies, Gayle.  For some reason it seemed easier to visit her in Billings during the summer than to traipse across Phoenix to see her during the winter months. 

We also found the time to avail ourselves of the many antique and thrift shops around town.  The week just flew by and we soon found ourselves pulling up stakes during a massive but much-needed downpour.  Driving the Interstate in a drenching rain is no fun at all, speeding semis creating mini-hurricanes as they whiz by so we were very happy to drive out of the storm by the time we reached Laurel.  And there were blue skies and lovely scenery all the way to Helena where it began to cloud up again.

During our visit to the capital city, we were able to reconnect with Mike and Darlene, long-time RVing pals, for lunch and a nice chat before going our separate ways yet again.  Darlene has done a lovely job of decorating their new home with its view of the mountains and we wish them much happiness in their wheel-less abode.

Helena has closed off an area of the historic downtown to vehicular traffic and made it into a pleasant place to stroll, poking into one interesting shop after another.  Many were closed on the day of our visit, it being a Sunday, but at least that kept the budget in balance and gave us an opportunity to admire the many architectural surprises that the old town has to offer.  Today’s Last Chance Gulch does not offer many hints to its heyday as a gold mining town of the wild West.

Our next stop was Deer Lodge which we had toured in depth on a past visit so we made the longish drive to Butte for a day spent trying to imagine its past glories  when it was known as the Richest Hill on Earth.  Now it’s a city of crumbling sidewalks and boarded up buildings, not to mention the noxious hole in the ground known as the Berkley Pit.  Our first stop was the William A. Clark mansion, the first and most modest of the copper king’s palatial homes.  Currently operated as a bed and breakfast, the mansion is open for tours at a fairly spendy admission fee. 

Set halfway up a hill on a corner lot, the mansion offers a glimpse into the life of a mogul able to afford some of the finer things money could buy.  How’d you like to be the cook who had to prepare meals in this early version of a pressure cooker?  It’s scary looking, isn’t it?  Even with all the safety features available on the latest models, I find these kitchen time-savers very intimidating.

And how’s this for an improvement over bathing in a fast-moving stream?  The water comes out from top to bottom so the bather can imagine being bathed in a gentle waterfall.  But was it warm water or icy cold from the well?

 

 

Butte is obviously a cash-strapped city and many of the historic buildings have been neglected.  A splurge has made a recent restoration of the stained glass dome of the Silver Bow County Courthouse with its soft pastel colors – a lovely sight.

 

 

Continuing westward on I-90, we found ourselves back at Jim & Mary’s RV Park just west of Missoula.  It’s always such fun to stop here thanks to masses of flowers planted here, there and everywhere in the camp-ground.  And, on previous visits, we’ve always met up with one set of RVing pals or another, sharing potlucks or overdosing on all things huckleberry.  This time we made the acquaintance of an interesting couple from the Tucson area with whom we shared several happy hours and the chance to re-cap our day’s adventures.

We had two purposes in visiting Missoula – a tour of the Marcus Daly Mansion near Hamilton and a visit with one of my college roommates, Kathy, and her husband Fred.  For the drive south to Hamilton, the mountains were veiled in a smoky haze due to fires near Yellowstone and along the Idaho border but it is still one of my favorite areas of the country.

 

Our GPS, which has been giving me fits this entire trip, took us right past the turn to the Daly Mansion and into town after which she threw in the towel and refused any further information.  Fortunately I’d glimpsed a sign that was more promising than what Nuvi had to offer and we eventually made our way to the Daly Mansion in time for the noon tour.

And what a tour it was!  We were the only two on the tour and were lucky enough to draw an exceptional guide who made the history of the house come alive.  I have only vague recollections of the house, having driven past it several times back in the early ‘60s.  It has such good bones that I had no idea that it was actually boarded up and abandoned back in those days – and remained so for many years.  I only pictured it as a place where the super-rich led idealized lives.

The Daly family tree had a lot of dead branches and so when the remote heirs found themselves in possession of this white elephant, they had a yard sale of the furniture and artwork in an attempt to raise the money to pay the death taxes.  That left the house boarded up and denuded.  Since restoration has begun, many of the original pieces have “come home”, either donated or loaned by the families of those who acquired them at the yard sale.  Bravo to those generous folks—originals of furniture and art are so much more interesting than those “of the period”.  I couldn’t resist including this photo of the dining table set for an elegant breakfast party. 

Another not-to-miss aspect of being in Missoula is to attend the Saturday farmers’ market.  Actually, there are three and on the weekend of our visit throw in a music festival at Caras Park and you can just forget about finding a place to park.  We were so lucky to find a spot within reasonable walking distance of the first farm market under the Higgins Avenue bridge.  The array of fruits and veggies rival those at the various Oregon markets.  No arts or crafts at this market – just edibles including home-made pastries, canned goods, bread.  The crafty items are at an outdoor market on closed-off side streets along Higgins and the grand finale is the farmers market at the old Northern Pacific depot at the north end of Higgins.

We made a stop at the Monte Dolack Studio to purchase a print of “Montana” to replace the one destroyed in the flood last Labor Day.  The copper frame was salvaged but the matting and print were ruined by mold. 

We availed ourselves of two huge heirloom tomatoes and a big bunch of rainbow swiss chard before heading back to the campground for a quick refresh before meeting Fred and Kathy for lunch.  Thank heavens the restaurant wasn’t very busy by the time we finished our lunch so they didn’t make any attempt to throw us out; we occupied the booth for three hours while we caught up on each other’s lives.

It had been a notion to head south on U.S. 93 to the Idaho border, cut across to I-15 and stop for a few days in Dillon.  However, the smokiness of the area grew worse and it seemed prudent to take the Interstate since photo ops along the scenic route promised to be less than perfect.  We made quick stops in Dillon, Pocatello and Brigham City, having visited all three places on previous tours.

Again this year Labor Day proved to be an un-holiday for us.  Last year we had a call from The Posse telling us our house had flooded and this year we got rear-ended while stopped for a light in Logan, Utah.  Thankfully no one was injured and the car is driveable but the trunk is now seriously pleated and will have to repaired as soon as we get back to Geezer Gulch.  Just another snafu we don’t have time to deal with.

