The Tragedy of the Commons

After my near perfect visit to Big Horn National Forest, I next set my sights on Yellowstone National Park.  It took a couple of hours to cross the Big Horn Basin, which was absolutely baking in the mid-90s.  While passing through, I was treated to a thunderstorm that cooled things off a bit.

By the time I got to Cody, Wyoming, the biggest town just east of the park, things had dried out and the temperatures hovered back in the 90s again.  (Up in the mountains in the Big Horn National Forest, the highs were in the 70s.)  In Cody, I did laundry, took a shower, gassed up, and refilled the cooler with food and beer.  By the time I hit the road again and headed towards Yellowstone, it was late afternoon and more storms were brewing.  As I climbed the mountains leading up to the park entrance, it turned into a full-on nasty and impressive tempest.

Right about the time I got to the park, the storm started to let up.  And at the park entrance, as if on cue, I was treated to a real life show.  A buffalo scratching his junk back and forth on a rock right by the entrance.

 

I approached the park entrance booth just a few feet from Mr. Itchy, and the 20-year-old kid working the booth was leaning his head out the window, staring wistfully at the buffalo and propping his chin on his forearm.  When I get to the window, without even taking his gaze off the buffalo, he says to me, "I have the best job in the world."

But then, bad news.  Just past the entrance, there is a sign listing all the campgrounds and their distances.  And next to every campground name is a tag saying "FULL" -- which was sort of surprising given that there are about 2,000 campsites in the park, and probably an equal number of rooms in lodges and cabins. 

Oooops.  Oh well.  What the hell, I thought to myself.  I'll just drive to some of the campgrounds and lodges and see if there are any last minute vacancies.  And if not, I can always drive back down to Cody (about an hour from the park entrance) or down south of the park to Jackson.

But then as I drove deeper into the park, it was getting dark, and I started to think, this is stupid.  I had struck out at the first couple of places, it was getting late, I was tired, and distances in the park are such that I could be driving around all night trying to find a place to stay.  Finally, around 10:00 pm, I stumble into Grant Village, and the desk person said that they had one room available.  Score!  And they even let me have it at a discount because it had a broken window.  

Next morning, I got up bright and early to start my Yellowstone adventure.  But the adventure quickly soured.  The entire 3,500 square miles of the park seemed to be taken up with buses, oversized RVs, fifteen-seater vans, cars, and people.  And lots and lots of children (who were far less interested in the park than their parents).  I clearly missed all this night before because it was so dark and so late.

Nevertheless, I sojourned on.  First stop:  Old Faithful.  Now you would think that since Mr. Faithful erupts several times a day, the crowds wouldn't be too bad; after all, a tourist could opt for any one of about eight different eruptions.  I opted for the 11:30 showing.  And, alas, the place was mobbed.  This is what I had to compete with:

I felt like I was at a U2 concert something.  I did manage, though, to get the obligatory photo of me and the geyser (conveniently cropped to make it seem as if no one else is there!\).

The annoyed face is because of the screaming children nipping at my ankles.

Next up, strolls though the various geyser basins.  Unfortunately, because of the bajillions of people who pass through every year, visitors are restricted to "boardwalks" that dictate where you can go and that are choked with tourists who waddle at an interminably slow pace, don't believe in natural fibers, and wear fanny packs.  (The Horror!)  And they all seem to have more than their allotted 2.2 children, and they don't believe in disciplining any of them.  

Still, the hot springs and geysers were cool, once I actually got up and close and blocked the other tourists out of my peripheral vision.

And I was treated to a couple of other lovely views while driving around the park.  The lower falls of the Yellowstone River were quite impressive.

Note the tiny people on the platform at the top right of the falls.

And the canyon that starts at the base of the falls was stunning as well.

There was lots of wildlife, like this elk I spotted:

And the roads had areas every quarter mile or so where you could pull over and enjoy a new spectacular view (if you could manage to get an empty parking spot).

Lake Yellowstone

While driving around the jam which is park traffic, Grigsby hit a milestone.  He crossed the continental divide for the first time.

To celebrate, I let him get his first tattoo.

But really, after one day in Yellowstone, I was done.  I couldn't handle the crowds.  While I was able to edit out most of the throngs of people from the photos above, make no mistake:  The park was absolutely teeming, maxed out with people and their machines.  May a pox strike down the person who invented RVs!  Especially the RV in front of me that kicked out a piece of gravel and chipped Grigsby's windshield!

So I escaped the park the day before yesterday after spending barely 24 hours in it.  On the advice of my friend Sylvia who grew up in these parts, I checked into the Chico Hot Springs Resort and Day Spa, about 30 miles north of the park, to let nature's Calgon take me away.

