Day 25, May 22nd

Yesterday, we entered Wyoming whose motto is “Equal Rights” – it is the first state to grant women the right to vote. An inspiring atta-girl which doesn’t match the stylish bronco riding cowboy on its license plates or maybe it’s a cowgirl? Wyoming has other incongruities including its landscape - beautiful, gentle, rolling, green hills and then bam! Out pops a huge hunk of igneous rock. It is a 50 million year old magma tower lording over the Belle Fourche River, the surrounding greenery, and us. At almost 900 feet tall, Devils Tower National Monument is a wonder of physicality, American Indian mythology and regional pride. This big, tall rock with fluted sides reminiscent of chiseled Greek columns has captured the imagination of many for a very long time.

After a restful evening at a campsite, I get up and mindlessly turn up a corner of the window cover. The morning sun shines on Devils Tower and turns it into a flashing, bright, disco ball. “Come visit me” it calls and dutifully, we follow.

A few minutes later, we are out of bed and arrive at the trail parking lot early enough to be one of the first cars. Walking along the well marked trail, a few of the trees sway with the morning breeze. Strips of cloth - talismans holding Native American prayers grace some of the tree branches. Instinctively, we walk quietly through these sacred woods and make our way closer to the tower also known as Bear’s Lodge.

We pass tall hexagonal columns, bend our heads back to admire the sheer size of this rocky edifice and wonder at the gargantuan boulders nearby. Climbers are above us rappelling and chatting, their bodies dwarfed by the tower. And as we walk, the sun-lit valley and river lies below. The views are majestic here.

When we make our way back to Van Diesel, we encounter crowds of people clambering up the trail. For a few, America’s first national monument is nothing more than something to do. Many are racing through to the “end”. Some see the beauty of place but not the feeling of the prayers. Each person seems to want or need something different. But for me, this place is unexpectedly more than what I thought it to be. It is one of America’s holy places.

Retreating away from the tower is a nearby dog town. Prairie dogs are funny creatures. Some diligently stand as sentries, alert and ready to bark out a retreat signal. Others chase one another around holes and a few defy common sense. Putting himself at risk, one ran past half a dozen holes in the open. I suspect he may not be long for this grassy world.

With that, we are on the road again. Driving through Wyoming via the 90W at 80 mph, the miles and hours click by and we start seeing the land change. “Pre-Cambrian” a sign announces. “Cambrian” another one states. We pass through Bighorn National Forest with its majestic, sculptural limestone cliffs.

Temperatures today swing wildly from 33 to 65 degrees, from light snow, rain to sun. The land changes from high alpine elevations and conifers to lowland plains. Then the terrain morphs again as we make our way to our destination, the town of Thermopolis (Greek for “hot city”) – a strange name for a town in Wyoming. Though known for its natural hot springs, we are not here for healing waters. We are here to see one thing – a singular bird - a real archaeopteryx fossil.

Archaeopteryx (old wing) is the transitional species from dinosaur to bird. This “first bird” lived in Germany 150 million years ago. I always expected a trip to Berlin’s museum-fur-naturkunde (natural history) was the only way I would get to see the specimen. But I got lucky. When Francesca was researching Wyoming, she came across the Wyoming Dinosaur Center and learned that they had an archaeopteryx. There are only about ten fossils in the world and this is the only one in the United States. I had to see it to believe it.

From the outside, the museum is a tired warehouse with dinosaurs painted on the outside. It is charming in a way and unassuming. It is not a place that looks like it would hold a world class specimen. Yet, as I walked in, I remained hopeful and a little excited. Walking in the quiet museum, we appear to be one of the few visitors. I ask a teenage clerk about the fossil. A blank stare greets me. Just then, a second teenage clerk pops up from the book aisle and I ask her to show me the specimen. She graciously indulges me. We quickly pass several nicely presented exhibits towards the holy grail. A few turns later, the cheerful clerk stops, waves her hand as if to say “here it is…” I look over and am gobsmacked.

Behind thick glass and brightened by a couple of glaring lights, there it was, embedded in limestone -archaeopteryx. I couldn’t believe it. For me, it was like seeing the pope on holy day. My eyes stung and when my heart and brain realized this was real and I wasn’t dreaming, I squealed. Not a loud kid squeal but a grown-up “I am looking at an archaeopteryx which is only a few inches from me” squeal. I stared for awhile in disbelief. I was on cloud 9.

About the size of a crow with distinct teeth, the specimen has feather impressions – WINGS! This fossil was a tour de force. How did this little museum get such a magnificent fossil? Desperate for answers, I asked the two clerks but they didn’t know.

