Bunkin' in Minnesnowta

Days 37-56: Thursday, August 12, 2010-Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Extended Family in Minnesota

We have been laying low and recuperating in the Twin Cities for quite a while now, fixing and unpacking and cleaning and repacking the car. The three of us were a wee bit tuckered out from the first leg, after all. We are restocking our provisions, doing laundry, organizing, and sleeping. But most importantly, we have spent time with family.
Our first two days in Minneapolis were spent with Aunt Jodi, and the cousins Hannah, Caedmon, and Indya, and Uncle Steve in the evenings. I was promptly jumped on, attacked, bitten, spanked, dragged downstairs, tied up, tortured, and photographed by the three cousins that first morning. Good morning Baltimore.
The rest of the time we spent seeing Auntie Cindy's godmother, Aunt Lois; our Aunt Gloria and Uncle Denny in Duluth; Uncle Jeff and Aunt Elaine and their kids Esther and Micah; Uncle Michael and Aunt Colleen and their kids Emily, Alicia, and Jordan; Uncle Ron; Cousin Kelly; Cousin Kevin; Grandpa and Grandma Swanson; Aunt Kathy; and the Kellys. We went to an Irish Fair, an Indian pow wow, the Minnesota State Fair, and Canal Park. Among us, we rode on one of the five alpine coasters in the States, and went biking, swimming, and hiking. Auntie and I also toured Macalester College in St. Paul. The days have been packed but relaxed.
More details about our time in Minnesota will be posted when we have the time.
We depart the Twin Cities for Chicago in a few hours, via Wisconsin. Minnesota, it's been lovely!

Goodbye South Dakota...Forever

Day 36: Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Badlands Loop, Drive to Minneapolis

One distinct negative (if unrelated) side effect of our visit to Bear Country USA soon surfaced: our AC unit was completely and undeniably busted. This of course was simply fabulous, as we were driving through South Dakota, where it was getting up to 100 degrees and no shade existed. Today in particular, we had to drive clear across South Dakota and much of Minnesota to arrive in Minneapolis tonight—a solid day's drive, with no AC.

Seeing the Badlands definitely presented me with the surreal feeling that I was glimpsing the sea floor devoid of water—which is exactly what it was. The distinct striations of sediment, the smooth curves of the peaks, and the vivid colors of the rock were unexpectedly beautiful, even in the oppressive heat.

Heading out of the Badlands, I was pulled over by a police officer for going a whopping seven miles per hour above the speed limit, even though I was maintaining the flow of traffic. He was going to let me off with a warning, but when confronted with my California Driver's Permit, he seized up, furrowed his brow, and brought it back with him to his car and began muttering into his walkie. Minutes later, he reported that he had radioed his dispatcher, who had called 'someone in California' and nothing had come back on my license. So he wrote me up a citation for driving without a license and saddled me with a court summons to Tadoka, South Dakota for September 16th, or he puts out a warrant for my arrest in South Dakota. He then proceeded to bring me into the car with him as he wrote up said citation, and told me his life story--his ambitions in life, his high school career, his upbringing, his college, his stint with the army, his love of power--for a good fifteen minutes. All in all, it was a strange and traumatizing moment for me.

The rest of the day was studded with frequent stops to splash our bodies with cold water, to buy more ice, to coax a breeze into the blazing car. By the time we arrived in Minneapolis, we were all absolutely disgusting, all caked in dust and dirt and sweat and grime. Poor Aunt Jodi and Uncle Steve.

It sure was heart-warming to see them again. For me, it had been a whopping 11 years since I had seen them last. I had never met any of their three kids, and all of a sudden we were staying with them. I'm sure my anxiety showed, so on top of being sweaty and smelly and neurotic, add pain-stricken to the list. I am notorious for making poor first impressions.

Long Live the Confederacy!

Day 35: Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Bear Country USA, Mount Rushmore, Badlands Backroads, Wall Drug

Auntie Cindy told us way back in Banff this great story about a close enounter she had had with a bear in South Dakota. Apparently, she and a girlfriend were driving through some wildlife park where wild animals were allowed to roam, but they had left the back right window cracked open a few inches. The bear walked right up the door, stuck its paw through the partially open window, inches from Auntie Cindy's head, and then retreated.

Needless to say, Matthew and I thought that sounded so cool.