We have only a few more stops to make and we’ll soon be back to our winter routine.  There may be updates as we wend our way out of Utah, through Nevada and back into Arizona. 

Heading Toward Cooler Weather

We’ve been to Santa Fe several times and felt no need to explore the city itself, so the only major day trip on the agenda was a visit to Los Alamos.  It’s a fairly substantial drive from our campground and all that sitting had caused me severe back and leg pain so I was not exactly in a good frame of mind to enjoy the glories of Los Alamos.  It’s a very pretty drive up up up into the mountains where the city sits perched on a flat-topped mesa. 

Once arrived, we found there was not much to see or do.  The Historical Society Museum was in transition, housed in two rooms with a bare-bones display and short film while a new facility is being constructed down the street.  The Bradbury Science Museum tells a more complete story of atomic energy and the work done at Los Alamos but it’s a fairly sterile museum, relying more on story boards and photos than on actual artifacts.  After trudging through museum after museum over the years, we have come to appreciate the enthusiastic docent who can bring to life what we are seeing.  Bradbury did not offer such a docent, just some fairly brusque people pointing visitors in the right direction.

And what goes up up up must come down down down.  The homeward trip did not require much fuel but the brake pads got a good workout.

Our departure from Santa Fe was questionable thanks to a high-speed chase that ended in a police stand-off near Glorieta Pass.  The highway was closed the evening before our departure and only reopened an hour or so before we headed out.  As we drove past the Glorieta exit, there was still a large police presence gathered around the SUV in which the suspect had made his escape.

We made a brief two-day stop in Raton and then went up and over the pass to Monument, Colorado where we were crammed face-first into a site meant for a much smaller rig.  The campground, which is on a hillside and heavily wooded, is a challenge to enter and leave and on this visit was crawling with small children and barking dogs.  It’s nice to know we don’t have to go there ever again.  But the housing situation did not keep us from enjoying the area thoroughly.  We visited Colorado Springs and Florence to troll the antique shops and made several nice finds.  On another day we raced south to Pueblo to meet Marcia for a fine lunch of Sloppers at Gray’s Coors Tavern.  It remains to be seen if I can duplicate that little taste treat in my own kitchen; the last attempt didn’t quite get there, perhaps because of the raisins in the green chili.

Due to a conflict with Frontier Days, we weren’t able to get a site in Cheyenne so we pushed northward to Wheatland, Wyoming for a few nights.  As the owner of the campground said, it wasn’t the middle of nowhere but if you stood on a five gallon bucket you could see it from there.  He was not kidding.  We were surrounded by wheatfields as far as the eye could see.  Thank heavens the campground offered a strong wifi signal so we had something to distract us ‘cause the t.v. sure wasn’t any help.

And because our original plans had been to stop in Cheyenne, we had an extra day to kill in Casper.  We had to check in to one campground for an over-night and move again the next day, not something we usually do.  But the second campground promised cable t.v. and wifi and by that time we were suffering from current news deprivation.  As it turned out, neither was terribly functional.  One of our biggest pet peeves is a campground that charges “resort” prices for various amenities and then doesn’t deliver.  Cable reception was fuzzy and the wifi erratic. 

In earlier stops, we’d pretty much “done” Casper so we confined our touring to a meager number of thrift and antique shops, stocked the larder and headed west to Dubois for a much-anticipated tour of Grand Teton National Park and Jackson Hole.

Our campground in Dubois is delightful with an enormous treed site and a view of the Wind River.  Within moments of arrival I spotted a deer tip-toeing across the river and into the bushes.  A flock of Canadian geese shows up frequently along the shoreline, guarded by an overly vigilant gander.  The cable t.v. situation is pretty good but the wifi comes and goes at will.  A short distance away one begins to see the fantastic color striations of the Painted Cliffs, always with the fast-moving Wind River at their base.

Unfortunately, for a week before our arrival a fire has been burning in a heavily forested area perhaps 15-20 miles away and a great pall of smoke lies over everything.  Known as the Lava Mountain fire, it had burned 12,000 acres already and threatened some populated areas.  People were evacuated and the small town of Dubois was bursting at the seams with firefighters.  They come from all over and are being kept particularly busy this summer.

On our first full day in Dubois we visited the Bighorn Sheep Center and the Historical Museum plus the usual stops at libraries and thrift shops.  It seemed like a good idea to head away from the forest fire so we took a day to make a giant loop to Lander and Riverton before returning to Dubois.  It’s a long trip but the roads are good and traffic is light…very light.  Seeing another vehicle became cause for celebration.

Lander is home to the Fremont County Museum, a large new building with nicely displayed artifacts.  Everything was in fine condition, clean and labeled.  One of the first things we spotted was this fabulously beaded deerskin, intricately worked with size 11 seed beads.  As a beader of only modest skills, I can scarcely imagine the hours of painstaking work it took to complete this project. 

 

Except for an uncommunicative person at the front desk, the place was devoid of humans who might be able to add to what we were seeing.  We were the only people wandering around although two other couples arrived just as we were leaving.  The museum struck us a fine resource being totally under-used.  On the same grounds are numerous small beautifully restored buildings, early examples of Fremont County structures…but they were all locked.

There was slightly more traffic on the highway between Lander and Riverton, but not much.  Plans had been to visit another branch of the Fremont Museum but we got snagged up at the Jake Korell Wyoming Wildlife Exhibit on our way into town and just ran out of time.  What the Lander museum lacked in interesting docents, this little museum more than made up for.  Riverton is known as the Rendezvous City, where mountain men came to trade, and Jake Korell was a latter-day mountain man who kept the tradition going with re-enactments.  The front part of the museum is crammed with dead animals, most killed by ol’ Jake.  The docent told us perhaps a little more than we’d care to know about taxidermy but it was so nice to share his enthusiasm for what we were seeing.

To the rear of the building was a Wax Museum that was moved to Riverton from Cody.  The buidling was not air conditioned and it was a surprize that most of the manniquins weren’t just puddles of molten wax on the floor.  Maybe that’s how “Broken Hand” Fitzpatrick lost his fingers. 

