Migrating Southward - 2013

We’ve been in travel mode for several weeks now as we wend our way southward from the chilly damp climate of Oregon to the toasty dry warmth of Arizona.  This is what constitutes “hurrying” for us, moving around 150 miles per day every other day or so, seeing what there is to see along the way, experiencing new areas of the country or noticing what we might have missed on the first go-round.

While we were in Oregon we couldn’t help but notice an unusual number of homeless people, soliciting funds on street corners or hitchhiking.  Their signs proclaimed poverty, homelessness, a need for food or money.  But some were downright humorous – one fellow’s sign announced that his wife was being held for ransom and he needed 75 cents for her release.  Another sign flatly announced that money was needed for beer.  Many of these people had positioned themselves near shops and stores which displayed “help wanted” signs in the windows and we were left wondering what invisible barrier kept the two placard bearers apart.

It was raining as we left Neskowin and swept up and over the Coastal Range for another two-day stop in Albany.  The rain persisted and we spent our one idle day on a dash up to the outlet mall at Woodburn to purchase a glorified boom-box on which to play our vast collection of CDs.  The rain continued off and on for the next leg of the trip, up and over the Cascades and into Redmond.  The route took us along the Santiam River and over Santiam Pass then down into the quaint little tourist trap town of Sisters.  Sisters has previously been known for its traffic jams but some new roads have improved the situation greatly and we were soon settled in at our campground at the Deschutes County Fairgrounds. 

Our stay in Redmond was blessed with a little more sunshine than we’d come to expect but the temperature was showing signs of oncoming winter and the Three Sisters (Faith, Hope and Charity) in the Cascades were draped in a fair amount of snow, not just at the peaks but well down the slopes.  Several of the local RV dealers were having a sale and so we spent most of our one free day kicking tires on a variety of vehicles.  We did not kick anything we liked better than what we already have.  It’s pretty evident we haven’t wrapped our heads around the idea of “down-sizing” yet.  Everything except the “40 foot shopping carts” seemed a bit cramped.

The next leg of the journey took us south to LaPine and then southeast on the diagonal in the direction of Lakeview.  Or, as our GPS calls it, La Key View.  This was a new section of Oregon for us and we marveled yet again how diverse the terrain is in that state.  Once we left the dwarfed greenery of Deschutes National Forest, there was an immediate scarcity of plant life and we found ourselves in what is known as The Oregon Outback.  Towns are few and far between and there are several enormous dry lakebeds.  The campground I’d selected for our three-day stay was located ten miles west of town on the road to Klamath Falls.  It was situated in the middle of an 8000 acre cattle ranch with a view of the Warner Mountains and of Juniper Reservoir.  The weather was quite nice when we arrived, sunny but cool, and we were able to sit outside and enjoy the total quiet (except for moo-ing cows) of this rustic area. 

Overnight the weather turned nasty, the outer edge of a severe storm along the coast, which resulted mostly in strong winds and clouds but not much rain.  Going into town didn’t seem like that good an idea so we sat tight all day Saturday, amusing ourselves by watching first the black cows and then the brown cows.  The highlight of the day was observing a pair of hawks squabbling over some tasty rodent, followed by the antics of two coyotes off in the distance.  At least we think they were coyotes.  By evening the wind had picked up even more and the rain came down in earnest and kept up the pace all day on Sunday, by which time we were mumbling to ourselves and succumbing to a good case of cabin fever.  A trip into town on Sunday to buy a newspaper broke up the monotony somewhat and gave us an opportunity to see what we’d missed in Lakeview.  Not much, as it turns out.

It was still breezy on Monday when we departed to continue the southward route, this time with the city of Susanville, California in our sights.  The road took us along the shores of Goose Lake which showed big and blue on the GPS screen but in reality had cattle grazing on it.  Again, towns were small and very far apart so we were happy to find that Susanville is quite the robust community with a variety of stores and to discover our campground was exceptionally nice and came complete with cable t.v. and Wi-Fi.  These little perks may not seem like much in the over-all scheme of things but they become huge when one is suffering from a certain degree of sensory deprivation.

On Day Two of our stop-over we happened upon the Lassen County Historical Museum, an attractive and welcoming log building located near Roop’s Fort, the town’s original shopping plaza.  We were surprised to find the museum open on a Tuesday and walked in to find a group of four people sitting in a circle in the reception area.  We thought we’d stumbled into a meeting of some sort but as it turns out it was just an impromptu gathering of some of the museum’s volunteers, sitting around an imaginary cracker barrel and solving the world’s (or at least the museum’s) problems.  Chairs were immediately pulled up and we were invited to join the conversation.  Most of the volunteers have roots which go deep into the history of the area, their ancestors having arrived via the Nobles or Lassen Emigrant Trails from various places “back East”.

As it turned out, we were so engrossed in conversation that we almost forgot to check out the museum’s collection.  Susan, the Board’s secretary, showed us around some of the displays and it quickly became apparent that she relishes careful study of the artifacts displayed.  You can only begin to imagine the stories behind some of the items.  There was a wooden leg, complete with an awkward and heavy-looking articulated metal “knee”.  It was found out in the high desert along the Nobles trail.  Who did it belong to and how did it come to be left behind?  Those questions are likely to remain unanswered but it’s fun to contemplate the possible answers and to once again marvel at the fortitude of the pioneers.    All of the items in the museum were nicely labeled and well-presented with only a portion of the collection being displayed at any one time so as not to overwhelm the visitor.  Susanville is lucky to have such a nice facility and even luckier to have a dedicated group of volunteers to keep it vibrant.

One of these days we’ve got to do a better job of exploring Reno, Nevada.  But this wasn’t the time.  We made a brief stop in the nearby town of Fernley, did some shopping and hit the road again.  If you look at a map of the state of Nevada you will notice that there isn’t an abundance of roads to choose from.  If U.S. 50 can bill itself as “the loneliest highway in America” then we don’t know what U.S. 95 can call itself.  Not only is there a shortage of towns along the route from Fallon southward, there’s a distinct lack of scenery.  The terrain is all the shades of brown you can imagine, a curve in the road is cause for big excitement and the spotting of another vehicle cause for celebration.  It would be a good place to bury toxic waste….hey, wait, they do!

The road is so long and so dull that stops at Mina and Beatty were required just to alleviate the boredom.  Mina is a wide spot in the road, a place where folks go who want to ride around in the desert on ATVs or quads or whatever those waspy little things are called.  Metal detecting is also big entertainment.  We did drive to town on Saturday and discovered this quirky bit of architecture.  There must be an explanation.

Rarely do we just spend one night in a place but we’ve explored Beatty (and its suburb, Rhyolite) on previous occasions so we made a quick stop-over and headed into Pahrump the next day.  Pahrump must be one of the biggest cities in Nevada, not in terms of population but in square footage.  It’s sprawled all over the place.  Pahrump was enjoying a boom-town phase when the housing crisis developed and so the blank spots between housing tracts never quite got filled in, leaving miles of desert between “settlements”.  It’s a city of enormous contrasts:  there are lots of churches, lots of brothels and lots of casinos, along with a lot of pawn shops.  There are a couple of supermarkets where you can give the slots a whirl before you buy bread and milk. 