LI found myself diverting to the holy grail several more times. I was drawn to its siren call like a moth to a flame. Taking care to see Francesca was nearby, I would confidently go to the other exhibits (many were quite spectacular) but the reality is I am scared to be in a dinosaur museum by myself. There is something about these large majestic animals that both frighten the crap out of me and fascinate me.

As I wandered through the beautifully curated museum, I kept wondering how this magnificent fossil ended up here. Who curated it?! The question was like a pebble in my shoe.

I was busily looking at t-shirts in the gift shop, when a man, and a woman walked by. Francesca spied them and because she knew I really wanted to know about archaeopteryx, she asked about the curator. Yet another reason I love Francesca!

It turned out the man, was the curator! I dropped t-shirt shopping to chat with Dr. Burkhard Polh who had just flown in from Switzerland last night. “How did you get the specimen?” I asked. In his thick German accent, he matter of factly said “I bought it”. Dr. Polh then told us the story of being the highest bidder in an auction. The previous owner was a collector who had the specimen locked away in his Swiss safety deposit box for fifteen years. The museum was built around an active dig site and regular people can sign up to go on digs. I was already enchanted with the quality of the collection and yet, with each word, I became more and more mesmerized.

Then we met Angie Guyon the Executive Director. I let Angie know much admired the chronology of the exhibits and the display of the crinoids and the trilobites. I even offered her a suggestion or two. I’m sure she loved that – not! As we were leaving, we met Jack the paleontologist. We introduced ourselves and because I like ceratopsids, Jack told us that the Medusa Triceratops which was on display was a unique specimen. There’s only one and it’s in Thermopolis. I was in dinosaur heaven. And yes, we got the t-shirts. Next time, we’ll “come for the dinosaurs and stay for the hot springs”. After all, its only 18 hours away.

Day 26, May 23rd

Driving into Cody last night, a sign announced “Don’t California Our Cody”. I’m not sure what this meant but I remembered that this was a single night stopover and I was glad about that. When checking into the KOA, I saw advertising flyers for pizza delivery. Genius! I remembered friends of ours had ordered pizza on their RV trip. Hungry and with a serious case of “monkey hear, monkey do”, we ordered a pizza. “Bring it to the beige Sprinter van” we explained to the pizza clerk on the phone. Sure enough, an hour later, a delivery man was knocking of the side of the van. Pizza was soon in hand and so was molten lava cake. Unfortunately, this is where concepts and reality collide. The idea of getting a pizza delivered to your campsite? 10. The actual pizza? 4. The cake? 6 (even bad cake is a 5 – after all, it’s cake). While the chipmunk hoarder in me was happy that we had easy to eat food in the refrigerator, the Californian in me scoffed at the sub-par vittles. Cody definitely could use with a California improvement or two.

Morning came soon enough and we left Cody early. Passing Buffalo Bill State Park we saw snow-capped mountains in the distance and water reservoirs in the foreground. The expanse of the state was in front of us and so was the attitude. In a private yard, a home-made sign announced “You are in Trump Country”. Later, when going through the Shosone National Forest, a posted sign crossed all political lines – it was a cry for unity. “Bears are dangerous. Do not approach. $5000 fine”. Hopefully we can at least all agree on the dangers of charismatic mega-fauna.

When traveling long distances, my mind will sometimes wander and features in the landscape will capture my imagination. I play the “Landscape Game”. Across the northern part of the Shoshone river, I eagerly point to a mountain that looks exactly like a question mark! “Do you see it? Do you see it?” There is a long pause and apparently Francesca sees the peak differently. For her, that exact same peak is the profile of Queen Nefertiti. “Are you looking at that one?” I point emphatically at the peak (the one that looks like a question mark). She nods. And then I pause. Queen Nefertiti. Question mark. I see both! We are both right. And yes, there’s a lot we don’t know about Queen Nefertiti. And that’s how the “Landscape Game” works.

Highway 14 brings us to the eastern entrance of Yellowstone National Park. The landscape is unexpectedly charred and black. Stripped of leaves, these arboreal victims of wildfire are the deathly shadows of their former self. Contrasting their upright positions are the random scatterings of fallen trees. There are hundreds of trees wasted away in this land once besieged by flames. In Yellowstone’s vast 20 million acres, there is room for fire and nature’s mayhem. It can and does contain it all. These trees look like giants played a game of pick up sticks and we lost.