 

Some of Wyoming’s most famous and infamous characters were on display and it was here that we had a reunion with our old friend, Big Nose George Parrott.  Here he is being operated on by Doctor (soon to be Governor)  John Osborne but, as the docent pointed out, George’s manniquin was damaged on the trip down from Cody and Richard Nixon’s likeness was used instead. 

 

The reason for being in Dubois in the first place was to visit Grand Teton National Park so, fire or no fire, we took off for the longish drive to the Park.  Like Glacier NP, Grand Teton is not meant to be seen from the road and most of her glories are accessible only to those to can hike, bike or ride in on horseback.  Being ‘way too old for any of that, we had to content ourselves with what could be seen from the car, which was severely compromised by the poor air quality from the Lava Mountain Fire.  We could barely make out the glaciers on Mt. Moran and there were no mountains reflected on the calm surfaces of Jackson and Jenny Lakes.  As we progressed south in the park, the air did clear a bit and the crags of the Tetons were in better focus.  Smoke or no smoke, the park was crowded with tourists and traffic was quite heavy.  We did not see any wildlife, which was a major disappointment.

On the way home we were detained by a flagger allowing only one-way traffic as the road was being chip-sealed.  The stop was at the eastern most edge of the Lava Mountain Fire and we could see wisps of smoke still drifting upwards.  Charred trees were in evidence, some quite close to homes and  businesses.  This is dude ranch country and the fire is certain to have harmed the local economy in ways too soon to tell.

On The Road….Again

It was approaching time to begin planning a road trip to escape Phoenix’ blazing summer heat but the heat arrived sooner than expected and not much in the way of planning had been done.  There was a vague idea of heading toward Oregon to spend time on the coast with faux family Ruthee and Gail but then Ruthee got scheduled for foot surgery and would be recuperating right smack in the middle of the best time to be on the Oregon coast.  That’s a long way to go to not be able to do what you wanted to do so we modified plans to include a giant circle which would take us to Grand Teton and then back to some of our favorite haunts along the way.

An arbitrary date was selected for departure.  The weather forecast was for temperatures to be slightly over 115^o F at the time we’d be loading up the coach and we just couldn’t face the prospect so we postponed departure by a week.  Temperatures never did moderate much but we had to bite the bullet and start the chore.  There was even less rhyme or reason to our packing process this time and, as we’ve since learned, many useful items were left behind. 

Our first stop, as has become habit, was to be Camp Verde.  Shortly after passing through Black Canyon City, not an hour from home, Howie noticed a plume of smoke ahead of us and it wasn’t long before traffic on I-17 slowed to a crawl and then stopped completely.  We could see planes and choppers dropping water and fire retardant not far off in the distance.  There we sat in 107^o heat, bumper to bumper, for three hours.  We were more fortunate than most, being able to run the generator to keep the a/c and refrigerator operational, with convenient access to cold water and a bathroom of our very own.  The CB radio kept us informed as to progress or lack thereof of the fire crews ahead of us.  The southbound lane reopened in pretty short order but we northbound folks seemed to be stuck in place.  There are stretches along I-17 where exits are few and far between and even where there are exits, there’s nowhere to go once you get off – just some dirt roads wandering off into the desert, no services, no nothing.  By late afternoon we had inched our way to one such exit and there was nothing to do but to exit and get back on southbound and find a campground for the night.

And so we did, arriving in Anthem in time to cook supper, watch a little (very little) t.v. and hit the hay for an early start the next day if the highway had been reopened northbound.  And it was.  As we drove past the exit we had used, we could see that the fire had burned right up to the edge of the highway and traffic was confined to one lane as work crews replaced the guard rail posts which had burned in the fire.  But the fire was out, no homes were lost and many travelers were inconvenienced but not harmed.

Camp Verde was at least ten degrees cooler than The West Valley and the nights considerably cooler but it was still a little too warm to turn off the a/c and open all the windows.  One of the plans on our agenda was to meet friend Pat for a trip to the Pine Strawberry Arts and Crafts Festival.  I had a notion that the festival had something to do with strawberries.  Nope.  Pine and Strawberry are two small towns up in the mountains on the road to Payson.  It had always been an intention to visit Payson.  Okay, you can check that off the list.  Yes, it’s pretty and yes it’s cooler but there’s only one road in and one road out and the tinder-dry pine forests seem dangerously close.

Another day was spent poking around in Prescott and Prescott Valley.  We visited a number of RV parks with an eye to perhaps booking ourselves in for a few months next summer.  But nothing struck our fancies in particular and we more or less shelved that idea.

With the 4th of July upon us, Pat had invited us to her place to watch the fireworks from her back patio.  We had an not-so-old fashioned picnic dinner.  Her house is on a hill over-looking the Fairgrounds so we had a fine view of the fireworks.  But they were overshadowed by an enormous black sky filled with stars and we realized once again how nice it is to get away from big city lights.

One of the reasons for making Camp Verde our first stop is to be close enough to home to run back for any really important things which might have been left behind.  We had our meds and eye glasses with us but did have to shop for things like nail clippers and assorted other small items.

After doing a rather thorough job of checking out the antique stores and thrift shops (and acquiring a few small treasurers) in the area, we moved on north and eastward, spending several days in Grants, New Mexico, a place we’ve not stopped in the past.  Grants is one of those small cities along Old Route 66 that slowly faded away when I-40 came into being and traffic kept on moving.  The cluster of chain motels at the highway’s exit seem busy enough but there are plenty of vacant buildings along what once was the Mother Road that still serves as the town’s “main drag”.  We had hoped to visit the Acoma Pueblo, known as the Sky City, but their brochure indicated that it would be closed for an extended period of time, including our time in the neighborhood.  And, yes, Grants is plural because it was founded by three brothers named Grant; had there been only one brother we’d be spending time in Grant.