So when we saw signs for Bear Country USA, we had to go there. We saw elk, arctic foxes, mountain goats, sheep, reindeer, bison, timber wolves, and black bears aplenty. We were quite infuriated, however, with the limited space many of the creatures were afforded, and even the species represented. How cruel, to have an arctic fox outside in 90-100 degree weather with no shade and little water in the middle of South Dakota. These people were really raking in the money, but you wouldn't have known it from the way they treated and kept their animals.

Mt. Rushmore was absolutely infested with bikers. I mean, they had a whole separate parking lot for the motorcycles. Everywhere you looked was either a chubby guy in black leather or an older woman wearing next to nothing (I make generalizations based on actual disturbing sightings). But as much as I rag on the bikers, I will concede that while some fit the stereotype, many do not. Many are quite friendly, garrulous, curious, adventurous people that happen to ride motorcycles. Just the fact that they were swarming these national parks and monuments speaks volumes. Some genuinely care about their country and want to soak up its history.

I chatted with a gang that drove all the way from New Jersey in three days, through Pennsylvania and Iowa. They shared such a pure joy for the travel and the scenery and the things South Dakota had to offer. One guy, Bob the EMT, was telling me about Custer, a park in the area that he had seen and adored. I urged them to check out Wind Cave and described what I loved about the park.

I won't try to romanticize all of them.

I saw way too many Confederate flags than are acceptable. The advertisements that were geared toward these bikers literally read "Free Bikini Bike Wash and Pork Ribs!", much to my amusement. And I wondered if many of the bikers even knew why they were so counter-culture. Was it merely to get a reaction? Or did it actually represent a genuine belief? When one of them sported the Confederate flag, what message were they actually trying to communicate? Were they completely aware of the nuances leading to the Civil War (oops, War Between the States), or were they simply racist? Were they supporting more power to the states, or were they supporting the owning of human property?

But I digress once more.

When we rounded that bend in the road, revealing those four faces carved into the mountain, I actually couldn't speak. You can see the pictures, know the facts, but nothing prepares you for the immensity of those profiles, the grandiose scope of the sculpture, the craftsmanship of the mountain.

Each president has a different focal point, a unique facial expression, and therefore represents a different aspect of the country's character. So many questions whirled through my head that all I could do was sit there with my brow furrowed and my mouth open.

After Rushmore, we drove to the Badlands where, upon the advice from a Hispanic man that pulled over behind us, we continued on a backroad to see the park until we arrived in Wall, at the legendary Wall Drug.

"My Lands Are Where My Dead Lie Buried"

Day 34: Monday, August 9, 2010
Wind Cave National Park, Crazy Horse Memorial, Indian Art Museum of North America

Nebraska is pretty outrageously hot, my friends. We tried to pack up and hit the road as soon as we could, but when it is that stifling, you can't breathe and you just want to sit and melt. It was a struggle.Instead of getting right up to brush our teeth after breakfast, Matthew and I just sat on the pavement in front of the van, gazing lazily at the front bumper of the car which was caked in dead crickets, around which dozens of flies were swarming. Auntie saw us and just cracked up. Without blinking, I told her, “We're in Nebraska. There's not much else to do here, other than to watch the flies.”
On our way out, we met a woman who curious about our backpack (why wouldn't she be?). It transpired that she was a librarian, so of course she and Auntie Cindy hit it off. It may sound naive, but I think until meeting her I had never really stopped to think about motivating kids to read in Nebraska before. The basic lack of motivation is arguably universal, but perhaps the resources are fewer and the incentives less strong in that part of the country than where I grew up. And yet reading is so integral to our lifestyle today, that those who cannot or will not are often marginalized. It is such a crucial skill that we really have no say over learning, nor any recollection of developing it.

We took our leave of Nebraska, the land of the crazy hissing bugs and katydids, sweltering heat and little shade, and headed into South Dakota to Wind Cave National Park. As predicted, the number and frequency of motorcycle sightings spiked dramatically upon crossing the border.
Wind Cave was quite possibly my favorite national park thus far—more points to the parks I had never heard of before! Although there is much evidence that the Native Americans knew of the cave, its first documented discovery was by two brothers, Tom and Jesse Bingham, who were out riding through a prairie when they heard a whistling sound. The whistling was the result of the wind blowing out of the cave opening, a mere 10” in diameter, because the air pressure inside the cave was higher than the atmospheric pressure of the air outside the cave. On any given day, the cave is said to either “breathe in” or “breathe out”. Today it was breathing out.Since the original opening of the cave was so small, a larger one was blasted to the side to allow tourists access, and it was through this entrance we entered the fabulous Wind Cave, trekking an amazing 210 feet (21 stories) underground in a continuous, interconnected cave.