With each road and turn, we venture further into the park, incredible rock formations present before us. It looks like an ancient city built out of rock. Some formations look like niches which were intentionally carved out and used as ancient dwellings or ceremonial locations. But this is not the case. These forms are simply the random beauty of sedimentary rock and gravity combined with a bit of luck and chance. Rough with clean lines and sometimes sharply jagged, they are unusual and compelling creations.

“Be Bear Aware” a sign says. Yes. As Francesca drives, we are actively searching for Yogi and Boo-Boo. Instead, we gratefully see a herd of bison and then on a windy curved road, I see something yellow and black scurry under a rock. Later, I learn that it is a yellow bellied marmot. A few miles later, off a rocky cliff, we see a herd of big horned sheep. Climbing above 7700’ in elevation and on a curve, we see movement up on the sheer cliff above us. It is a mamma black bear and her innocent cub bumbling alongside her. The fauna here is wonderfully prolific.

On a straight-away road, piles of cars are parked on the side. It is our first “bear jam”. Much like the freeway traffic jams of Los Angeles where we lived for many years, these are fellow tourists wanting to see a bit of nature in action. Personally, I think it’s misnamed. They are really “people jam”. Semantics aside, in the near distance, is a single, large male grizzly.

His larger size and pronounced hump on his upper back identifies him as a grizzly versus the black bear we saw earlier.

The grizzly meanders, sniffs the air and at one point, he faces the crowd directly. It is beautiful and alarming to have a 600 pound, hungry omnivore looking at me, and at the collective us. The bear’s head meanders side to side as he assesses the assortment of tourists lined up on the road like so many tasty treats in a kitchen cupboard. Thankfully, there is nothing in the cupboard that he wants. Instead he paws the earth with his 4 inch claws for grubs and roots.

At one point, the grizzly lopes uphill, only to stop, contemplate the universe and then go downhill shortly after. Then straddling a log seemed like a good idea. Why? Who knows? It’s grizzly bear stuff.

Later in the day, we were stopped at a four way intersection, Francesca shouts “Wow!” She sees a gray canine running across the street with blinding speed. I snap to attention but by the time, we are able to make the turn, the canine was on the other side peering out from the end of a grassy field where it meets the dark, woods edge. An over-sized face turns and watches us unblinkingly as we pass.

I have heard and seen coyotes over the many years of living in the Hollywood Hills. Looking at the canine’s face, this was either the most robust and intense coyote I had ever seen or dare I say, it - was it a wolf? Could it be the lone wolf? This canine did not appear to be with a pack which is unusual for either coyote or wolf. Wolves are predominately in the north east of the park in the Lamar valley. We were in the southern park lands inching towards the Grand Tetons. Later I learn that coyotes run with their tails pointed downward and wolves run with their tails horizontal to the ground. The face, the intensity and intelligent expression reminded me of scenes from nature documentaries. And of course, the wolves in dog food commercials. Verdict? We’ll never know. One thing is for sure, marketing ploys are deeply embedded in the soft tissue of my brain.

Later on our drive, we see another male grizzly. It’s worth mentioning again, the fauna here is amazingly profuse. Passing Lewis Lake, we exit Yellowstone and go south towards the Grand Teton. In the offing is a solitary sub-adult sand hill crane. Oddly, the crane is not part of a flock. A few years ago in a rural area near Sacramento, we heard flocks of sandhill cranes chortling in the fields. It was deafeningly loud. But today, in Yellowstone, it is very different. There is just this solitary crane.

Soon we are distracted by herds of elk grazing in nearby fields. As we drive closer, two women riders are on horseback crossing the road. Flashing broad smiles, they nod in kinship. Their long blond hair wave goodbye as they trot along the windy trail through the elk-lands. This land is a gift to all.

Day 27, May 24th

Our home away from home these next few days is an “inn”. But it is not a conventional inn where there are two or three floors of en-suites and a common dining area. This inn is a series of stand-alone cabins, each with a private front porch, chairs and table. During a morning break, I walk the grounds at our cabin hotel where we’re staying for several nights in Jackson Wyoming. The morning is bright and Francesca is away adventuring while I work. Spacious with green, grassy knolls, walking bridges, fire pits ringed with seating, a waterfall, and a natural river, the expanse is impressive. Also, flanked on either side of the river are tepees for the guests to use. Curiously, the tepees have chairs inside. As incongruous as it may be, it is very functional, let me tell you why… When my feet leave the paved footpath onto the grounds, I am on grass. This is when I quickly realize that my walk is a poo dodge. Unlike dodge ball, there is no opposing side in poo dodge. It is a game between me and poo. Meandering around the hotel’s lake with it’s wide waterfall, I hopscotch around the biological offerings determined not to let a little poo get in the way of an early jaunt. Friendly goslings and geese have greeted the morning with an overabundance of morning gifts. From the looks of it, they greet every morning this way. Habituated to people, they ignore me and go about their business – pooping. And that is why there are chairs in the tepees.