We had about given up hope of having something interesting to do during our visit in Grants so we had rather low expectations when we wandered into the New Mexico Mining Museum and stumbled into another one of those magical circumstances that make RVing so much fun.  A gentleman at the front desk offered to be our tour guide and we always say yes to those offers.  We quickly learned that what was once mined in this part of New Mexico was uranium and that there were once 25 mines operating between Gallup and Albuquerque and that we had as our guide someone who had worked in those mines for an extended period of time.  Using a real uranium mine for display purposes would be hazardous so a condensed but very realistic (this assessment was re-enforced the next day by a real life geologist) replica has been recreated in the basement of the museum.  By realistic I mean that there were pieces of actual (and well-used) equipment lying about, sandstone dust and chucks of stone on the floors.  Nothing looked the least bit new or clean and we had Mr. Jack Farley to give us a blow-by-blow description of life in a uranium mine.  His love of the topic was obvious and he made us feel a small part of the experience.  The mines are all closed now because it’s cheaper to buy uranium from other countries than to mine it here.  These mines once employed 7500 people; nowadays you’d probably have trouble finding a half dozen willing to do that hard and dangerous work at any price.

When we got back to the surface, which also serves as the Chamber of Commerce, Mr. Farley pointed out a small display of rocks and other items of interest which were displayed in tidy glass cases around the room.  An item of special interest was a dinosaur bone, the interior of which contained iron pyrite (fool’s gold) crystals which Jack had unearthed 800’ below ground in one of the area’s mines. 

El Malpais National Historic Monument is located not far from Grants so we took off on Saturday morning to do a bit of exploring.  It turns out that El Malpais (which means “the badlands” in Spanish) is a park best explored on foot…if you are young enough and strong enough to tackle it.  We watched the brief film and headed down NM 177 which runs along the east side of the park, stopping again at the BLM ranger station for further advice on what to see and how to get there.  It turned out that the 1 1/2 mile long access road to the Sandstone Cliffs overlook is not paved.  While it is a pretty decent road, it was just not comfortable in the Saturn so we turned around and headed back toward pavement.  Progressing further south, we came upon La Ventana Natural Arch which had the good sense to place itself near the highway.  By then it was noon and we had no inclination whatsoever to hike even the shortest distance to see it.

There were beautiful sandstone formations, sculpted by eons of wind and rain, some free-standing, others clinging to cliffs and hills.  And there were plenty of lava flows from the ancient volcanoes that dot the area.  This park is one best explored in a more moderate season and with much younger knees.

On the way home we stopped at the Route 66 Vintage Museum located in the Double Six Gallery.  The museum tells the story of Route 66 in and around Grants through a selection of enlarged postcards which show Grants during the heyday of The Mother Road.  Most of the buildings pictured still exist, although not now serving their original purpose….or any purpose at all for that matter.  The docent volunteered the information that carrots had once been a huge cash crop in the area, something we never would have guessed, this being a high desert area.  Uranium and carrots, what an interesting combination. 

And now it’s onward and upward towards Santa Fe….stay tuned.

Life Is What Happens While You’re Making Other Plans

In case you haven’t noticed, quite a few months have passed since our last posting.  We were so busy “coping” that there hasn’t much time or energy left over for composing.  The RV presented us with a number of issues that needed immediate resolution.  In addition, there were  a number of non-coach-related problems that also demanded prompt attention.

Our last posting found us somewhere in the south-central U.S., decrying the heat and humidity every step of the way.  To add salt to the wound, the washer/dryer combo in the coach developed a tic (or maybe it was a tick).  The dial kept going round and round with no obvious relationship to what cycle was happening inside the device.  A phone diagnosis was made by the distributor and a part shipped to our destination in Louisiana.  Meanwhile we’d just wait ‘til we ran out of underwear and then hit a laundromat.  We made brief stops in Mt. Vernon, Illinois and Caruthersburg, Missouri and in Kensett, Arkansas which was the site of a Civil War battle known as The Battle of Whitney’s Lane by the South and The Skirmish of Whitney’s Lane by the North.  Either the North underplayed it because they lost or the South overplayed it because they won.  In either case, the Texas troops that came to the South’s rescue later evolved into the Texas Rangers.  Or so the story goes.

Much earlier in our journey, the shower door had fallen off and had to be repaired.  Remember that?  Well, then the refrigerator door fell off at 6:30 one morning.  Fortunately it did not require much in the way of repair.  And then Howie had to rebuild the shore power plug in 100 degree heat and what must have been 99.9% humidity.  And, of course, the a/c couldn’t function until the repair was made.

While we were at a Corps of Engineers park on the banks of the Arkansas River, we made the mistake of taking the advice of a total stranger regarding a “fine dining experience” in Star City.  Not only did the GPS take us cross-lots on dirt (and mud) roads but when we finally arrived the food was hugely expensive and lousy.  Both our meals arrived stone cold and the waiter had an attitude when we sent it back for re-heating.  Usually restaurants give you too much food.  Not this place.  We had itty-bitty pieces of steamed grouper topped with a heaping tablespoon of shrimp etouffee.   We both foraged for snacks when we got back to the coach. 

On our final day on the banks of the Arkansas, some severe weather was approaching so we hustled to get on the road ahead of it.  We made the longish jaunt to Monroe, Louisiana in good order and eventually got settled in.  If you ever find yourselves in Monroe with some time to kill, head on over to the Visitor and Convention Bureau and have a chat with Dorothy.  She’s a delight, y’all, and very helpful.  We were only vaguely aware of the Duck Commander phenomena and definitely didn’t realize we were at the epicenter of all the fuss.  So Dorothy pointed us in the direction of DC Headquarters where I acquired a copy of Miss Kay’s cookbook.  I was disappointed the book did not contain the recipe for banana pudding with caramel that I’d been hoping for.  But it wasn’t long before I found a cookbook which does.

For some reason I had really high hopes for Alexandria, Louisiana but it turned out to be a rather depressed and depressing city.  A military base closure caused a severe down-turn in the economy and the town fathers have not yet figured a way to replace it and get things humming again.  After just one day we were eager to hit the road for Lafayette for an extended visit with fellow RVers, Rose and John.  We indulged in some serious antiquing, drove through swamps and spotted this tall skinny house with some less-than-welcoming signage, and feasted on Rose’s Cajun cooking.  While John and Howie tackled some RV repairs, Rose and I sat around drinking coffee and solving most of the world’s problems.  The solution we came up with was to say screw it and have another glass of wine.