Chico is a resort that dates from around 1900, with an old-school lodge and hot springs pool behind it, plus some newer buildings that have been added over the past hundred years or so.  My room was in the main lodge.  The room was tiny, little more than a bed and a tiny dresser, with the bathroom (shared w/eight other rooms) down the hall.  (They have nicer accommodations, too, but I'm traveling on the cheap, and I don't mind a shared bathroom.)

The resort is nestled right at the base of the Absaroka Mountains in a very picturesque location.  The weather is absolutely delightful, highs around 80, lows around 60.  After I checked in, I four-wheeled over to nearby Emigrant Creek and cooked myself some dinner on my portable gas stove (brats and corn on the cob).  Because the snow melt off this year has been so intense, the creek was positively gushing.  It made for a lovely background music and scenery while dining.  Then I came back to my room and crashed.

Yesterday I didn't do much.  I hung out by the hot springs pool.  Finished a book -- The Abstinence Teacher, a great read, check it out!  Took a yoga class.  Got a massage.  Not a whole lot to do here but chill.  Which is nice.  

A couple of days at Chico was a nice break.  My only two gripes:  First, there are lots of children.  I sort of thought this would be more of an "adult" sort of getaway, but this is clearly a "family" sort of destination.  While I adore children, I can only handle two or three at a time.  There must be 40 staying here, and the place isn't that big -- the kids totally overwhelm the pool.  They should consider having "adult" time at the pool for a couple of hours every afternoon.  The kids pretty much stayed away from the big porch (too boring for kids to just porch-sit, I suppose), so that's where I spent most of my time.   

Second, both mornings they started construction work out by the pool area at 7:00 am!  Criminy.  Power tools and shop vacs at that ungodly hour?!  They clearly need to get on east coast time.

But overall, it was a nice stay.  I'm checking out this morning.  Not sure where I'll end up night.  That's half the fun, though.  Onward!

 

Leaving Big Horn

Monday night was my last night in Big Horn National Forest.  I decided to do it up right and cook myself a cowboy dinner.  But first, the sunset:

Yes, those colors exist in nature.

So preparing a hot meal whilst camping poses some challenges.  First, I had to get water, both for cooking and cleaning.  The campsite had a pump, but damn, if it wasn't a bitch to operate.

I had to put my whole weight into each stroke, and then only a bit of water came out.  And I only had gallon jugs to fill.  That meant I pumped hard with one hand, I had to hold the jug with the other right under the spigot, otherwise, I would miss the opening.   It about wore me out after two gallons.

Then I needed fire.  I bought some firewood in Sheridan, but it turned out to be quite green and was a total bitch to get to burn.  After continually inserting extra kindling that I purloined from the area around the campsite, and constantly blowing on the base of the fire to get some oxygen to it, after about an hour I finally got enough of a fire to cook on.  I cooked over flames.  If I had waited for hot coals, I would have been there all night, the wood was so green.

Then the steak and the corn on the cob came out of the cooler and onto the grill.  The cooking part was relatively easy since the campsite had fire pits with iron grates for grilling.  The end result was delicious, and definitely worth the effort:

I popped open a bottle of cheap wine to go with it.  I discovered that there is a bug that really likes wine.  Several drowned themselves in it, and the ones that didn't drown clearly got drunk and passed out on the table about the bottle.  The whole area was littered with little winged things that could hardly stand, much less fly.  They're clearly related to me.

Achieving New Heights in Blogging

Greetings from 9,500 feet.





Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I am blogging from the top of Black Mountain, Wyoming. I have reception for the first time since entering the Big Horn National Forest yesterday. And hiking at this altitude has about wore me out. So I've decided to sit and catch my breath and write for a bit before heading back down.

The hike up wasn't too difficult, technically, but the air is certainly thin up here. Plus I was already a bit light headed from being bathed constantly in DEET.

But the view from the old lookout tower up here is simply amazing.





Getting to the trail head was quite an undertaking. Grigsby and I had to ford two streams, and the road -- if it could be called that -- was itself steep rivulets punctuated by boulders. But Grigsby did great. He only stalled twice. And that was in high 4WD. If I had put him in low, I'm sure he wouldn't have stalled at all.

I'm camped down at the bottom at a campsite called Tie Flume, right on the South Tongue River. The setting reminds me of Middle Earth:



But being near the water increases the bug factor. And the animal factor. A deer came right up to my campsite last night, oblivious to me until I went "boo" and she bounded away.



And then in the middle of the night I could have sworn an animal was trying to get in my tent. Or maybe it was just the wind. They do have signs posted around the campsite warning of bears and mountain lions...... But it was a lovely chilly night, and I got to break out the sleeping bag for the first time.

OK. Going to head down the mountain soon, take a freezing cold stream bath, and then cook up a nice dinner. I've got some steak and corn on the cob in the cooler. Yum.

I'll spend one more night here, then head towards Yellowstone tomorrow.