Later in the day, I cross the street to the National Elk Preserve which is their winter home. As this is a warm day in late spring, the elk are not here. They are doing elk things in elk places. When winter arrives, the elk will re-appear. The preserve with it’s wide open spaces are ringed by snow capped mountains. The vistas are stunning. In the foreground are geese. Yes. Lots and lots of geese. And guess what I found? It starts with a “p”.

After my workday, we drive to see Moulton barn, past the wee town of Kelly, and alongside the Gros Ventre river to go exploring. On this narrow, windy interior road, there are fewer travelers. It’s here that we find a small herd of big horned sheep clinging to a sheer rocky hill. Focused on grazing, the sheep periodically look up to watch us watching them and then go back to nibbling on the nearby foliage. Traveling further up the road, we come across another small herd. Each adult big horned sheep is 200 pounds or so. Not only are their bodies large, so are the spiral horns that grace the side of their heads like aquatic nautiluses. Each horn is 15 – 30 inches long and beautifully, and so wonderfully strange.

As we drive back into town, we see a couple of cars pulled over on the side of the road. A young man with binoculars is looking at the nearby ridge line And then I saw it! Wolf!!! Because I am near Yellowstone, I think every animal on four legs is a wolf. The “wolf” trotted along the knife’s edge of the ridge. Francesca said coyote and I insisted wolf. From the passenger’s window, I asked a nearby couple with binoculars, “Wolf or coyote?” and they said… “Moose” My brain somersaulted a few times and then I trained my eye to the shadow on a hill. Sure enough, there he was – a mangy looking moose grazing. Unlike the robust healthy moose in pictures or cartoons, this young adult still wore half his winter’s fur in patches all over his body. He was a moose still trying to find his summer groove. Bullwinkle was not robust and looked like he could use some fodder and a little TLC. “Moose are the largest member of the deer family” I tell Francesca. I know this because when my nephew Jonathan was four, he opened the encyclopedia, and read aloud that factoid. It’s funny what one remembers. I smiled at the sighting of Bullwinkle, who may be a very big deer but a slender moose in need of a few hearty meals.

Day 28, May 25th

Today was an exhausting for both of us. Perhaps it was the heat, or the 6500’ altitude when we are used to a seaside 100’ or perhaps it’s the start of our days at 6 am CT which is 5 am PT which is just damn early. For me, there is breakfast, work and then an evening together. Maybe all the travel has taken it’s toll. In any case, we decided to play tourist in Jackson.

The vibe here is part cow town, part ski resort, and part hipsterville. Hankering for Italian food, we dined at Orsetto, where we were waited on by sun-kissed staff with really nice hair. I had a Wilson IPA to wash down the caprese salad, bread, and bucatini with guanciale and onions. I inhaled it all. Francesca was also very happy with her penne and extra-fluffy meatballs. Full, we toyed with dessert which we decided to forego and instead, meandered the crowded tourist streets of bars, shops, galleries and restaurants. We admired the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar with it’s iconic beautiful neon of a cowboy being bucked by a horse. We saw the many tourists take their semi-obligatory photo at the archway of elk antlers which flanked the corners of the town plaza. While we were admiring the many bronze statues in town, I saw a young couple with their toddler son. They were in front of a very large, anatomically correct, muscular bull. The statue was an unabashed homage to hyper masculinity and virility. The father picks up his son and puts it under the bull’s testicles and then takes a photo. I smile and say, “I see you’ve taken a blackmail photo. Hopefully, he won’t have to endure too many years of therapy.” The young couple throw back their heads and giggle.

Day 29, May 26th

Normally, when we go to breakfast at the inn, we are the only ones walking the meandering footpath which abuts the pond and water features. But today, we are greeted with a robust, southern “Good Mawwwnin”. A fast moving triangle was headed our way. Leading the trio is a slightly hunched older woman in sweatpants and a zippered jacket. Behind her, a foot taller and 150 pounds heavier are two younger men. In one hand, the woman is holding a coffee cup and in the other, she clutches a paper napkin presumably with something tasty. “Good morning. I see you are all set for the day”, I replied. The woman laughed, “I surely am” and lifted her goods further in the air to show me how prepared she was. She reminded me of a friendly squirrel, hands up and chattering away. She was a delight. The men behind her smiled broadly and proudly. As if to say “Isn’t she wonderful?! We love her” I nodded to them – yes, she is. It was a simple good morning from a stranger but this short exchange still affects me in a wonderfully positive way.