While in Pahrump we discovered that fellow Full Timers Roy and Jackie were parked only a few spaces away from us.  They were attending an FMCA chapter rally which occupied most of the period when our stays overlapped but we were able to get together for a tasty chili rellenos dinner at their newly remodeled coach before going our separate ways.  We had scheduled annual maintenance on the coach during our stay.  And, RVs being RVs, the simple oil change and annual check-up turned  into a major expense and resulted in having to unhook and move to the repair facility twice instead of the once we’d planned on.

To get from Pahrump to Bullhead City, Arizona requires a route around Las Vegas where traffic can be pretty heavy.  But once around Sin City,  we had sunny skies and only a modest breeze for the trek.  So all we had to contend with was the monumental boredom of driving through miles and miles of plug ugly.  Granted, brown is a color but not one of the prettier ones.  No sooner had we settled ourselves on a hilltop overlooking the Colorado River and the city of Laughlin, Nevada when a heavy breeze sprang up putting an end to the notion of sitting on the patio with a good book.  We have our fingers crossed that the wind will die down before we make the 200-mile mad dash back to Geezer Gulch.

The next report will be from our base station, Milepost Zero.

A Soggy September - 2013

There isn’t much else that can be accomplished today except to compose a blog posting.  It’s raining hard and the gravel roads here in the campground are showing signs of having an actual current. It’s entirely possible that Neskowin Creek is well on its way to becoming Neskowin River.   Anyone with a fondness for the color gray would love it here.  I wish that red and black Sportcoach that was in here last week would hurry on back – it went a long way toward brightening up the place!

But let’s go back back a few weeks to the Labor Day Weekend which we spent at one of our favorite campgrounds, Sandy Riverfront in Troutdale, Oregon.  Troutdale bills itself as Gateway to the Columbia Gorge and boasts a quaint and colorful main street with an array of attractive shops.  Flower baskets hang from the light poles, teeming with bright flowers.  We’ve pretty much covered all the major attractions on previous visits to the area but this time we ventured to nearby Gresham to check out the local history museum (a unique building which began life as a Carnegie Library) and a very nice outdoor farmers’ market.  The Columbia and Willamette valleys are noted for their agricultural products and the Gresham market boasted some fine-looking fruits and veggies.  Elberta peaches and pluots made their way into our market basket.  It was my first taste of pluots, which claim to be half plum and half apricot.  The apricot half of the family tree was not obvious.

One of Sandy Riverfront’s quirks is that they encourage guests to wash their cars and coaches.  As a matter of fact, they insist on it for their long-term guests.  Howie decided to take advantage of that and spent a day scrubbing and rinsing, rinsing and scrubbing.  I remember thinking this act alone would put an end to the drought in this part of Oregon and, sure enough, it has.

With the holiday behind us and traffic vastly diminished, we headed across Portland and on toward the coast.  Our destination was a membership campground north of Rockaway Beach and we arrived in plenty of time to get set up and run to town to check out the highlights.  There weren’t any.  We did, however, make two trips to Tillamook during our six-day stay.  We visited the local historical museum, made a stop for ice cream at the Tillamook factory and did a romp through the Blue Heron winery and gift shop.  Tillamook also boasts an air museum, which we opted not to visit.  It’s housed in an enormous wooden building which once served as a blimp hangar and is reported to be the largest open-span wooden structure in the world. 

While most of the days in Rockaway Beach were cloudy (at best) or rainy (at worst), we did have a bright sunny day for a drive around a portion of the Three Capes Scenic Loop.  One section of the loop was closed to traffic due to what was described on the signage as “an active landslide” so we had to take the long way around to reach the Cape Meares lighthouse.  Rather than being perched at the very top of the bluff, the lighthouse is about halfway down the cliff so that your first view of it from the parking lot is of just the small room housing the light.  There’s quite a walk involved to get to the main section of the lighthouse but the view is fabulous.

On our way back to Rockaway Beach we passed through the town of Garibaldi and discovered that the museum was open. It had been closed on previous drive-bys.   Labor Day more or less marks the end of tourist season and so many of the seaside attractions are closed or have limited hours.  The museum contained the answer to our question regarding the tall smokestack that more or less dominates the town – it is all that remains of what was once a large lumber mill. 

The next leg of our journey brought us  here to Neskowin where we were reunited with our fake relatives, Ruthee and Gail.  We’ve taken to referring to each other as The Out-Laws (as opposed to in-laws).  It didn’t take long to develop a routine…Happy Hour is at 4:00 if we haven’t had a big lunch and 5:00 if we aren’t hungry at 4:00.   Another tradition is to have lunch at Mo’s in Taft, a bit further down the coast.  Their clam chowder is world famous but perhaps not as famous as it once was.  There was plenty of sightseeing on the agenda (between rainstorms anyhow) and we trekked north to Pacific City to visit the Cape Kiwanda shoreline where we watched surfers in heavy-duty wet suits trying to catch an uncooperative wave while under-dressed teenagers attempted to get kites up and flying.  There are signs posted along the beach to keep an eye open for fast-moving dories coming ashore but we didn’t see any and had to rely on Ruthee’s description thereof.

On Wednesday we made the longer drive south to the big city of Newport.  We arrived just in time to enjoy a bowl of chili at the Rogue Brewery at the harbor before heading to the historic district to troll into and out of a myriad of tourist traps.  One of the most interesting sights along this stretch is the pile of sea lions on the pier.  Every so often one would slip into the water or climb out, maybe bark a bit, but mostly they just lay there and pretend they’re having a sun bath.  They had to be pretending because the sun had long since disappeared.  Cloudy weather brings a certain moodiness to the harbor, as this photo will atest.

On Monday, another overcast day, Gail and Ruthee headed back “over the hill” toward home and I got busy plotting a route back to Geezer Gulch.  Nothing seemed to interest me so I utilized what seemed like the shortest route which would include a couple of membership parks in order to keep expenses down.

With a couple of nice days predicted, we planned our jaunt back to Newport, this time swerving off to take advantage of the super-scenic Otter Loop which took us to the overlook at Cape Foulweather.  The cape was named by none other than Captain Cook when he encountered 100 mph winds upon reaching the vicinity.  Although we had nothing but blue skies and gentle breezes, it wasn’t hard to imagine how ugly it could be when Mother Nature decided to have a temper tantrum. 

The visit to the Oregon Coast Aquarium was our primary purpose in trekking back to Newport.  The admission fee is quite high, even for seniors, but when you’re hit with the information that it costs roughly $17,000 per year to feed one otter, the high fee becomes understandable if not tolerable.  We were able to get a good viewpoint to watch the otters being fed their lunch.  They slurped down those restaurant-grade oysters at an amazing clip and treated the shrimp like we’d treat potato chips – they’ll do until presented with something better.  As usual, the display of moon jelly fish and sea nettles were hypnotizing.  From the Aquarium, it was only a short jaunt to the old Yaquina Bay Lighthouse where we were able to get an excellent view of the Art Deco bridge which crosses the mouth of the river along with a view seaward to where the jetties are located.  Although no longer in use, this lighthouse is the only remaining representative of the style incorporating both the light and the house on the Oregon coast and was saved from demolition by a troupe of local citizens.