I'll leave you with a handsome photo of Grigsby from yesterday, when we took an old logging road to get up into the mountains.





He's such a stud.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

From Corn Palace to Devil's Tower

Greetings from the base of Devil's Tower. I've entered the "Into the Wild" phase of my trip, camping outdoors instead of staying in hotels and homes with wi-fi. As a result, my laptop is pretty much useless.

But I do have (some) phone reception So I am going to attempt to blog from my iPhone. I apologize in advance for the brevity and any typos. And I can't figure out how to upload high resolution photos. So I apologize if the pics look crappy.

Anyway. I left Brandon, SD, yesterday around noon (I slept in) and headed to the Badlands. But first, I felt compelled to visit the Corn Palace in Mitchell, SD.


The Corn Palace, for those of you who don't know, is a paen to all things corn, constructed of corn. Some geniuses in late 19th century Mitchell concocted the idea of the palace, after a neighboring town built a "Wheat Palace" that garned a modicum of attention. The Wheat Palace, though, eventually succumbed to oblivion. The Corn Palace survives, and is redecorated anew each year.

An adorable, corn fed, high school boy gave me a tour of the Palace, explaining the history and the pride that the Palace has brought to South East South Dakota. And I got my picture taken with CORNelius, another corn fed youth in a furry corn cob suit.


After the Corn Palace, I continued west on I-90 towards the Badlands. On the way, Grigsby hit a milestone:


If you can't tell from the photo, Grigsby hit 4,000 on the odometer. He was at 700 when we left DC two weeks ago.

Next, the Badlands. Very, VERY cool. I got there late in the afternoon, and the late afternoon sun cast some amazing shadows.


I hikes around a bit, working up a sweat in the heat, and the jumped into Grigsby and snaked along the ridge road running the length of the park, trying to make it to the Sage Creek Campground before sunset.

I made it with some time to spare, courtesy of Grigsby's ability to fly down curvy dirt roads. Made it in time to get the tent set up before nightfall.


Then popped open a beer, watched the sun set and the full moon rise. Amazing.

Got up this morning to the serenading of dozens of different kinds of birds (or so it seemed) and hit the road around 10:00 heading towards Mount Rushmore. Made it there about noon and got the obligatory photo:


And while it was very impressive and very cool to see it in person, there wasn't any reason to hang around much longer than the time it took to go through the small museum on site.

Grigsby and I left Rushmore and drove out of the Black Hills into eastern Wyoming. Moorcroft to be exact. Went into the local truck stop and rented a shower for six bucks. The days have been in the mid to upper 90s and with the hiking and sweating, I was already feeling pretty ripe after just 36 hours since my last shower.

Next, the plan was to go to Big Horn National Forest for the night to camp. But it was already almost 4:00, and I knew I'd never make it in time. So instead, I decided to sort of backtrack and go to Devil's Tower for the night. It was only 35 miles away, would be a great place to wander around and spend the night, and then I could hit the road early in the morning and make it to Big Horn with time to spare. Plus, I could relive the Close Encounters fantasies I had as a child.


So Grigsby and I headed back up towards the Black Hills. The campsite in the park is right on the Belle Fourche river, in a grove of cottonwood trees that are currently producing cotton so that it seems as if it is snowing.

I took an easy hike around the base as the sun began to set.


Back at the campsite, I popped open a couple of beers, listened to a local musician play guitar and sing some slightly tawdry songs, and then listened to a Chayenne Indian tell stories about creation and the nature of things.

And getting ready to sleep under a sky filled with billions and billions of stars, as Carl would say. Life is good.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Corn and More Corn

On Wednesday, Team Grigsby left and Ann Arbor and headed for Chicago, with a quick detour to have lunch at Russell Dunes State Park on Lake Michigan:

The beach was overrun, though, with busloads of schoolchildren, so we didn't linger much after eating.  Rather, we quickly headed towards Chicago.

Chicago, as seen from Grigsby.

Well, technically we headed to one of the western suburbs, where my friends Marta and Danny live.  There, in Oak Park, I got to catch up with several my Chicago-area friends (Leah, Carrie, and Alan), who all graciously agreed to converge at a sushi restaurant not far from Danny and Marta's house.  After dinner, Jenny departed Team Grigsby, to continue her vacation with her friend Sean.  (They're flying to Vancouver.)  Grigsby's passenger seat seems so lonely now . . . .  Bye, Jenny!  Grigsby will miss you!

After some laundry the next morning and a re-loading/re-arranging of Grigsby's innards, Grigsby and I hit the road, all by ourselves.  We had a long haul ahead of us.  I had originally planned on taking I-90 up and over to South Dakota, but Danny convinced me I should take a more scenic route:  U.S. 20 through western Illinois and Iowa.  Good call, Danny.