We left Lafayette just in time to avoid moving up a full dress size and made a stop in Beaumont, Texas to prepare ourselves for another few days of boondocking.  Not only did we discover that repairs to the washer/dryer didn’t work but the lock on the coach’s one and only door was broken beyond simple repair.  It’s just a good thing one of us was still in the coach when it happened, otherwise there’d have been some breaking-and-entering going on.  That’s the bad news.  The good news was that there was an RV tech available immediately.  But then the bad news was that he didn’t have the necessary part to repair the lock.  The good news is it was available from the factory and it could be overnighted to us for installation the very next day.  So now we have a new door lock, the cost of which would make the Pentagon proud.  And UPS got most of it.

Remember back to the incident in Rapid City when our cell phone number was hijacked by some unknown creep but Verizon was able to retrieve the number and put it back on our industrial strength flip phone.  We were in Beaumont when those chickens came home to roost.  Verizon had so totally screwed up our bills and payments and were threatening to shut off our phone service if we didn’t pay up immediately if not sooner.  They were even threatening to shut off a phone we didn’t have.  This all came to a head while we were sitting on the shores of Lake Conroe on a campsite that had only a nodding acquaintance with “level” and enjoying some good ol’ Texas humidity.

And for a Labor Day gift we got the good news that a neighbor back in Geezer Gulch had spotted water coming out from under our garage door and had shut off the water to the house.  Bless his heart.  His quick action and notification of The Posse saved us from a true disaster.  Oh, yes, there was some damage done and some items were lost to water damage but it was nowhere near as bad as it might have been.  We overnighted a key to our former neighbor and there was a clean-up crew in the house the very same afternoon.  Everything was so under control that we were able to continue our trip in the knowledge that things weren’t going to get any worse. 

Next on our itinerary was a stop in Beeville, Texas.  A seriously inattentive clerk at a fuel station handed Howie’s credit card to someone else and then denied doing it.  We had to drop everything and make a quick call to the bank to cancel the credit card and make arrangements for new ones.  The good news was we’d be in one spot long enough to get new cards sent immediately.  It’s hardly worth mentioning that a big rock leapt out of the landscaping and gouged a rear tire – that make and model tire will not have replacements available until the end of the year.  After all the stress and strain of the past few weeks, it was a delight to join Jack and Sally on their ark for some peaceful country living.  They have two dogs, two donkeys and a yard full of birds – green jays, Altamira orioles, cardinals, swarms (I do not exaggerate) of hummingbirds and a family of roadrunners.

While there we made a pilgrimage to Goliad to check out Market Days, then off to McMillan’s BBQ for a selection of brisket, ribs and sausage.  Sally had filled the back of the truck with potted plants so we drove for miles and miles surrounded by foliage and the tantalizing smell of Texas BBQ.  Suffice it to say we fell upon it as soon as we walked in the door.

We had the scuffed tire checked by an expert in San Antonio who pronounced it okay and we we continued on to Kerrville for a visit with former full-timers Bill and Jeanne.  RVers are so easy to get along with.  They are pretty much willing to try anything and are always on the look-out for new experiences.  The four of us trolled around Trade Days in Fredericksburg for hours until our feet were screaming and sweat was flowing.  Bill had a commitment to attend a Navy get-together so Jeanne joined us for a trek to Comfort and it’s art tour.  What a charming little town.  There are plenty of old stone houses, some converted to shops and the newly remodeled Faust Hotel.  I wish there’d been time to sit on the porch, drink a sweet tea and watch the world go by.  And to wrap up our visit we attended a wine tasting.  Only in Texas could you be drinking chardonnay and listening to old-timey country music.

Ordinarily we try to avoid crossing West Texas, which has to be one of the ugliest places on earth.  But by now we were in a hurry to get home and assess the water damage ourselves.  We decided to drive a bit further each day and stay just two days at each stop.  Which is how we came to find ourselves in Fort Stockton (again), Las Cruces (again) and Willcox (again).  This time Willcox was having a birthday party for Marty Robbins at a museum devoted to the Arizona native.  We had some birthday cake, listened to some local singers and pickers.  On the same block is the Rex Allen Museum, Rex’s horse is buried across the street in a little park by the railroad tracks and Rex’s ashes are a-blowin’ in the wind around Willcox. 

It must be that West Texas and New Mexico enjoyed more of the monsoon season than normal so we were able to traverse through shades of green rather than shades of brown.  It helped to shorten the trip significantly.

When we arrived home in Geezer Gulch we checked in at a nearby RV resort and beat a hasty path to check out the damage done to our house by leaking plumbing.  It wasn’t anywhere near the disaster we were anticipating.  After coping with one mini-crisis after another all summer long, this was just one more situation to be dealt with.  Being back on solid ground seems a little sweeter this time.

Rallying And Other Such Activities

After driving up and out of the hole-in-the-ground campground, we headed east toward the Wisconsin Dells and our first RV rally of the season.  It wasn’t long before we were made aware of the fact that Wisconsin must purchase their roads, second-hand, from Minnesota.  We’d just barely crossed the Mississippi River when we hit a stretch of Interstate that shook, rattled and rolled us all the way to our campground in Lake Delton.  Rough roads seemed to be the norm all over the north central states and the states with the highest tax rates seemed to have to the worst roads. 

This was the first time we’ve attended a tri-chapter rally and the wagonmaster had selected a dandy campground for headquarters.  Unfortunately the weather was so hot and humid that we were warned to be careful using the air conditioners.  We could either run both air conditioners and run the refrigerator and water heater on propane or we could use one a/c and use shore power for the water heater and fridge.  So we “coped” as so often happens when you’re camping out.  Having only one air conditioner is our current benchmark for “roughing it”.  It still rankled, however, that we were paying for 50 amp service and wi-fi but getting neither. 

One of the perks of the rally was a lumberjack show at Paul Bunyan’s Restaurant where we watched four strapping young men ply the skills of the timbermen who once populated this area of Wisconsin.  They chopped and sawed, climbed and leapt about in a frenzy of activity and their antics kept us laughing and gasping for breath on their behalf.  Most of the audience was of such an age that such vim and vigor was only a distant memory. 