With nasty weather fast approaching, we took one last opportunity to sightsee with another drive to Cape Kiwanda.  Still no dories and no kites, either, but plenty of over-the-hill surfer dudes bobbing around in the waves.  On the way home we passed the entrance to the Nestucca National Wildlife Refuge.  We were able to drive to a small parking area atop a hill and I waited in the car while Howie hiked the entire way to the lookout platform.  Even with the binoculars I didn’t spot evidence of any wildlife although that may have been a wren of some sort that flitted by just as we got back to the highway. 

And we ended our visit to the Oregon coast with a quick trip to Lincoln City to visit their very nice Historic Museum.  Lincoln City, as a civic entity, is fairly new having been cobbled together sometime in the 1960s from several other small towns strung out along the coast.  There’s Taft and Oceanlake and…it doesn’t matter…it’s all Lincoln City now.  The museum is nicely laid out with plenty of artifacts from the days of farming/lumber/fishing to the more recent industry of tourism.  And while in Lincoln City we stopped to admire the D River.  Although we are dubious of it’s claim to be the shortest river in the world.  The D is considerably longer than that itsy-bitsy river in Great Falls which runs for just a few feet from a spring to the Missouri River.  That river fits nicely into one snapshot whereas the D would probably require two or three.  Why, my goodness, the D is so big that it requires a bridge to get over it.

We certainly hope to file the next blog from somewhere warmer and drier.  

Albany, Oregon and Environs

The primary purpose for being in the vicinity of Albany, Oregon was to attend the FMCA Northwest Area rally which was held at the Linn County Fairgrounds.  The site was quite nice and the weather was pleasant, we knew a fair number of the attendees and the entertainment was, well, entertaining, especially a young pianist named Brady Goss who can play more notes in less time than nearly everybody.  He’s a big fan of Jerry Lee Lewis and it becomes pretty obvious in very little time.  He has a pleasant voice and puts on a fine one-man show so we hardly noticed that the seating was a long way from comfortable.

There were only two seminars on the schedule which interested me:  the first conflicted with the Chapter Fair which we had to attend and the second was mysteriously cancelled.  Howie attended one of the Geeks on Tour seminars and came away with some new information which we hope to put to use in this blog.  As always, the Geeks’ seminars were very well attended. 

There were no hook-ups at the rally site so we decided to move to a full-service campground for a few days to charge the coach batteries and empty the tanks that needed to be empty and fill the tanks that needed to be filled before moving to “the country” for a visit with our faux relatives, Gail (aka Ralph) and Ruthee.  The move from the fairgrounds to the campground has to be the shortest on record for us…maybe a mile, maybe less.  Certainly less as the crow flies.

We kicked off our visit to Albany with a tour of the Historic Carousel and Museum right smack downtown near the Willamette River.  This museum is unique in that it truly puts the cart before the horse – the carousel doesn’t exist yet, at least not in a completed state, but the museum is a beehive of activity.  It’s where the carousel animals are being created, designed by the sponsors of each creature, carved by local woodworkers and painted by local artists.  It’s a long-term project, still several years (and many dollars) away from completion.  The animals are everywhere in the building, some completed, others barely recognizable as they emerge from blocks of wood.  We came away all smiles to see the terrific enthusiasm this project has generated in the town. 

The following day we started our tour with a stop at the Albany Regional Museum which is housed in a sizeable old brick building smack downtown.  We were told the building had been moved from another downtown locale back in the early 1900’s by lifting it onto large logs and rolling it down the street, moving the last log forward as progress was made.  If I recall correctly, we were told it took 19 days to move the building a few blocks but no mortar was cracked and no windows broken.  “Easy does it” must have been that moving crew’s motto.  The museum contains the usual artifacts from the city’s past, all nicely displayed, but our attention was captured by a display of wood carvings by one Robert O. Ferguson, a local shopkeeper and designer of menswear stores.  Each object was carved from one piece of wood.  The museum owns all of Ferguson’s work except those pieces which he gave away as gifts so they are able to change the display frequently.  Most have botanical themes and some incorporate intricate carvings in ivory and brass as well as wood.

Our next stop was the Monteith House, the first structure in Albany, built by two brothers as a store and residence.  Unlike so many house museums which are furnished with items “of the period”, nearly everything here was owned by the Monteiths and used in the house at one time or another.

It was barely a 20 mile drive to Gail and Ruthee’s farm in the foothills of the Cascades but we managed to make an adventure of it by taking a few wrong turns.  At one point the GPS failed us totally and showed only a blank gray screen with nary a road indicated.  We thought calling for help was the prudent thing to do, given the number of low tonnage bridges in the area.  And the coach had developed a highly irritating beeping sound, a malfunction of the warning that the parking brake was engaged.  Which it wasn’t, since we were moving forward.

Gail and Ruthee have their big meal at noon and we weren’t late for a hearty meal of salmon and all the fixin’s.  Although it has been some time since Ruthee was a Girl Scout leader, she kicked right into her organizational mode and had a busy schedule made out for us but with plenty of built-in flexibility “just in case”.  On Friday we raced up to Portland to attend a corporate picnic with Gail’s former co-workers (where he’s known as Ralph).  As we approached Portland we noticed traffic was bad in the southbound lanes and it remained so until it was time for us to make the long slow return trip.  We heard that it was still congested the next day.  You would have thought that both Seattle and Portland had been ordered evacuated!

Ruthee had planned a birthday party for herself for Saturday, even though her birthday wasn’t until Tuesday.  Friends and family arrived in time to sing a slightly off-key version of “Happy Birthday” and dig into a huge cake purported to contain two pounds of chocolate mousse. (If anyone is looking for those two pounds, I know where they are!) And if anybody left their car windows rolled down, I’m pretty sure they found a baseball bat sized zucchini on the passenger seat.  Ruthee seemed almost desperate to find good homes for all those squash lurking in the garden.

Our parking spot was fairly near the road but traffic was minimal and we were able to appreciate the peace and quiet that settles over the area once the logging trucks have finished their daily runs.  It was so quiet that the fan on our refrigerator was starting to annoy me.  It sounded sooo loud.  The field across the street is given over to the raising of grass seed and so we were able to watch the harvesting of a crop.  Sizeable fleets of large pieces of farm equipment are involved.  Some grass seed fields require burning in order to prepare for next season’s crop.  Lucky we missed that step in the process.  If I recall correctly, Linn County is the grass seed capital of the United States. 

A cousin of Gail’s was working at the Scio Historical Museum on Sunday afternoon so we took a run to town for a visit.  The museum is housed in a tiny train station moved from West Scio and is crammed to the rafters with items from the area’s past.  This quilt was one of several made from ribbons won at the fair.