Other than making coffee and preparing a few sandwiches, I have not done anything resembling cooking. So, this morning, using the ingredients from the breakfast buffet counter, I artfully placed the sliced sausage in the middle of the plate, put the cubes of potatoes all around it and then cheesy eggs on top of the sausage. The plate needed a little color, so a dash of Tapatio hot sauce brightened the plate. In real life, I would have wanted tomatoes and other items but beggars can't be choosers. This is the best I can do with free. Pleased, I looked at my creation for 5 seconds and then promptly woofed it down. I take a bit longer than the 17 seconds it takes for Sparkles (our neighbor’s dog) to eat her meals but to be honest, I don’t take that much longer. In a few minutes, my plate is clean and I am ready for my day.

After the trials of earning a living were over, I walked the few blocks to town and convinced myself that I absolutely needed a root beer float at Jackson Drugs. Sitting on a leather and stainless steel stool at the counter, I sucked down a tall frosty fountain glass of creamy, sugary goodness. Revived, I strolled the streets with vigor and popped into the various stores.

A furrier – I went into a fur store just to see what it was about. My intent was not to shop, covet or buy but to satisfy a curiosity. I ended up having an interesting discussion with the salesman who asked if I owned a fur. Yes, I do. It was my mom’s coat and it was ringed with mink(?) on the sleeves. I remember my mom wearing it years ago and it was magical. The salesman asked if I wore it. “No, I don’t.” Then he asked where I lived. I told him. “I’m sure it’s beautiful but the politics there are terrible” he said. I just looked at him trying to understand where he was coming from, and then something special happened. He added, “I’m sure the people are nice. Just like anywhere. I don’t know maybe it’s the media trying to divide us”. I added, “The country would be better off if people just got together, had an ice cream and focused on the stuff we have in common”. He smiled and laughed, “Yes, we should all have an ice cream. That would be a start.” Solving the American crisis, we soon said our goodbyes. I’d like to think we both felt better about America after our chat. I know I did.

Later in the evening we went out in Van Diesel together. Francesca took me to see Schwabacher Landing. The clouds threatened rain but we got out and went for a walk anyway. We were on our way to see a beaver pond! Earlier in the week, Francesca had been lucky enough to see one of the godly creatures. I am quite a beaver fan. Impressed by their industrious, habitat making efforts and their cutie-pie faces, I am unabashedly a beaver believer. Once, we even went to a Beaver Festival (which I loved). It’s in Martinez in case you want to go too.

Passing their log and branch laden dam, I admired their constructed by-product – a glorious, wide pond. While the structures were quite impressive and there was much to see, we couldn’t stay long as it soon began to rain. Walking the dirt trail back to Van Diesel, we were having a quick bite inside when we saw lightning flash on the edges. Wanting a better view, we drove to the main road where there was an unfettered vista of the Teton range. Rain clouds formed and drifted through the snow capped mountains and outlying lands. Then suddenly, the skies opened with a burst of rain before slowing to a sprinkle and stopping altogether. The skies had grown darker and it was time to go back to the cabin we called home. As I drove, the dark clouds blended in with the fading sky until it was one and the same. Night was here.

Day 30, May 27th

Traveling away from Jackson, we park at the far side of Jenny Lake. The calm, blue lake is rimmed with alpine trees and the sun is warming the bank. Climbing on the rocks on the lake’s edge, I watch as anglers cast their lines while others put in their kayaks. The vibe here is chill. We chatted with a Canadian couple who, like us, have been traveling the states. During our trip, conversations with fellow travelers have been easy and comfortable. Common purpose rules the day. There is unity in this informal gathering of pandemic-avoiding, cross-country travelers to which we are happily members. So, onward, we go.

There is an oxbow on the Snake River where Francesca spotted a beaver the other day. We stopped in anticipation and while there were no beavers, I am not disappointed. One look at the lazy river and I am sleepy, and relaxed. Like Dorothy in a field of poppies, my eyes won’t stay open. Soon, we are opening the doors of Van Diesel, putting up screens. We lay in bed on this beautiful, sunny afternoon taking in the sounds and aromas of the place. While I never see a beaver, I am oddly comforted by this sculpted landscape. My busy brain quiets and I hear the solo cry of a sandhill crane flying above. I like to think the crane is saying hello to his beaver friend in the waters.

We have been traveling for 30 days now. Each day has been literally a new adventure, and we needed this soulful rest. Tomorrow is another dip into Yellowstone before embarking on the last leg of our journey – home, towards the Pacific Ocean.