While a number of attendees at the rally went off to view The Dells from boats of various sorts, we took the opportunity to make the run to Baraboo to visit the International Crane Foundation.  The Foundation was originally established by some Cornell University graduates to save the Whooping Crane from extinction.  Their display facility on Shady Lane has every species of crane on exhibit.  Away from the prying eyes of tourists, the Foundation continues to work hard to save the several species which are still endangered.  We found the blue cranes to be almost ghostly in their appearance and the two species of crowned cranes absolutely regal with their golden spiked hair-dos.  The 120-acre facility has been seeded with wildflowers and native grasses and was a-bloom with flowers and a-buzz with bees.  The researchers at the Foundation have to do a great deal of manipulating in order to keep some of the species viable.  We were surprised to learn that cranes don’t reach breeding age until they are six or seven years old and can live on well into  their 60’s and 70’s.  However, a high percentage of the eggs laid are infertile and good parenting skills do not come naturally so there is a great deal of egg-swapping  involved in maintaining the population of several crane species.  And those pairs who exhibit good parenting skills are often called upon as surrogates for abandoned fledglings.  

Our next stop was Menominee Falls, a suburb of Milwaukee, where we visited with Cousin Judy and her husband Dave.  There being no affordable campgrounds available nearby, we spent two days (with permission, of course) in a church parking lot.  Judy and Dave squired us around to all the thrift stores and antique shops in a 50 mile radius and we acquired several new items of interest, not to mention a stack of irresistible books.  I find nearly all books irresistible, especially when they are in perfect condition and cost less than a dollar.  On our last evening in town, Judy and Dave took us to a restaurant ‘way out in the country.  The portions were so large that we had enough left-overs for two more evenings!  As we left the restaurant, Judy mentioned that we were close to Holy Hill which she wanted us to see.  Somehow, a wrong turn was made and we ended up laughing ourselves silly as we shot up hills and down dales in search of the illusive basilica which caps Holy Hill. 

It was necessary to have a full-service campground just prior to heading to the FMCA convention in Madison.  The tanks that should  be empty need to be empty and the tanks that should be full need to be full.  So we headed northward to the town of Two Rivers on Lake Michigan to a small campground with the necessary facilities but not much else in the way of amenities.  However, it  gave us an opportunity to visit our old friends, Harold and Ruthann, whom we met on our very first visit to Apache Junction some ten years ago.  Ruthann was slated to baby-sit for her great-grandbaby and so we headed off to see the sights on our own and returned in time for a pizza binge on Saturday night.  One of the most attractive spots we visited was the West of the Lake Gardens perched on the shores of Lake Michigan about midway between Two Rivers and Manitowoc.  This privately-funded garden is open to the public at no charge and was at the peak of its summer glory during our visit.  The allee of Queen Elizabeth roses looked and smelled delicious while off in the distance we caught a glimpse of the ferry, Badger, starting her cruise across the lake to a port in Michigan.  This wonderful garden is supported by funds provided by its founders, Ruth and John West, and it continues to flourish as a living memorial to their commitment to that neighborhood.              

On Sunday we hit a few antique shops in Manitowoc and wrapped up our visit with a stop at the Rahr West Art Museum.  Yes, the same Wests as the garden.  The Victorian style mansion was donated to the city of Manitowoc in 1941 for use as a museum and civic center.  In 1975 a modern wing was added to house the permanent collection with both permanent and rotating exhibits.  The mansion itself is open to the public and filled with art and artifacts, the upstairs rooms being given over to various collections, including the Simon Schwartz Chinese Ivories.  It was a pleasure to wander around the rooms of the mansion and inspect those displays which most interested us.            

We learned that Two Rivers lays claim to the invention of the ice cream sundae.  Unfortunately we got too busy doing other things and never got back to the visitors center to try the root beer float made with root beer ice cream.  They were dubbed sundaes because they were originally only served on Sundays – or so proclaimed the sign in the town square.

 

The weather had been borderline uncomfortable with heat and humidity and it only seemed to get worse as we made our way to Madison for the FMCA Family Reunion.  We learned our lesson some years back and sprang for the extra fee for an electrical hook-up.  Those big green generators may have been noisy but they did an excellent job of providing a steady supply of amperage, enough to keep one a/c going nearly constantly.  The convention was a flurry of meetings, happy hours, seminars and meeting and greeting friends and acquaintances we haven’t seen since the last convention.  It was so good to see folks again, especially those who’ve had serious illnesses recently and who have made wonderful recoveries.

By the end of the convention, all the tanks that should be full were empty and those that should be empty were full so we made our way back to the full-service campground in Lake Delton to remedy the situation and to attend another brief rally for the purpose of dumping holding tanks, doing laundry and resting.  We decided to extend our stay an extra day so we could make the 40 mile run to Spring Green for a visit to the House on the Rock.  Others who’ve visited have raved about the place and so we felt we’d be missing something if we by-passed it again.  To my mind, the admission fee would have been better spent elsewhere.  There was a lot of walking involved and by days’ end I was just about played out.  Many of the display cases were so poorly lit that we could barely see what they held, others weren’t labeled at all so we were left wondering what we were looking at.  And, in spite of the hefty admission fee, almost all of the animated musical displays required a token or two (four for a dollar) to activate them.  I  admit to being disappointed. 

We were advised to stop at a scenic overlook on the highway north of the House for a long-range look at the Infinity Room and the Rock after which the house was named.  It was another long trek on a hot and humid day.  The view was partially obscured by trees and by then I was singularly disinterested in the House on the Rock and anything connected to it.

Having barely rested from all that hiking, we hitched up the car and headed due south for a brief stop-over in Rockford, Illinois.  For as frenetic as the rallies had been, the campground on the banks of the Kishwaukee River was peaceful and serene.  Jackie and Roy were also stopped there, along with their friends Ramona and Gary, so we had a potluck feast Wednesday evening, featuring the trout that Jackie had caught on an outing at Two Rivers.  They went geocaching and we went antiquing and we all met again the second night for an instant replay of the previous potluck, this time with fish tacos. 

Our paths diverged on Thursday when we headed south to Bloomington/Normal and they headed east toward Fort Wayne.  The only reason we were stopping in Bloomington/Normal was so I could buy a t-shirt and/or coffee mug declaring we had visited Normal.  It turns out the residents thereof have absolutely no sense of humor about the name of their city.  The only commemorative t-shirts and mugs we could find touted Illinois State University and the ISU Redbirds without ever mentioning that the campus is located in Normal, Illinois.  But we did get in some antiquing, scoring a number of eggcups and other little treasures including an iron Boston terrier doorstop, one of the items on my “need to acquire” list.