 

Linn County is known for its covered bridges and so Ruthee had planned a day trip for us to visit them all.  We packed a picnic lunch and set off, stopping first at Hannah Bridge which spans Thomas Creek.  The logging trucks (unloaded) can use this bridge but have to take another route once they’ve piled five or six Douglas firs aboard.  The Shimanek Bridge also crosses Thomas Creek and is one of the most photographed (probably because it’s red).  By the time we got to the Larwood Bridge it was declared “time for lunch” and we unpacked our sandwiches, found a picnic table in the shade and enjoyed a pleasant meal on the banks of the Roaring River.  The Roaring River doesn’t actually roar but it does babble pretty loud just before it dumps into the calm and quiet Crabtree Creek.  If it hadn’t been for a brochure picked up somewhere along the line, we never would have noticed that we were seeing something very unusual….the river empties into the creek, not vice versa.

Not far from our picnic spot is the Roaring River Fish Hatchery where we stopped to check out the rainbow and steelhead trout and the sturgeons.  It wasn’t long before we spotted an osprey circling overhead, probably keeping a sharp eye out for dinner.  Some of the tanks were covered with netting but many weren’t and we can only wonder what the annual  loss is to fish-eating birds.  The sturgeons were probably not on any bird’s menu since you’d need a crane to lift one but some of the rainbows were the right size to get toted away.

Ruthee was looking forward to spending her birthday in Salem, specifically having breakfast on the house at Denny’s.  But first we stopped at the outlet mall to troll through the stores.  There were not many bargains to be had but we did acquire a cheese knife and two small spatulas at one of the kitchen gadget shops.  On the way home we stopped at Willamette Valley Vineyards for a bit of wine tasting and to admire the wonderful view.  Unfortunately forest fires contributed to a hazy atmosphere and so the views were less long and slightly out of focus.  But the wine was good.  I had to fight the urge to buy a tee shirt which proclaims “It’s Willamette, Dammit”.  The wine was spendy and so was the tee shirt which may explain why they are expanding an already enormous facility. 

During our stay, Howie had made arrangements with Freightliner in Salem to address the beeping brake bell so we got an early start and headed north.  Nothing ever goes quite the way you’ve planned when it comes to RV repairs so we ended up sitting around the drivers’ lounge at Freightliner for about three hours only to discover within ten minutes of departure that, no, the problem had not been solved.  We had to turn around and go back to Salem where they removed a solenoid and silenced that stupid bell - which is probably what they should have done in the first place.  Fortunately, once we emerged on the north side of Portland traffic was sparse and we made good time, arriving in Elma, Washington before dark.  Not that it isn’t always dark in Elma.  The sun must come up eventually but after five days here we haven’t seen much of it.  It did make a brief appearance the day we visited Olympia where we covered every inch of their fabulous farmers market and took a walking tour of the city-sponsored artwork along the waterfront.  There is a contest underway to select the next outdoor sculpture for the city to purchase.

We have a few more days here in gloomy Elma and then it’s back to Troutdale to restock the fridge and head for the Oregon Coast and an eventual reunion with our fun faux relatives.

Moses Lake, Washington and Pendleton, Oregon

We had, on a previous visit, hit most the highlights of the area surrounding Moses Lake, Washington so this time we contented ourselves with kicking back and relaxing.  Anticipating some extremely hot weather, we upgraded our campsite to 50 amp service so we could run both air conditioners if necessary.  And there were days when it was certainly necessary.  Dry heat or not, 100 degrees is not comfortable!

We hadn’t visited the city of Wenatchee on our first trip so we took this opportunity to make the 60 mile drive northwest to explore it.  Wenatchee’s original claim to fame was its bountiful crops of apples and it continues to produce mega-crops of wonderful apples.  But it also produces many other types of fruits and berries and has recently begun to produce  grapes both for the table and for the winery.  Being the “high desert”, nothing grows without irrigation but the volcanic ash soil is ready to produce as soon as the magic ingredient of water is added.  It was a broiling hot day, destined to reach into triple digits, so we were happy to enter the cool confines of the Wenatchee Valley Museum.  Although we appreciated the climate indoors, we were less than impressed with the contents of the museum.  It told the story of the mighty apple in great detail but told other bits and pieces of the area’s history incoherently. 

One of the more interesting items we spotted was this camera, dating back to the 1920s and manufactured in Rochester, New York where it lived in the shadow of the once-mighty Eastman Kodak Company.  Sears, Roebuck purchased the rights to the camera and sold it under the Sears brand.

 

A far more interesting museum, perhaps because it was such a surprise, was the Grant County Museum in Ephrata, Washington.  The museum tour begins in the largest building which is crammed with interesting items from the area’s past where we were left to our own devices to make sense of the collection.  But once we’d explored that building to our satisfaction, a guide joined us and led us to a series of outbuildings, each housing a collection pertinent to the building which held it.  For example, a collection of pianos, organs and religious articles were housed in an old Catholic church.  It was when one guide was replaced with another that we realized we were about to get our money’s worth and then some.  The museum consists of a lot of buildings!  An entire town, in fact, and a relay team of docents is probably necessary.  Kudos to the folks who put this collection together and who keep it operating. 

The next stop on our westward trek was Pendleton, Oregon.  The main purpose for the stop was to visit the Pendleton Underground and spend some time with one of Howie’s college chums, Charles, and his wife Ellen who recently moved to the area from California.  Although we aren’t “casino people” we did opt to stay at the Wildhorse Casino east of Pendleton.  As with so many casinos, they have an excellent and relatively inexpensive campground.  At night we could watch the lights of vehicles as they climbed up (or down) I-84 as it winds its way over the Blue Mountains.

Charles and Ellen hadn’t yet made the tour of the Underground so they joined us on Friday morning to check it out.  Tours are booked in advance and reservations are required; I suspect the tour groups are also limited in size.  There were about 20 of us assembled and we were led back out onto the street to begin the tour.  At one time, Pendleton had a busy and lively “parallel universe” below ground with rooms and cellars and tunnels housing all sorts of enterprises both fair and foul.  Mainly inhabited by Chinese railroad workers, the underground was home to opium dens and laundries, speakeasies and pool rooms.  This original Pendleton blanket is thought to date from the 1880s.  The four black bars in the design indicate the price – four beaver pelts --which indicates Pendleton Woolen Mill’s products have always been expensive.  Or as they say around here, spendy.

The “underground” tour does not remain under ground.  Eventually we headed upstairs to visit the boarding house/brothel known as Cozy Rooms.  It was both a legitimate boarding house and a bordello and was the last operating “sporting house” in town to close its doors.  The furnishings were considerably more lavish than those at the Oasis in Wallace.  We aren’t sure that’s at all significant but perhaps cowboys spend more lavishly than miners.  The madam had installed a small chapel where a circuit-riding preacher delivered sermons to the working girls every Sunday. 