Day 31, May 28th

An off day. Cold rain greeted us this morning with the promise of more cold rain. Though the prospect of an idyllic spring day was impossible, we traveled through the southern entrance of Yellowstone anyway. First challenge? Breakfast. There is a lot of beautiful here but food is scarce. Yes, we had foodstuffs in the refrigerator, but the thought of a warm breakfast called us. And the voice was loud and persistent.

Driving through the park, we stopped at various places with the hopes of filling our growling bellies. No, no, and no. Most eateries had not opened for the year just yet. We had just stopped at another “no” but there was an upside. Old Faithful was going to erupt in the next 15 minutes. So, instead of feasting on warm toast, butter and jam, I was out in this drizzly morning waiting for the geyser to erupt. On any given day, the geyser would have won out over toast. But cold and wet does not make a great day to see Old Faithful. But today is the day we have and we are here. So, Old Faithful it is.

The geyser starts in a slow low spurt, retracts, then does a higher spurt. Even with this 3 steps forward, 2 steps back approach, the geyser’s momentum grows until some minutes later, hot steam is pushing up over 100 feet into the air and ooohhhing witnesses video the gushing glory of Old Faithful in earnest. Hot steam is shooting up as raindrops fall from the sky. White steam billows into great clouds for several minutes and then begins to recede back to the earth. That’s when the dampness of the day overcame the special of place. Soon we were back in Van Diesel in our quest to find vittles. Stopping at another promising location, we found the restaurant had also just closed for breakfast. BUT there was a snack bar. Thinking I would get a bagel or the Yellowstone equivalent of an egg mcmuffin, I was soon disappointed. Three food clerks – good. No patrons in line – suspicious. Then I viewed the menu. It was lunch – terrible. Still, it was hot food. Undeterred by a poor selection, I soon walked away with a flat bread with cheese and a bowl of chili. Both were edible which is about all I can say about it. After all, we weren’t in Yellowstone for the food. Fortified, we were at last ready to go to the Grand Prismatic Spring at the Midway Geyser Basin.

After waiting in a long line of cars, we eventually park and meander up to the geyser in the spitting rain. A wooden boardwalk safely allowed us to see all the geysers up close. The first was the aqua blue Excelsior Geyser where I saw a woman standing with her eyes closed. Basking in the humid air, it was much warmer near the bubbling waters.

Above the bacterial mats with thermophilic critters, were the geysers venting to the sky. The hallowed Grand Prismatic Geyser was outlined in a muted earth tone palette – mustard, mossy green, burnt orange and red earth were some of the hues that circled the bubbly, warm waters. The smaller Turquoise Pool, and Opal Pool were equally beautiful.

You can get up close by strolling across the Firehole River (geyser feeding into a river) and along the short boardwalk that snakes through the thermal area. While the rain and gray day muted the colors and the experience, beauty still shone through the hazy day. Since we are in Yellowstone during the shoulder season, some roads in the park were still closed, so we weren’t able to go to a geyser overlook. For me, this means the next time we venture out here, I’ll enjoy it all the more.

From the geysers, we traveled the main loop and drove into a buffalo-jam. There were a dozen or so buffaloes and several young calves in the middle of the road. The experience was decidedly different from the bison blessing we had in the Badlands. Crowded with cars and people, I felt sorry for the poor animals trying to get across the road without getting hit. The ratio of people to animals was out of balance - 50 people to 10 buffalo. It was harassment.

Driving on the main loop, we saw the many steamy geysers on the west side of the park. When it was time for lunch, we stopped at one of the few places that was open and saw that all the seats were taken and there was a 40 minute wait. A captive audience, we waited with dozens of other hungry tourists. And when we were finally seated in a u-shaped dining counter, I felt like I won the lottery. My huckleberry ice cream float came in short order and did not disappoint. A cold, bubbly, creamy delicious pick me-up, it was happily inhaled by the time my bison-elk burger arrived. Fortified, we continued on our self-tour.

Most geysers are steamy, almost mystical releases – a meld of inner earth and air. But one geyser was particularly memorable and not in a good way. It was a stinky geyser where the bowels of the earth were constantly spewing smelly vapors into our breathing space. It cleared my sinuses and consumed my mind. It also reminded me not to eat too many deviled eggs.

Headed back to the cabin, we travel past the mostly frozen Yellowstone Lake and admire the snow banks alongside the water. It is an icy marvel. Waterfalls and a bridge complete our journey’s list of things to see. Soon we are in our cabin settling in for the night.