Wind Cave was the first cave in the world to be named a national park, and the seventh national park in the United States, but it's not one that get a lot of coverage, a situation that I hope to rectify starting now.
You might think of a cave as dark and damp and cold, and if so, then you would be correct. But before you groan in disgust, let me tell you it was marvelous. I loved it. Wind Cave is beautifully and artfully lit in a simple fashion with fluorescent lights, that damage the cave less and attract less moisture.
The feature Wind Cave is most renowned for is boxwork, a rock formation that is the result of a layer of calcite seeping into the cracks of the limestone below it. Once the limestone eroded, the calcite remained, leaving a intricate grid of thin rock on the ceilings and walls of the cave. This formation is exceedingly rare, such that 95-97% of the world's known boxwork is housed in Wind Cave National Park in South Dakota.

Wind Cave also protects two other equally intricate cave formation known as cave popcorn and frostwork, but does not have any stalactites or stalagmites, as it is a dry cave.
After Wind Cave, we pulled into the Crazy Horse National Memorial, an independently-funded monument to the Native Americans a few miles from Mt. Rushmore. Like Rushmore, it features an enormous sculpture carved and exploded from a mountain-face; however, all of the faces of Rushmore could fit in the head of Crazy Horse himself, excluding his hair, his torso, and his horse.

Crazy Horse is a symbol to the Native Americans of freedom, pride, and unbridled energy. He was chosen by the Lakota elders to represent the Native American plight in the States. Most relevant for us, we learned that Crazy Horse was murdered by an American soldier under a flag of truce at Fort Robinson, Nebraska--the very land on which we happened to have spent the previous night.
The Crazy Horse Memorial also houses the Indian Art Museum of North America--an unrivaled collection of Native American artwork, tools, clothing, and toys--and the Native American Cultural Center. The Black Hills are sacred land to the Oglala Lakotas, the significance of which was recognized by the sculptor Korczak Ziolkowski, whose family of ten children still organizes the memorial.

As legend has it, a white man sneered and asked Crazy Horse, "Where are your lands now, Crazy Horse?" And the Lakota warrior pointed to the distance and cried the words that still ring today: "My lands are where my dead lie buried".

Catchin' Crickets

Day 33: Sunday, August 8, 2010

Drive from Wyoming to Fort Robinson, Nebraska

We finally see pronghorn!

The drive through Wyoming into South Dakota was utterly stunning. To actually see that fiery auburn-colored rock, lined with various striations, lining the sides of the freeway was incredible. I had to stop the car to collect myself, my body had just exploded with glee. And everyone was just driving by and walking around and living, taking that luscious rock for granted. At one point, we even saw a small dilapidated wooden building coming out of a red rock outcropping, in the middle of a town. And that was just considered normal.

After nearly a full day of driving, we stopped at a rest stop in the middle of Wyoming to recuperate and rehydrate. The sunset over the neighboring fields was beckoning to me, so I raced barefoot over to the fence to capture the sight on camera. I never wanted to forget the incredible beauty of that moment, the utter perfection in the everyday. It leaves me speechless to realize that sunsets happen every single day in almost every part of the world--and yet each one is so unique and startling in its own way. The entire atmosphere is a palette of colors for the Creator.

As I was admiring the stark colors and the silence between the roar of the big rigs whizzing by, I happened to realize that with every step I took in the grass, a dozen or so small things leaped into the air to settle elsewhere in the grass, only to be disrupted by another step. The specks were crickets--dozens upon dozens of crickets! I sped across the field to the car and grabbed Matthew, urging him over to the fence, promising him a grand surprise. Soon he and I were alternately stomping and creeping in the grasses, trying to sneak a closer look at the wary insects.

A man called over to us: "Catchin' crickets?" He walked over with his wife, her mother, and their two daughters to join in the fun. We got to talking, and learned they were from Chicago, visiting the wife's family in South Dakota. They had just come from Mt. Rushmore and Crazy Horse and they reported the places utterly mobbed...by bikers. One word: Sturgis.

Now for those unfamiliar with motorcycling, as we were, this will come as a shock. Every year there is a nation-wide motorcycle rally in Sturgis, South Dakota that attracts thousands and thousands of bikers of all income brackets from all over the country. This year, 2010, the rally was particularly huge, as Sturgis was celebrating its 70th anniversary.

Maybe you're like me and think that sounds awesome. Let's explain. In preparation for Sturgis, all campgrounds and motels and restaurants jack up their prices and all overbooked. So for those unlucky travelers who happened to overlap this event, a small campsite with no electricity or running water ran up to $50 a night.