There are not many alternative routes from one side of Oregon to the other so we followed I-84 west along the Columbia River Gorge to Troutdale, just outside Portland.   Troutdale has been a frequent stop for us.  The campground is especially nice and there’s plenty of shopping close at hand, both recreational and necessary.  We spent two days emptying tanks that need to be empty and filling tanks that need to be full before heading to Albany for four and half days of boondocking at the Northwest Area FMCA rally at the Linn County Fairgrounds.  It seems that quite a few folks we know have traveled here after the Gillette rally and so the fun continues. 

There are some unique things on the agenda for the next few weeks, including a Faux Family Reunion, so be sure to tune in again soon for an update from the highways and byways of Oregon.

Montana and Idaho–July, 2013

We departed Ennis under cloudless skies and headed northwest on U.S. 287 to pick up the Interstate near Whitehall.  It was a leisurely drive with plenty of pretty scenery to admire, including stretches along the Madison and Jefferson rivers.  Traffic was light on the Interstate and we made good time to Missoula where we checked in at Jim & Mary’s RV Park, one of our favorites thanks to a group of flower enthusiasts who keep the sites blooming with all manner of posies.  With a nice balance of open and shaded sites, we were happy this time to have one of the shady sites in the front row.  Missoula had just emerged from a string of hot days and we appreciated being able to sit outdoors and enjoy the late afternoon breezes.

Prior to our arrival in Missoula, we experienced another one of those serendipitous coincidences that so often happen to RVers.  While sitting at a Flying J in Milltown, I was seized with the urge to call Linda and Don.  We hadn’t heard from them since Gillette and I was curious whether they had scrapped their western trip and headed home or if they were bound for Glacier National Park.  Inquiring minds want to know.  It turns out they had just hopped on I-90 at Deer Lodge and were less than an hour behind us.  They made a split-second decision not to turn off toward Helena and to head to Missoula instead.  They got into a spot right across the road from Jim & Mary’s and we were able to spend a couple of evenings with them, catching up on our wanderings and adventures.  They’ve had some pretty substantial issues with their coach which has taken the bloom off their travels to a certain degree.

No stop in Missoula would be complete without a visit with Fred and Kathy.  They live very near the campus and at least that part of town still looks familiar.  The rest has grown and grown, sprawled and sprawled.  Kathy had prepared a lovely dinner for us one evening; we dined al fresco in their shaded yard.  And the next day we four  trolled in and out of all the interesting shops along Higgins Avenue downtown.  Except for a few new buildings and the now-empty Mercantile, time has managed to stand still.  Many of the buildings have been repurposed and many are on their second or third incarnations.  The campus, of course, has swollen beyond imagining.

Although there’s so much to see and do in the area, we weren’t able to stay more than a couple of days.  One of the reasons for routing us along I-90 was in order to pay a visit to the historic old mining town of Wallace, Idaho.  Some big-deal music festival created a shortage of campsites so we had to stay in St. Regis, Montana which is 30 miles east of where we wanted to be.  It’s such a short drive from Missoula to St. Regis  that we were settled in at our RV park with plenty of time to spare before dinner.  So we went into town to check out the mega-gift shop at the casino and two antique shops with tons and tons of really nice things.  It was totally unexpected to find such interesting items.  I fell in love with an oak parlor table with brass claw feet clutching glass balls.  Alas, it wouldn’t fit in the coach.  But I did find two eggcups to add to the collection.

On Saturday we headed west, up over Lookout Pass, and down into Wallace, Idaho for a visit to the Oasis Bordello Museum.  Wallace was, and still is, a silver mining town.  Although never legal in Idaho, prostitution was once big business in town and The Oasis was the last brothel to close its doors.  Originally built as a hotel and saloon, the upper floors soon began to serve as a brothel.  In 1988 rumor of an FBI raid sent the girls scattering and when things blew over, the madam decided it was time to retire and so the Oasis never reopened.  Some enterprising soul bought it lock, stock and barrel and reopened it as a museum leaving everything just as it was when the girls beat a hasty retreat.  Some clothing items have been added to the display and a few mannequins posed in the rooms but few other attempts have been made to “stage” the display.  There are dirty dishes in the sink and groceries that haven’t been put away. 

With blues music rocking the downtown area, we strolled over to the Northern Pacific Depot Museum, a nicely restored facility.  The station master resided on the second floor and had, for the era, very fancy living quarters with indoor plumbing (a nice touch for Idaho winters).  The town’s visitor center features a mining museum.  We covered it all and then headed back up over Lookout Pass to our secluded campground in the woods.  My idea of “camping” begins and ends with sleeping with the bedroom window open at night so it was pretty exciting to be told that all the garbage receptacles got emptied before 7:00 p.m. to discourage the bears from dropping by for a snack. 

Our next stop was at a posh new RV resort in the Idaho Panhandle where we enjoyed a week’s stay on a promotional basis.  From here we paid a visit to Farragut State Park in the town of Athol.  Thay this very thlowly or you will offend thumb one.  Farragut was once the second largest naval training station in the United States.  It was in the planning stages before Pearl Harbor but that attack put the rush on things and it was soon the largest city in Idaho with a population in excess of 55,000.  Six enormous training buildings were constructed; there are no photos of the interiors – how they managed such large structures with no interior support was a well-kept secret.  Toward the end of the war the facility housed approximately 800 German POWs.  Many found the experience so pleasurable that they have returned for reunions in recent years.  The Navy still maintains an acoustic testing facility on Lake Pend Oreille but all that remains of Farragut is a water tower, a few cement block ammunition storage sheds and The Brig, which now serves as a museum.  Everything else was sold and hauled away.  Even the railroad spur line from Athol to the base has disappeared.

As nice as this facility is we are looking forward to returning to reality on Monday.  “Reality” has more than one t.v. channel and isn’t 30 miles from the nearest Walmart.  Our next stop is Moses Lake, Washington where temperatures are predicted to be into the triple digits…a little something to toughen us up before we start heading back to Phoenix.

Cody, Yellowstone and Ennis–July, 2013

Knowing we had some rough mountain driving ahead of us, we made an early departure from Sheridan, heading up over the Big Horns before the day got too hot.  Fortunately going westbound put us on the mountain side of the road as opposed to the cliff side but there were still plenty of sharp curves to keep me gripping my seat belt and holding my breath.  It didn’t improve my blood pressure any when the engine began to complain that she was thirsty and hot, never a good sign when you’re on a road with no pull-offs.  But we eventually reached the top at Granite Pass (elevation 9033’) and the descent into Greybull seemed less dramatic.  Once we were in the Big Horn Basin it was easy sailing to Cody even though the scenery is not much to write home about.

We had to navigate our way through Cody to the nearly non-existent town of Wapiti.  Our campground had an odd arrangement of sites, a grumpy office manager with no idea he’s actually in the hospitality business and an unobstructed view of what we later learned is Smith’s Mansion.  During our week-long stay we experienced some pretty dramatic weather and it was always interesting to see the changes in light and shadows on this totally weird structure.  It wasn’t until our departure that we learned the whole story behind this bizarre landmark.  Check out the story, we think you’ll find it interesting.