Day 32, May 29th

Driving out of the Grand Teton National Park for the last time, hints of blue peek out from the gray skies. We make a stop at Mormon Row before heading out of Jackson and onward to WY22. It is spitting rain and very cold. An “Avalanche Control” sign greets us as Van Diesel climbs the switchbacks up over 8000 feet of rugged mountainous terrain. Traveling the twisty, treacherous roads from Wilson Wyoming to Victor Idaho, through the Targhee National Forest, Francesca is driving and I am on the look-out for animals. “I see a moose statue” I cry out. “What? Are you sure it’s not a real moose?” asks Francesca. I shake my head, “It can’t be. It’s all one color and it didn’t move.” A few miles roll past and Francesca adds, “Maybe it’s was scared and froze. Why would anyone put a moose statue in the middle of nowhere?”. Hmmm…. All good points. A few turns on the highway and the mystery is solved. A dead moose on the side of the road confirms it. It is all black like the moose “statue”. Note to self, moose are not always accompanied by friendly squirrels and are also statue-like.

After a topsy, turvy drive, we are in Idaho now. I have never been through this potato-y landscape before. While passing Pine Creek Basin, the rain is falling heavily and steadily. The creek is swollen and silty. A few short miles later, we enter Swan Valley. Settled in 1879, this area has well manicured ranches, horses and cattle. The sun splashes here and evaporates just as quickly as rain clouds start to dominate the sky again. Miles later, we drive through the southern fork of the Snake River, I see a solitary deer in the middle of the river. It is an odd sight as deer are herd animals and there were no other deer nearby. Oddly, there are signs for “Game Crossing”. In other states, deer are just considered wildlife but here, they are just game.

There are miles and miles of fallow land with evenly spaced furrow lines in the earth. Alternating rows of a rich brown and bright green co-existing. Waiting for the next planting, the next crop to emerge, this land is in the process of becoming. The linear patterns on the ground intersect with the movement of the rolling hills and on the horizon is a long line of low hanging gray clouds as far as the eye can see. Then quite unexpectedly, I see a wide, zig-zag continuous line - a long trough of disturbed earth. These rip scars on the land are several feet deep. It as if some large trowel or earthquake created a massive fissure. The rich dirt now exposing long, white roots to the air. This is a lonely and sometimes, beautiful landscape.

We drive by a house with an assortment of flags: an American, a Trump, a “Let’s Go Brandon”, and one with Benjamin Franklin. The first two flags I understand. “Let’s Go Brandon” is a meme for “F—- Joe Biden”. But the flag with Franklin perplexed me. In a word association game, I think Franklin and electricity. But apparently, others think of a Franklin political cartoon created hundreds of years ago “Join or Die”. In other words, you are with me, or you can die. Put another way, it is the “my way or the highway” thinking that divides so much of this land of promise. Pitting us versus them when there’s only us. And while we are busy bickering, the mega-millionaire puppet masters live lives unfettered by a conscience and uncontrolled by society. At our very worst, people are hyena-like pack animals. A few miles later, we come across Massacre Rock State Park where emigrants once slaughtered one another. There is a park to commemorate a massacre. Imagine, if we had a garden wherever there was a mass shooting. Parks would number in the 1000s.

The wind has whipped up and not too far from Not Soo Pah (yes, that’s the name of a real place), rain starts pelting the landscape on both sides of us. But as we drive along the country road, the pavement is dry and gray and the warm sun shines a path forward but is just out of reach. On US 93N it is raining and the two storms have merged. Just as we enter Jackpot Nevada, there is a sign “Report Shootings from Highway”. If the situation was different, I would have found that sign more worrisome than I did. But right then, we had more pressing matters. Wind, rain, a two lane highway where the speed limit is 75 mph and Nevada is a Voldemort 6. Thankfully, Francesca is capably driving this perilous stretch which lasts for more than 50 miles. If that wasn’t worrisome enough, it is at this time that I discovered my long sleeved shirt is inside out and I’ve been wearing it backwards.

Day 33, May 30th

Elko to Reno

I like breakfast. Sometimes I like it so much that I break my fast twice. This is also known as first and second breakfast. But when traveling, adjustments need to be made. Due to our schedule, I often had one and only one breakfast. But today, I was very excited because I have literally nothing to do except to have breakfast and then safely journey to our next destination. I promised myself that I would have one, big breakfast.