Not only that, but cell phone coverage was shoddy in the Wyoming-South Dakota neck o' the woods, so the father highly recommended we call ahead right then to book a place for the night.

This family was the kind of family you hope to meet on a road trip such as ours: thoughtful, fun-loving, funny, and adventurous. Even the grandma was spunky and trying to catch crickets with the girls.

But the best part of meeting these folks, besides the warning about Sturgis and nightly accommodations? I discovered that not only was the father from Connecticut (like myself), but he was born and raised in New Haven (like myself) in the Yale-New Haven Hospital, like myself. Mind blown. What are the odds of meeting someone else born in the same Connecticut hospital as yourself in the middle of Wyoming at a rest stop? Both of our jaws just dropped open and we turned to one another and shook our heads in disbelief. Life is a series of happy coincidences.

And even if he did have purple toenails, which he admitted were painted by his five-year-old, that was acceptable because that was the color for his girls' tee-ball team that he coached.

That night we were forced to seek refuge in Nebraska--a state we had never planned to visit at all. We pulled into a place called Fort Robinson for the night, where I met a couple that had just married the previous day and were staying at a cabin at the park on their honeymoon, just as her parents had done on their honeymoon. Her new husband was to go off to boot camp in a few days, and she had to return to community college and work, so the lovebirds really only had a couple days to themselves. The love on their faces was pure and unquestioning.

With that kind of love in mind, we pitched our tent in the middle of a field and bunked for the night.

Wear Long Pants!

Day 32: Saturday, August 7, 2010
Grand Teton National Park

Auntie roused Matthew and me this morning with a mysterious proclamation: “I have a surprise for you two! Wear long pants. Bring shorts to change into afterward.” Matthew and I, groggily fighting to go back to sleep, simply rolled over and batted her away. Matthew muttered to me, “It's probably just her idea of a surprise. She probably just bought a new jar of jam.”

Thankfully, Matthew was wrong.

My suspicions intensified when I was asked to sign over my life at the office, admitting that in the event of my death, I deserved it. At last, we pulled up to a corral: we were to go horseback riding in the Grand Tetons!It was my first time on a horse in years upon years, the same for Auntie. It was Matthew's first time ever. We each were given a separate horse. Matthew's was named Porsche, Auntie's Orphan Annie, or 'Orphan' for short (why not 'Annie' for short, we kept wondering), and mine Red Rose. The people working at the corral were incredibly friendly and personable, very knowledgeable and comforting. One guy was from Georgia, a gal from Texas--both of them working the best summer job I had ever heard.The ride was supposed to be for one hour; we were out for about three and a half. It was glorious!

It was incredibly relaxing to feel the gentle plodding of the horse between my thighs, amazing to see the Grand Tetons from this vantage point. Red Rose could even sense when I wanted a shot, and she would slow down or stop altogether for me. Orphan, however, had terrible allergies and insisted on wandering off the trail to rub her belly on sage, much to Auntie's bewilderment and my amusement. Matthew and Porsche seemed to get along perfectly.
Not only were we on horses, but we were also privy to an interpretive tour led by the lead Texan girl, a marketing major in college. She showed us fallen trees that bears had bounced on and split open to get to the insects inside. She told us that all the trees in an aspen grove are interconnected, and technically consist of one enormous organism. Until quite recently, the largest living organism on Earth was an aspen grove in Oregon, but it has recently been surpassed by some gargantuan mushroom somewhere. She told us about the flood patterns of Christian Creek, and the man it was named after. She told us where to find a moose, why the sage grows so prevalently here, and what that glint of metal is in the glacier atop Mt. Moran. She knew Indian sign language and the consequent miscommunication with the French. She was pretty amazing.
After the ride, we drove along a scenic road and waded into Jenny Lake, named for Jenny Leigh, an Indian wife who died of smallpox with her children. She was serene, tucked away, and positively warm compared to the glacial water to which we had grown accustomed.

I'd Like a Nutty Irishman

Day 31: Friday, August 6, 2010

Dip into Idaho

I really wanted to go into Idaho. I mean, I love potatoes, I needed a journal, and we just had to be able to put the sticker on the side of the car. It would have been disrespectful to be so near the border and not pop in.

Apparently I can be surprisingly convincing, because I had my way and off we were to Driggs, Idaho for a journal from Dark Horse Books. Of course, it started raining the instant we returned to the van after showering and perusing the stores.