On our first full day in the area we headed back into Cody to scope things out, wandering in and out of all the shops and galleries along the main drag.  On the way back to Wapiti we stopped for a tour of the Buffalo Bill Dam where the Shoshone River enters a narrow canyon.  During the spring run-off, feeder streams and rivers wash dead logs eastward and they clog up at the dam.  Eventually someone comes and scoops them out and hauls them away.  The dam creates a large reservoir which provides irrigation water, allowing the desert-like valley to be turned into lush pasture land.  There are a number of camping areas along the shoreline of the reservoir but it’s strictly dry camping we which don’t enjoy unless it absolutely can’t be avoided.  But the sites sure were pretty, with views of the water and surrounding mountains.

The next day we returned to Cody for a tour of the Buffalo Bill Center of the West, a five-part complex which features a natural history section, a gun collection that just boggles the mind, Native American art and artifacts, a gallery of Western art (just when we thought we’d seen every Remington and Russell in existence, there’s more) and a museum devoted to the subject of Buffalo Bill Cody himself.  Cody worked his way up from Pony Express rider to world-renown showman and became an icon of western Americana.  The Codys had five children, four of whom died at a relatively early age and are buried at the Mount Hope Cemetery in Rochester, New York.  Who knew?  The only one to survive to adulthood was Irma; Buffalo Bill built a hotel in downtown Cody and named it in her honor. 

Although it was no easy drive, we made three day-trips into Yellowstone National Park.  We had first visited the park about seven years ago, traveling in from the north entrance near Gardiner, Montana.  And we thought that was a long and inconvenient trip to reach the important sights in the park!  At least we didn’t have to go up and over Sylvan Pass twice a day to get where we were going and home again as we did on this visit.  Our purpose on the first day was to check out the viability of our plan to cross the park in the coach as we exited the area and headed into Montana.  But you can’t help but go sightseeing when you’re in Yellowstone so we visited the Lower Falls of the Yellowstone River (where we saw the one and only bull elk of our entire visit), drove through Hayden Meadow and visited the Norris Geyser Basin.  At one of the visitor centers we watched a film about the park and some of its denizens which included footage of bison bulls facing off in a shoving contest.  I couldn’t help but picture them as offensive linemen and like offensive linemen after a hard day of pushing and shoving, they like to settle down for a nice steam bath.  They often park themselves very near the bubbling water which brings them into quite close proximity to tourists.  We ran out of time that first day and had to backtrack from Norris to Canyon Village in order to get home before dark (and before the storms arrived). 

The following day we went back to the park and took the southern segment of The Grand Loop clockwise around, skirting the shores of Yellowstone Lake through West Thumb and up to Old Faithful.  We arrived there about half a hour before it was “scheduled” to do its thing.  The parking lots were mobbed and we trudged quite a distance to get to the viewing area but we only had to stand around for about twenty minutes before the geyser began to making some gurgling and steaming motions, teasing the crowd a bit before actually spewing forth.  It’s not easy to convince yourself that it is all Mother Nature’s handiwork; there’s always a bit of suspicion that some fancy underground plumbing is involved.  We stopped at the visitors center to watch a short film which explains what causes the area around Yellowstone to be seething with underground activity making the entire area highly unstable.  We got back to our campground just in time to watch yet another thunderstorm play itself out over the Absarokas.

Our final trip into the park was made on the Fourth of July and we expected huge crowds.  But there was no more traffic than there had been with approximately the same number of really dumb tourists who don’t seem to realize that wild animals are just that and therefore unpredictable.  “Bison jams” and “bear jams” are common on the roadways and driving times are all approximate.  You just never know when Mama Buffalo will stop in the middle of the road to nurse her calf or when some doofus will leave his car halfway off the shoulder, doors open and motor running, to stalk what he thinks is a grizzly off in the distance.

We chose the northern Grand Loop, heading counter-clockwise from Canyon Village to Tower Junction then around to Mammoth Hot Springs.  We didn’t see any elk this time but plenty of bison and one lone grizzly ‘way off in the distance.  Once again we got back to the coach before the storms began.

 

Having exhausted the major sights of Yellowstone and being tired of the long drive, we spent our final day on a trip to Heart Mountain Relocation Center Museum which is about 15 miles from Cody on the road to Powell.  One hardly expects a visit to a museum devoted to the subject of the incarceration of first and second generation Japanese immigrants during WWII to be a heart-pounding experience but it turned out to be for us when Howie discovered his drivers license and an insurance card were missing from his wallet.  It was no fun contemplating how to go about getting a replacement.  We were distractedly trying to read the story boards when Howie was paged; someone had found the documents and turned them in at the desk.  Whew!  With the onus of the loss removed, we were able to relax and appreciate the information the museum had to offer.  There were upwards of 14,000 internees at Heart Mountain, mostly from the coast of California, and they did not adapt well to Wyoming’s bitter winters.  But they were nothing if not resourceful, turning the high desert landscape into bountiful gardens to supplement their meager meals, making their stark living quarters into cozy (if crowded) family quarters.  They eventually had most of the comforts of home but lacking the important component of freedom.  Like most of the internment camps, the landscape is stark and Heart Mountain seems to lurk over it.  Only one “lobe” of the heart-shape is visible from the museum but closer to Cody you can see both “lobes”.  Heart Mountain is in itself an interesting specimen geologically. 

Finally it was time to pack up and move on.  The trip across Yellowstone in the coach was, for me, a white-knuckle adventure until we got to turn onto West Entrance Road for the final miles into West Yellowstone, Montana.  And we were certainly happy to be heading west out of the park instead of east into it – the traffic was lined up four lanes wide and all the way into town from the entrance gate.  It looked for sure like there’d be some “speed touring” happening that day!  The drive to Ennis, our next stop, is entirely along the Madison River, around Hebgen Lake and then Quake Lake and back once again to the shoreline of the Madison.  Anglers were out angling and we enjoyed the wide vistas of the river valley.

Our campground turned out to be behind a motel consisting of a number of small cabins, each boasting flower boxes crammed to over flowing with all sorts of posies.  After the busy-ness of the past week, it was good to just kick back and relax, enjoy the peace and quiet, sniffing in that good sweet mountain air.  My idea of “camping out” is to leave the bedroom window open at night and I was lulled to sleep by the breeze in the aspens and the river gurgling its way to Three Forks.

Our purpose in coming to Ennis was to pay a visit to the old mining town of Virginia City which we did on a fine Sunday afternoon.  Once home to 10,000 people and the capitol of Montana Territory, Virginia City is now home to about 190 hardy souls.  The main street is crammed with shops selling all manner of souvenirs, tourists wandering about and cars parked in a more or less random pattern.  The majority of buildings have been left “as is”, adding a certain authenticity to the town.  Certainly not authentic, was a young cowgirl astride her horse merrily texting away on her cell phone.  On our way back down the hill to Ennis we stopped at the Madison Valley History Association Museum.  We didn’t have high hopes for the contents of the museum but, as with so many small town historical museums, this was a trove of interesting local artifacts.  The docent was quick to lead us to the museum’s prize possession, a mount of a rather scruffy-looking canine of some sort, known as the Madison Monster.  About the size of a German shepherd with a head like a hyena’s and oddly bent forelegs, it was hard to guess the genesis of this beastie.  DNA testing has not been allowed by the person or persons who own the rights to the Monster’s story.  And the monster was only one of the fascinating items on display at this friendly little museum.  There was plenty to see, including a magnificent view of the Gallatin Mountains and the thunderstorm brewing above them.