And now begins our journey further south, following our noses to Louisiana and some of Rose’s good gumbo.

Wandering Around in Flyover Country

When last heard from we were heading northward toward our home base of Rapid City, South Dakota to spend ten days of “housekeeping”, a visit with our lawyer, renewal of drivers licenses, catching up on miscellaneous other chores.  Rapid City is just the right size, big enough to have at least one of everything you might want and small enough to be non-threatening to those of us with urban phobia.  It also has Prairie Edge, the most fabulous store we’ve seen to date.  You can find more about it in a previous report from Rapid City. 

Somewhere along the line I became intrigued with the city of Belle Fourche and insisted on a visit there.  No particular reason except it tickles my tongue to say “bell foosh” and I’m fond of telling people it means “beautiful foosh” in French.  In fact it means beautiful fork and refers to an area where the river, also called Belle Fourche, forks.  It is also the more convenient geographical center of the United States, the actual center being some 18 miles out of town on private property.  This only became the geographical center after Alaska and Hawaii were admitted to the Union; before that, the center was in Kansas where it should be.  At the time of our visit, Belle Fourche was gearing up for their big rodeo extravaganza over the July 4th weekend.  Luckily we heard someone mention the cattle drive that was due to go right past the antique shop where we were trolling about and so we hastily returned to the car and escaped before the traffic got too bad.  Or we got cow stuff on our tires.  How can the running of the bulls at Pamplona compare with the running of the cows in Belle Fourche?

Our visit to Rapid City ended on a rather sour note when we learned that our long-held phone number had been stolen by someone wishing to take advantage of an upgrade in equipment at our expense.  After two 20-mile round trips into Rapid and two hours on the phone with Customer Service and the Fraud Department, plus postponement of our departure date, we were reunited with our original phone number and our old phone.  Being able to have the same number on the same phone was important to us inasmuch as the phone company no longer offers heavy-duty devices that can survive being stepped on, sat on or having several sacks of groceries piled atop. 

All this nonsense made us a day late arriving in Murdo, South Dakota.  It was a blessing in disguise since there is nothing to see or do in Murdo beyond what we saw and did.  The premier attraction in Murdo is the Pioneer Auto Show and Antique Town.  The entry fee was substantial but the promotion promised an endless array of classic cars.  Unfortunately, there are so many of them crammed together in low-light barns that it was difficult to appreciate what we were seeing.  Most of the cars have not be been restored, at least not recently, and were perched on wooden blocks and/or flat tires.  Only two vehicles were enclosed in glass showcases, a motorcycle belonging to Elvis Presley and a Cord owned by the old-time movie cowboy, Tom Mix. 

We like to think of this little home-made beauty as the Lemon Pledgemobile.  You can’t very well take it to a car wash lest it warp so you would just have to keep it dusted.  Wonder what’s under the hood?  Not one but two 500 ci Cadillac engines.  There was a list of components nearby; by far the most interesting was the 5 gallons of Elmer’s Glue that it took to produce this beast.  The rest of us do-it-yourselfers just use duct tape.

But cars aren’t the only attraction.  There are plenty of old buildings to wander in and out of, including a general store, a church, a train depot and a one-room school house.  Everything smelled musty.

A quick drive around town led us to the four corners which sported a hand-made sign indicating a four-way stop and a farmers market that was to open at 5:00 p.m.  So shortly after 5:00 we went back to town to see what sort of produce might be had.  Nobody else showed up, including the farmers.  We went home to an early supper.

Our next stop was Tea, South Dakota which is a suburb of Sioux Falls.  That’s where Roger and Cathy spend their summers getting their grandkid fix and we were able to score a campsite fairly nearby so we could hang out for a few days and enjoy their company.  One muggy afternoon they took us in to pay homage to the falls on the Big Sioux River.  Due to plenty of rain, the falls were running fast and hard, making them about twice as wide as is usual for this time of year.  For some reason, I remember the water flowing the opposite direction the last time we visited but Cathy assured me that was faulty thinking.

Tea is home to a pair of nifty antique shops so we did a very thorough job of scouring through them in search of treasures.  Suffice it to say that I now have more eggcups to find shelving for and Howie seems to be starting a collection of glass shoes, chickens and hats.  We’ll have to shop for curio cabinets as soon as we get back to Geezer Gulch. 

Roger and Cathy had commitments to attend a family reunion out of town so we said our goodbyes and all went our separate ways.  Our way took us 50+ miles south to the town of Vermillion, home to the University of South Dakota.  What a pretty campus!  The main hall has been recreated to retain the character of the original but the East Hall is the original and a very substantial original at that.  A wide variety of trees shade the campus and line the residential streets nearby.  It’s fairly certain that Tom Brokaw is the most famous alumnus.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The purpose of our visit to Vermillion was to tour the National Music Museum which we had learned about only recently.  Housed in a handsome Carnegie Library, the museum was founded in 1973 and owns a jaw-dropping number of historical instruments.  We were given iPods with a pre-recorded tour so that we could hear how the instruments we were looking at sounded in the hands (or lips) of talented musicians.  One can only wonder how the Stradivarius guitar would sound when played by a virtuoso like Willy Nelson.  Words cannot begin to describe all the treasures and low-light areas precluded decent photos but we urge you to check out the website and take the virtual tour if you find yourself with some spare time.

       

So so we bid adios to Siouxland, which our GPS likes to refer to as “Sigh-you-ex land”, not “soo-land”.  It’s such fun to take her places – she’s such good company and always good for a laugh.

We are on our way to some RV rallies in Wisconsin, which means we have to go across Minnesota.  That entails driving on what must surely be the worst roads in the United States.  I don’t know what they do with their tax money but they sure don’t spend it on infrastructure.  I’m not saying I-90 was a complete washboard but my pedometer did think I walked 8.5 miles on the short trip from Sioux Falls to Albert Lea.  And I was sitting down the whole time. 