Along the way, we pulled over at a turnout near the top of a mountain that offered a stunning view of the valley and hills below. Of course, I hopped out of the car to snap some pictures, only to notice that another car pulled over had California plates. Nothing so unusual there. Californians love to travel, if the number of license plates we saw out-of-state indicates anything. What made me stop short was the Hayward Honda license plate. No way. We were in Wyoming!

Me being me, I immediately accosted the poor woman to whom the van belonged, and her family and I began chatting. I called Auntie Cindy over, the conversation switched to Mandarin, and the couple eased up considerably. They were nice, sweet, friendly Chinese parents. They had a girl and a boy, who were happily throwing rocks off the side of the mountain. Much to my surprise, I was able to understand the entire conversation in Mandarin, and I was genuinely sad to say goodbye to them. They had driven straight from Pleasanton, where they lived, to Mt. Rushmore in South Dakota, and the Grand Tetons was their second stop, to be followed by Yellowstone.

The Idaho we saw was poor, desolate, and crumbling. The buildings were in need of repairs, as were the cars, and even the few people we spotted. Walking around in Driggs felt eerie, as if I were transported into a different century, a different location, into a deserted ghost town in the southwest. Stores were boarded up, molding and decaying, and few cars lined the streets.

Since I had called ahead and already pumped the woman full of questions regarding her journal selection, I grabbed my purchase and browsed the store. Matthew found some elaborate pop-up books, Auntie some on only children, and me one of Bono's speech on AIDS at a Republican Party Luncheon a few years ago.

I chatted with the cashier, and she admitted that she loved the thunderstorm and lightning raging outside, as it dampened the earth and prevented fires, a major concern in the area apparently.

About a block down, we pulled over for some dinner at a heavenly little cafe specializing in hot chocolate. I indulged in a Peppermint Patty—a hot chocolate with dark chocolate, milk chocolate, bits of peppermint, and lots of whipped cream—although the Nutty Irishman—Irish cream, milk chocolate, almond, caramel, and lots of whipped cream—sounded quite tantalizing as well.

Due to heavy rain, I had to pass on the hula-hooping competition next-door, so the ladies participating hula-hooped in front of the cafe for us. Oh, Idaho.

Wandering in the Willows was a...

Day 30: Thursday, August 5, 2010

I will admit it: Yellowstone was kind of incredible. Being the kind of person that tries to dislike things with a lot of hype, I did not want to enjoy Yellowstone; but I have to confess: it's Yellowstone for a reason. Everything from the geology to the history, the wildlife to the wildflowers, the lakes to the sulfuric mud pots, were beyond anything I was expecting. Now granted, I am a wee bit of an earth science/geology nerd, which perhaps explains why I so loved seeing the various geysers, fumaroles, mud pots, and hot springs—the boring geothermal features, if you will.

On the drive out of Yellowstone, our prayers were answered. We encountered yet another famous Yellowstone traffic jam, due to a wildlife spotting, so we piled out of the van to join the hordes of tourists lining the road and both banks of a stream. There, sheltering in the willow and sage, was a lone male moose.

That made our count for Yellowstone alone two coyotes, two grizzly bears, one elk, scads of bison, half a dozen mule deer, and a moose. Not bad given our time frame.

The drive into the Grand Teton National Park was highlighted by me attempting to park the van in front of a sign listing campground availability, but really blocking the stream of traffic exiting Yellowstone, to such an extent that a ranger walked over to help us with our supposed engine problems. She then actually stopped traffic for me to repark the van—my first real bit of parallel parking on the trip. Nerve-wrackingly hilarious.

Now what in the world is a Teton? And what makes this one in particular so 'Grand'? That was what I wanted to know upon pulling through the park. And if this was designated a National Park, just south of mighty Yellowstone, how come I had never heard of it before?

And then there they were. Tall, jagged peaks jutting into the clear blue sky, filled with character and spunk, menace and serenity. They first overlooked a sublime lake, and then fields of grasses and flowers. The lack of foothills surrounding the mountains accentuated the majesty, as the peaks appear to protrude from the field.

What Auntie Cindy and I found mind-blowing was that, in geologic terms, the Teton peaks are mere teenagers in comparison to the Rockies and the Appalachians. Their relative youth helps explain the more angular look of the mountains, as the powers of erosion have had less time to weather away the sharp angles into smooth, rounded domes. Yet the notion that an entire mountain range was so young, so immature was startling. It helps put the passage of time into perspective. After all, it is perception alone that colors much of what we believe we see.