The town of Ennis has devoted itself to the fly fisherman and there are many shops downtown selling fishing gear of all sorts.  And there are many places to eat.  They have a very nice little library and quite possibly the handsomest bank west of the Mississippi.  The bank probably has a drive-up window and an ATM but it also has a broad green lawn with picnic tables and a display of metal sculptures near the street.  Our visit came to a close with an emphatic thunderstorm and some steady rain, giving us an excellent chance to get caught up on some chores around the coach.

Tomorrow?  Well, it’s on to Missoula….

Rockin’ In The Rockies - 2013

As we drove north from Nebraska to the Black Hills area of South Dakota, it was obvious that drought conditions had abated somewhat since our last visit.  The emerald green prairie seemed particularly lush under bright blue skies and it would be easy to become hypnotized by the undulating grass.  It was good to be home.

Our first stop was Sturgis for a rally.  Not THE rally that Sturgis is most famous for, but the Full Timers Chapter rally, a gathering of friends old and new.  We ate, played games, had happy hours, then ate some more.  The highlight of the rally was a bus trip to Deadwood, arranged by the rally hosts.  Our driver, Alkali Ike, made note of the fact that he had plenty of back-up drivers aboard in case he needed help but I’m not sure all that many of them would be as skillful as he in negotiating the tight turns through the Mt. Moriah Cemetery.  Nor could they provide the steady stream of Ole and Lena jokes.  Mt. Moriah is the final resting place of many of Deadwood’s most famous (or infamous) citizens including Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane.  Hickok was gunned down as he was enjoying a friendly game of cards at a local saloon.  And Jane likely drank herself to death. 

After the rally was over we had an extra day before relocating so we made the short drive to Rapid City.  Darlene, Sally and I went in one car and Mike, Jack and Howie went in another and we met in downtown Rapid for a visit to one of the most wondrous stores of all time, Prairie Edge.  The store offers a splendid array of Native American arts and crafts. There is also the not-to-be-missed cast paper sculptures done by a husband and wife team of artists, Patty and Allen Eckman.  Check this blog posting for some excellent photos.  The level of detail is hard to believe.  The store also offers an excellent selection of books and music and even non-beaders will appreciate the array of glass beads on display in apothecary jars – it’s a work of art by itself.  After oohing and aahing our way around the store, we headed off to a quilt show at the enormous Rushmore Plaza Civic Center where we did even more oohing and aahing.  Then it was back downtown for a quick lunch at The Firehouse Brewing Co. 

We bade a temporary good-bye to our full-timing friends and headed up the hill to our home park, Rushmore Shadows.  Our stay there over-lapped by one day with Rose and John’s and we took the opportunity to drive out to Box Elder for a tour of the South Dakota Air and Space Museum.  The museum has an excellent collection of planes, including a B-1 bomber.  Although it was a bit pricey, we took the  bus tour of Ellsworth Air Force Base which included a visit to a Minuteman Missile site.  The base itself is enormous and quite elegant by military standards.  There’s even a golf course – given the velocity of South Dakota breezes, you can probably get some pretty long drives at that course.

After John and Rose’s departure, we had to buckle down and get some “housekeeping” chores attended to.  One of the first things on the agenda was to run out to pick up our mail at our mail forwarding service in Box Elder.  The facility is quite new and Don gave us a guided tour.  There’s even a small campground and motel-style room so clients can be “at home” in comfort.

Full Timers can’t go long without dining out.  Dinner at The Firehouse Brewing Co.  for their all-you-can-eat spareribs seemed like a good idea so we rounded up Russ and Janet and met up with Mike, Darlene, Jack and Sally for a night on the town.  Well, not a night exactly, more like an early evening.  The restaurant was quite busy and the downtown streets bustling so it would seem that Rapid City is healthy and happy.  And that delights us because it is one of our favorite places.  Big enough to have whatever you’re looking for and small enough to feel comfortable.

Of course no visit to the Black Hills would be complete without a trip (or more) to Custer State Park.  Armed with power bars and a camera, we ventured off on the wildlife loop where we saw several herds of bison.  It appears that there was a bumper crop of babies this year.  We also came across a band of bachelor bison grazing quite near the road.  One large fellow was enjoying a dust bath on the shoulder of the road and chose to stand up just as we passed reminding us once again that adult bison are bigger than a Saturn.  Also, they smell a little funky. 

Further on we came upon a small herd burros.  They are not indigenous to the area but are the progeny of pack animals turned loose by a now-defunct hiking outfitter.  They seemed quite placid, even the new mothers, and allowed the tourists to walk among them.  Tourists are sometimes not the brightest of beings and seem to forget that wild animals are not Disney characters.  They may act benign but….

We were marking time in the Black Hills until it was time to proceed on to Gillette, Wyoming for FMCA’s 50th Anniversary Celebration at the 88th Family Reunion and Motorhome Showcase which was held at the enormous Cam-Plex.  When we got parked, it seemed we were miles away from the center of activities but the buses ran frequently and it was easy enough to get around…until some new bus routes were introduced and we ended up in sections that didn’t seem all that familiar.  Once all the rigs were in place, we probably comprised one of the top ten cities in Wyoming and all the coaches start to look alike after awhile.  The grand finale, at least for us, turned out not to be the Marty Stuart concert but rather a monumental thunderstorm with tornado warnings and 60 mph winds.  Howie was stranded at the nice stout event center while I rode out the storm in the coach.  The NOAA radio kept squawking about finding shelter in basements of sturdy buildings while the best I could do was to pull in the slides.  The wind was not only strong enough to blow the hair off a frog, it was strong enough to blow the doors off a Prevost (or so the rumor mill said).  But then the sun came out and my blood pressure returned to normal.

The rally was a reunion of some of our favorite folks.  Rose and John were there, of course.  Then Linda and Don pulled in; we haven’t seen them in several years and we were glad to be able to share a couple of happy hours with them.  Unfortunately they were battling the what-broke-this-time syndrome and had to struggle along without their generator.  Our coach got designated as “party central” for the Full Timers’ happy hour because we had the biggest site, sandwiched as we were between two rows of horse stalls.  Roger and Cathy arrived in time to join us one evening but then had to leave early so we didn’t really get to spend enough time with them.  We’re hoping to have more time together this winter to really kick back and catch up on each others’ lives.