Doing a bit of research, I read the accolades for a restaurant in Elko. It is an old school place with a cut out of a white coffee cup and steamy black coffee in it. The cursive signage in the front announces “Coffee Mug”. The building has big, front windows where you can sit in a booth and look outside. When we arrive, the place is packed with diners. And luckily enough, there is an empty booth in the front. Scanning the menu, one item pops up and sings its siren song – Huevos Diablos. When it arrives, it meets all expectations. The corn tortillas are slightly crispy and topped with refried pinto beans, a rich pork chile verde is ladled on top (with happy spillage), two over medium eggs and melted cheese covering the tasty mess. Hash browns on the side completes it all. No second breakfast is needed. I finish it all. A few minutes later, we are in the car, Francesca is driving and I take a few bites of a blueberry cream cheese pastry. Francesca is at first mildly horrified, resigned and then perhaps, stunned to silence. I stop eating and realize maybe I did have second breakfast after all.

We take the 80W through Nevada and pass the California Interpretive Trail Center. We are in Nevada but somehow a California center has sneaked it’s way past the interstate border and entrenched itself here. Miles of scrub land later, sandstone formations present themselves with niches of black empty space. The surrounding hills look as if they are comprised of a base of sandstone and after years of erosion, brush has taken hold. Passing the Nevada National Guard there are miles of sameness – flat lands and scrub. The sun is hidden behind billowy clouds and then on the straight road ahead, there is a mirage reflection on the road. Mirror-like, the road looks like the sky and billows like the clouds above.

Our novel view doesn’t last long and there are more miles of sameness and then in the corner of my eye, I see swirls of dust – dust devils. As we drive by these dust devils, they look like slow-motion tornadoes twisting in a small defined space – loose and turbid with dirt and air. In the distance is a wall of dust leaping from the ground. It reminds me of the geysers on the east side of Yellowstone. Dirt now, water then, both slipping out of the ground and as high up as heaven will allow. Both travelers seeking something more from itself. Wanting to grow and escape the confines of gravity. But thankfully, they don’t. They are rooted to the ground just like us.

Traveling alongside the Truckee river, there are multiple industrial complexes. One has large electric towers and wire fencing along with multiple office buildings and a half dozen railroad cars. At another, are multiple semi trucks. There is work on these lands and oddly, the companies don’t announce itself - there are no noticeable signs. Somehow that’s a thing here – mysterious work places with no banners or noticeable markers. These complexes like the ongoing brush, cling to the landscape - anonymous and ever present.

We arrive in the outskirts of Reno. A light sprinkle greets us. The town is crowded with casino-goers and revelers. And then there’s the two of us – celebrating the last night of our journey with a few raw carrots and pretzels. Finger food for weary travelers.

Day 34, May 31st

Driving from Reno to Jenner, we make a stop in my hometown – Sacramento. We are anxious to get home but decide to pick up a few items. Driving past Sutter’s Fort, I think of my dad. While he didn’t particularly love the landmark, during his last days his hospital window faced the fort. To this day, I associate the fort with his death. We make a stop at a restaurant my family has gone to for years “Jade Fountain” and then a stop at “Marie’s Donuts”. The woman behind me in line is one of those people who is pastry conflicted. She doesn’t know what to order. Thankfully, I don’t have those kind of conflicts. I buy an extra jelly donut and give it to her. If you are within 60 miles of Marie’s Donuts, you should have their jelly donut at least once in your life. They also make very good snails. Good deed done, we drive out of the city passing the homeless camp under the freeway on-ramp. A few miles later, I see a large freeway billboard “Welcome to Camp Fentanyl”. We drive through the smog and heat of my youth and head towards cooler lands.

We are in my home state where the light bathes the land so intently that the once green hills have withered into a dry and golden landscape. Once known for it’s golden future, the “Golden State” is a land now known for fire. It is the sign of the times. Driving the roads through Sonoma county, we are soon on River Road. Passing the active little towns alongside the Russian River, we are in the forest. Several miles later, there is a meadow clearing that for me signals that the sea is near. Passing the cows by the riverside, we slowly drive through our little village and up the steep hill to our street. Wending left and then right, we gently roll into our driveway. 8,473 miles and 34 days later, we are home. Before we step inside our home, Francesca and I stop to admire the view from our deck. The river and the ocean are just where we saw them last.

During our trip from sea to shining sea, we’ve enjoyed the unique offerings of many places and have passed by much, much more. These places missed, the stories not lived, not told. These other lands will likely never be known to me. This is also America. The vastness of this country means it is ultimately not knowable. It is incomprehensible. Americans are an incredibly diverse and ultimately unknowable people. As individuals, we are bonded by a sense of geographical space and a vague democratic ideal. We are just like the land itself. Enigmatic.

Thank you for taking the trip with us. It was a blast having you along for the ride. I hope you had fun. I know we did.