Pulling into the campground at Colter Bay, the old man at the kiosk was so gregarious and convincing, we were sorely tempted to stay at the Grand Tetons longer than the one day we had planned. He revealed to us that he was a UCLA Bruins and California native, before retiring in Arizona. Good man.

That night it rained and our lantern was not working, so we headed to a cafe in the park, where I spotted a man wearing a Pomona College t-shirt. I narrowly resisted the urge to fling myself in his path and accost him. The trip had brought to light many of my concerns and insecurities and neuroses, exacerbating them with the pressure of the sheer mass of everyday tasks I had to accomplish, and that night it all came out. It was ugly, it was explosive, then it was over.

Next thing I knew I needed a new journal and the closest bookstore was in Idaho.

Hello Yellowstone!

Day 26: Sun, August 1
It didn't rain last night. We could have camped after all. Oh well. It sure was a treat sleeping in beds, having a bathroom right next to us, a nice shower and big fluffy towels, lots of space for our bags. . . . The inn even included a lovely hot breakfast with the overnight fee. Enjoyed having wifi for the first time in over a week. Skyped Young-il for the first time. Fun! Then I decided that we really needed to update our blog so we went to the library in Helena for a bit.On our drive through Yellowstone to our campsite, we saw a coyote loping alongside the road.
Got to our campsite at Yellowstone very late and found another car parked in our campsite. What to do. Checked out the neighboring cars' license plates and found another one from Alberta across from our site. So, I went to their tent and asked if they could move their vehicle. They immediately came out of their tent and began arguing with us that they shouldn't have to move their car. They had two cars and their site only had room for one. Our site had room for two cars so they should be able to park their second car at our site. They'd argue with us and then heatedly talk to each other in their own language. The funny thing about it? They were speaking Mandarin and didn't realize that I could understand everything they were saying. Lisa could understand much of what they were saying. Finally they agreed to move their car so that we could back into the campsite and they would park behind us.It was their attitude that we minded the most. Not a very pleasant way to arrive at one's campsite, needless to say. Oh, and they still didn't get that we understood Mandarin even when I asked them at the end if everything was okay and thanked them in Mandarin. They just answered in English. How funny is that.

Heard the wolves howling in the distance as we set up our tent. What a treat!

Day 27: Mon, August 2

Woke up this morning to find that there was an enormous bison pie just 2 feet from the door of our tent. Missed that when we pitched our tent in the dark last night.

Saw Old Faithful today. Mobs of people. We'd read that half of all visitors to Yellowstone come during July and August but didn't expect that half to be so many!

Thought our unfriendly neighbors had left today only to find them there when we returned this evening & constantly at our campsite getting stuff out of their car. Told the campground administrators about the situation and they immediately sent two different people over to tell our neighbors to move their car to another parking site. The whole family stood there and argued with each administrator. Unbelievable sense of entitlement. Finally we agreed to let them stay because they said they were leaving in the morning.

Day 28: Tues, August 3

Rain today. Finally. Thunder, lightening, and rain. Left camp to drive to the public showers 3 miles away and it started to rain & hail when we got out. Remembered that I'd opened the rain tarp doors when we left so that it wouldn't get so hot inside the tent (it was sunny, blue skies when we left). Rushed back to camp and the inside doorways of the tent were soaked. Ah well, it was just the sheets. Not bad for 4 weeks on the road. And we have nice new neighbors today. Yay!

Saw three white-tail bucks near our campsite this afternoon. The most glorious racks you can imagine! They were in the woods, enjoying the delicate lavender wildflowers, oblivious to the group of us gathered in awe across the road from them.

Went on a ranger-led walk through the geyser basin this afternoon.

Day 29: Wed, August 4

Got up at 6:30 this morning and the ol' bison pie had frost on it. Didn't seem that cold last night. Joshua Tree the end of March was much, much colder. Must have been because we had our rain tarp on last night—it must have sheltered us from the cold. Usually we prefer leaving it off and just enjoying the open air.

Drove to Mammoth Hot Springs today. Enroute we drove through Hayden Valley where we saw bison along side the road at many points. What majestic craggy creatures they are. Also saw two huge elk sitting right by the side of the road. They sat patiently chewing their cud while cars lined up to take pictures of them. Oh, they were wild; they weren't tame. They had just become inured to automobiles and two-legged creatures as long as these creatures kept their distance. Boy, did we feel sorry for traffic coming from the opposite direction once we'd taken our photos and continued on our way. It was backed up for at least three miles. Those poor folks had a good hour's wait and didn't even know why.