And then it came time to leave Cam-Plex.  Remember that big ol’ rainstorm I mentioned earlier?  Well, it wasn’t the first to hit Gillette and so the ground wasn’t all that interested in absorbing water.  Many coaches found themselves unable to move, drive wheels sinking deeper and deeper into the mud.  Gillette doesn’t have a lot of tow trucks and folks were getting mighty frustrated to be unable to hit the road once the convention was over.   Randy and Lonna got towed out forward a short distance to the road but Russ and Janet had to be towed backward across a pretty wide stretch of mud.  We were fortunate and were able to get out under our own power and depart on schedule because we faced a long dull 13 mile drive to the next rally site in Rozet.

Rozet, population 25, more than doubled in size once the 3-T’s Chapter hit town.  We got settled in at All Seasons RV Park and proceeded to do what we do best….eat.  After noshing on goodies at Happy Hour, we carpooled to Rozet’s only restaurant, a bar and grill next to the post office.  They had opened just for us, it being Sunday,  and prepared a buffet of fried chicken and fish with vegetable sides and a brownie sundae for dessert.  The décor was Roadhouse Modern with cute signage and a jukebox featuring Brenda Lee and Ricky Nelson.  A time warp now and then is refreshing, especially as we get older and find today’s world a bit oppressive.

The rally only lasts two days which is all for the best because we eat too much.  It was a bright day, not too breezy, when we shared goodbye hugs with our fellow chow hounds and hit the road to Sheridan.  It would be our first visit to that small city and we had just four days to do it justice.

Our next stop was at Peter D’s RV Park in Sheridan, Wyoming.  We selected this campground because of favorable on-line reviews by other RVers and the owner’s obvious wry humor…his ad in The Trailer Life Directory declares that “Peter D’s RV Park has nutritional value…if you don’t stay there, Pete don’t eat”.  Upon arrival we were gifted with a bag of spinach fresh-picked from the garden in the middle of the campground and enough tourist information to keep us busy for several days.  Sheridan thinks of itself as cowboy territory and there is certainly plenty of wide open spaces all around it but it is also a bustling small city of 17,000+ with interesting non-franchise shops, nice restaurants and with the Big Horn Mountains as a back-drop.  It’s urbane without being urban.

Several different sources had insisted we pay a visit to Trail End, a state historic site, so we made that our very first stop in Sheridan.  This stunning Flemish-style home was built by a self-made cattle baron named William Kendrick who wandered up from Texas as a teenager and ended up as governor of the state and eventually a U.S. Senator.  Trail End sits on nearly four acres and affords a wonderful view of the Big Horns.  It was also a house ahead of its time and features elevators, a central vacuum system, a PBX system for in-house communications and other such amenities that were not generally available in the early 1900s when the house was built.

When we are in touring mode we seldom break for lunch but on this occasion we stopped by Kendrick Park for an ice cream cone and to watch the locals enjoying a day of warmth and sunshine.  The park features several wood sculptures such as this leaping fish; the sound of a chainsaw led us to the artist busily at work on another sculpture.  Folks were wading in Goose Creek, kids were catching minnows (or maybe tadpoles) and many of the tables and benches were occupied by people just enjoying the pleasant setting and nice weather.  Refreshed by our ice cream cones, we headed off to check out the downtown commercial area where we wandered in and out of interesting shops, including King’s Saddlery which supplies rope to those who know rope.  No self-respecting cowboy (or so we’ve been told) would venture out without a Don King rope on his saddle.  Like Rapid City, Sheridan boasts artwork on nearly every corner of downtown.  Most of the statuary makes sense for the area but this big boy, known as The Boss, seemed just a little out of place. 

Our final stop for the day was the Sheridan County Museum, housed in a brand-new log structure and featuring an interactive display which explains The Battle of the Rosebud.  There were several dioramas that were mind-blowing in their detail and artistry.  As proof, one boasted a blue ribbon from the state fair.  And there may be more ribbons in store – hiding behind white sheets is a soon-to-be-unveiled diorama of the Rosebud battle.  I have a hunch it will be a dandy.  The museum has a “front porch” which stretches the entire length of the building and affords a good view of the mountains.  In nice weather it would be a grand spot for an almost-outdoor reception.  In any weather it’s a grand place to ponder yonder.

One of the more interesting stories about Sheridan is it’s involvement in an attempt to secede from the state of Wyoming.  During the Great Depression every area seemed to be getting federal funds except the section from Yellowstone on the west to the Black Hills on the east, from Billings to the north to Buffalo on the south.  Petitions were signed and the state of Absaroka was born.  License plates were made, a Miss Absaroka was selected and a governor appointed himself to represent the new state.  The whole movement sort of petered out when the U.S. entered WWII and the Depression was eventually over.  What remains is a slight disagreement on how to pronounce the word Absaroka.  Some say ab-SORK-a and other say ab-suh-RO-ka.

Another must-see in the area is the Bradford Brinton Memorial and Museum in the nearby town of Big Horn.  To say that this museum is off the beaten path is to make an understatement – it’s a fair drive down a gravel road.  Mr. Brinton made his money in the farm implement industry (Case) and purchased the Quarter Circle A Ranch as a “gentleman’s ranch” in 1923, added acreage and buildings and ended up with an exquisite facility in which to house his collection of artwork.  Upon his death the house passed to his sister who in the terms of her will opened it to the public in the 1960s.  The art collection leans heavily on Frederick Remington’s magazine illustrations with a hefty dose of Charlie Russell thrown in.  A small collection of Native American beadwork, pottery and basketry is displayed in an out-building which also houses the admissions desk and a small gift shop.  The remainder of the display items are in the main house, hanging on walls or sitting on shelves in much the same way Brinton must have displayed them when he was “at home”.  There is also a sizeable collection of nudes, including a Picasso, which doesn’t quite fit with Brinton’s interest in Western art.  Except for one piece, these are displayed separately in the servants’ quarters.

The setting for the ranch is lovely.  Cottonwoods dating to the late 1800s shade the lawn area and on the day of our visit were distributing their cotton with a vengeance.  The resemblance to snow is disconcerting, especially when you can see the snow-capped Big Horns at the same time you are sniffing the peonies and roses.  This has to be one of the prettiest places on earth which may explain why Big Horn, Wyoming (population 490) sports some mighty regal residences, two polo clubs and once played host to Queen Elizabeth.  The town’s motto could be “Big bucks in Big Horns” but it isn’t.

We’d been warned that the Fort Phil Kearny State Historic Site was less than interesting….not much to see but plenty to imagine.  ‘Tis true but getting there afforded us the opportunity to see some of interesting terrain, hills and dales dotted with herds of beef cattle and horses, an occasional ranch house or barn.  If you want to know where the deer and the antelope play, this is the place.  We saw plenty of both.  Our final stop before heading back to Sheridan was at an overlook at the Fetterman Massacre Site.  Marked with a stone monolith, this is where Fetterman and his troops were set upon by a coalition of Plains tribes as they provided protection for a group of lumberman cutting wood for the soldiers stationed at Fort Phil Kearny.  This was considered to be the single most decisive Indian victory until they whomped up on  ol’ Yellow Hair at Little Big Horn.

And now it’s time to saddle up and move on to Cody and Yellowstone.