And so now we are taking a brief respite at a fairly isolated campground near Spring Grove, Minnesota.  It feels a bit like living at the bottom of a quarry surrounded by hardwood forests, Amish farms, a babbling brook and a thousand screaming children who think playing miniature golf in a steady rain is good fun.  Broadcast television is spotty but PBS comes in loud and clear so we have endless cooking shows to watch, the phone signal is so weak we can’t even get phone calls from Verizon and the nearest grocery store is miles away.  This situation is due to change tomorrow when we pack up and head for civilization and The Dells.

Pueblo–Cheyenne–Lusk

Very rarely do we stay at KOA (one wag said it stands for Keep On Adding)  facilities.  For the most part, they are over-priced and crawling with children but sometimes we just have to bite the bullet and accept what’s convenient, safe and offers the amenities we require at any given time.  And that’s why we opted to stay at a KOA south of Pueblo – further south than we originally figured but at least it was handy to an easy-access fuel stop with good prices on diesel fuel.  On our first trip in to the city of Pueblo, we visited The Rosemount House, a late 19th-century mansion built by businessman John Thatcher for his wife Margaret and their four children.  Margaret had a thing for pink roses, hence the name of the estate.  Roses feature prominently in many of the furnishings and on the painted ceilings.  Photos are not permitted in the house so you’ll have to go to the website to admire the décor.  Unlike most similar museums, Rosemount is not decorated “in the style of the period”; nearly all the furnishings are original to the house when it was inhabited by the Thatcher family, including ceiling frescos, drapes and other such perishables.  The woodwork is nothing short of spectacular and includes some species of wood that simply aren’t available now.   It was one of the best museums of its type that we’ve seen.

Pueblo is situated on the Arkansas River (pronounced Ar-can-saw just like the state) and boasts a very handsome river walk.  Paddleboats are available for the hale and hearty while the less athletic among us can hire boats with pilots that don’t require a great deal of effort.  It was a blazing hot day so we opted to wander in and out of a few antique shops instead.  We tended to select the ones that were air-conditioned. 

We thought about driving to the town of Florence to sample their antique shops but decided against it and, for our second day, returned instead to Pueblo to scope out the library, the Goodwill and the remaining antique shops.  The Friends of the Pueblo Library used book store is a free-standing building that is bigger than a lot of libraries we’ve seen.  This book shop is so good that we actually made two visits and came away with a big stack of books.  I’m devoting this summer to reading Pulitzer Prize-winning novels and the Friends’ shop had many of them all conveniently arranged in one case so I snatched as many as the pocketbook would allow, concentrating on those I’m unlikely to find elsewhere.

While trolling through a crammed-to-the-rafters antique shop we bumped into Marcia, a friend from back in Geezer Gulch who is also a member of my Questers group and on the Friends’ board.  Small world, huh?  Happens all the time to RVers.  Actually, we knew we’d all be in Pueblo because I’d e-mailed her to suggest she visit Las Vegas on her way home and casually mentioned we’d be stopping in Pueblo.  Long story short, we made arrangements to meet in Pueblo for lunch on Sunday at a venerable Pueblo eatery called Gray’s Coors Tavern.  Somewhere along the line we’d heard that the restaurant has been featured on Guy Fieri’s show on the Food Network where presumably he sampled the restaurant’s most famous dish, The Slopper, but we could find no proof of this on the Internet.  Too bad – he’s really missing something.  The ambiance is nothing fancy but, my friends, The Slopper is just plain good food.  It’s hard to describe so perhaps you’d better check it out on the Web.  Recipes abound but the secret ingredient is the green chili.  Get that right and you are on your way to hog heaven.  While The Slopper may sound dangerous to the digestive tract, it isn’t, but you might want to take along your own side of Alka-Seltzer just in case.

It was overcast when we departed Pueblo but we didn’t encounter any rain.  Our route took us right smack through Denver, right past Mile High Stadium, and then along the Rocky Mountain Front and into the prairie lands of eastern Wyoming, our next stop being Cheyenne.  This was our third or fourth visit to Wyoming’s largest city and so we concentrated on hitting as many antique shops as we could.  We scored a goodly number of eggcups, leaving several lovelies behind which were seriously over-priced.  And the others that got left behind were ugly.  The clouds continued for a lot of our stay but we were spared any heavy T-storms or downpours which unfortunately hasn’t been the case for many areas just ahead of us.

Our next stop was Lusk, Wyoming which is in the eastern half of the state about halfway between Cheyenne and Rapid City.  It had been devastated with a serious flood just a few weeks ago.  Shops and homes near the railroad tracks were badly damaged and the bridge on Highway 18 which crosses the tracks had been washed out.  And that’s exactly the way we needed to go.  Fortunately a brief detour had been devised and we were well under the weight limit allowed so we didn’t have to go a long way out of our way.

There isn’t much to see or do in Lusk but the town does boast some pretty flamboyant characters from the past.  There was the good bad guy (or was he a bad good guy?) Tom Horn who was immortalized in a film of the same name starring Steve McQueen.  And of course Butch and Sundance spent some time in the neighborhood.  And then there was the more recent celebrity, Dell Burke, who operated a pleasure palace across the street from the railroad station.  The Yellow Hotel was demolished not long ago but Dell’s  reputation lingers.  Her feather boa decorates the Ladies’ Room at a local campground. 

We paid a visit to the Stagecoach Museum.  The Cheyenne-Black Hills Stage featured here in front of the museum is a replica but there’s a real one inside.  We were told the only other surviving stage from that route is in the Smithsonian.  Aside from the stagecoach, the museum features a two-head calf, a one-room school house, a general store and a very faded shirt commemorating the first Air Mail Service in the United States.  Niobrara County received the first Air Mail back in 1938.  We were fortunate enough to meet up with one of the museum’s directors who filled us in on all sorts of wonderful tidbits of information.  We were all stumped with the question of who starred in the Tom Horn movie but fortunately a pair of computer savvy volunteers was able to Google the answer for us.  Now if we had a smart phone…..

Bidding farewell to Lusk after only one full day, we headed north and then east toward Rapid City.  The sky was clear, the road lightly trafficked and there was plenty of pretty scenery to see.  This section of Wyoming and South Dakota is grassland, undulating like waves on an ocean, broken up with streams and gullies, stands of trees here and there and enormous vistas so that you can watch the cloud shadows develop and fade  And then, off in the distance to the left, lurk the Black Hills.  And they’ll be featured in our next report.