Somewhere in Western Illinois

First stop:  Galena, home of Ulysses S. Grant (who knew?).   Galena was a very quaint, river town with lots of pretty Victorian homes with big porches.  Galena's historic Main Street was closed off because of a gathering of classic Packard owners.

Galena is very beige.

I spent some time walking around the historic district, checking out the very cool rides, which were all owned by 70-something white guys who all looked exactly alike.  Creepy.  I then grabbed some lunch at Galena's swankest restaurant (cost all of $12 including tip), and then continued west, crossing into Iowa, home of Radar O'Reilly. 

Then there was drama.  Somewhere west of Dubuque on U.S. 20, I saw an awful accident happen right in front of me.  Some guy went speeding by me in his little sedan, darting in and out of traffic.  A few hundred feet in front of me, he tried to dart in between another car and a tractor-trailor, but he lost control and crossed the median.  Before he could react, another tractor-trailer heading the opposite direction plowed into him.

Grigsby and I stopped, and I called 911.  Several other drivers stopped to help, one of whom was a doctor.  After about 5 minutes, police and EMS showed up (which seemed awfully fast, considering that we were in the middle of nowhere).  Once the place started getting overrun with rescue people, I left.  I only stuck around long enough to give a statement to a police officer.  I figured that they didn't need me lingering and getting in the way.  (I got a call later in the afternoon from a lady in the sheriff's department who had a couple more questions.  She told me that the driver was very lucky, and that it appeared that he was going to be OK.)

U.S. 20 was a lovely drive through more corn than I knew existed on the entire planet.  About halfway through the state, though, U.S. 20 just ended.  The sign only said "road closed" -- I assume it was some sort of construction.  So I turned off the highway.

If you ever look at a map of Iowa, you'll see that all the roads basically go north or south.  There aren't any diagonals.  And I was wanting to get to the upper left hand corner of the state.  So I pretty much had to zig-zag up one little country road, then over on another, then up, then over, then up, then over, etc.  Luckily, the roads are all straight, so I could drive them on a fast clip.

And passing through all the small towns was a trip.  I filled up in a little town called Fort Dodge at a gas station with an unfortunate name.

Apparently this is a chain in Iowa.

And I passed through more fields of corn, punctuated by small towns, silos, and windmills.

Finally, after about 12 hours on the road, I made it to the very northwest corner of the state, crossed over into Minnesota briefly, and then arrived in Brandon, South Dakota, late last night.  Spent the night in the local Holiday Inn Express, and now getting ready to hit the road again.

Next stop:  Badlands.  My next few nights I'm camping out, so there may be a delay in further blog postings.  Be patient . . . .
 

Wine, Glorious Wine

On Monday, Team Grigsby drove from Ottawa to Prince Edward County, Ontario -- which is technically an island, but since the name Prince Edward Island is already taken, they're sort of stuck calling it Prince Edward County.  The county/island is in Lake Ontario, not far from Kingston and the Thousand Islands region.

It took about four hours to get there, a leisurely drive through lots of lovely flat farmland interspersed with soft, rolling green hills.  Our destination was the Long Dog Winery.

I know one of the co-owners/co-operators, Steven, and when I mentioned to him a couple of months ago that I was going to be passing through Ontario on my adventure, he graciously invited Jenny, Grigsby, and me to spend a night at the winery's farmhouse.

Just seeing Steven and his winery would have been reason enough to stop by, but then in his invitation he casually mentioned that there was a pool, that he would cook us dinner with veggies picked from his garden, and that we could imbibe all the wine we could drink.  Sold!

When we arrived, it was a unseasonably warm and a little humid.  Perfect weather for some chardonnay by the pool with his co-proprietor (and equally gracious host) Victoria, and their adorable dachshunds, Fanny and Bella (hence the "Long Dog" name).

After that treatment session, Steven showed us around the winery.

Jenny inspecting the embryos.

Steven explained how both the island's microclimate (it's warmer there than you'd think) and the unique limestone-heavy soil on this particular high point of the island, result in wonderful chardonnays and pinot noirs, varietals that typically don't fare well in southern Ontario. 

Steven and Jenny in the birthing chamber.

Steven let us try some of everything they produce, several different vintages and blends.  Pinot noirs, pinot gris, chardonnays, and even a delightfully dry rosé.  All really really nice.

Shhhhhh.  The babies are napping.

After the tour, Steven and Victoria whipped up a fabulous dinner of fresh pea purée on toast points with bacon, beef steak with an an Argentinian cayenne marinade, mashed potatoes, raw beet gratinée, and Greek salad.  Then more wine, followed by a late night dip in the pool.  Followed by a good night's rest up in the loft.  Many, many thanks to Steven and Victoria for the lovely (and tasty!) time.

Team Grigsby set out early the next morning.  We had a long day ahead of us.  First stop, Oakville, which for you non-Canadians, is on the other side of Toronto.  There, I met my old friends Salam and Hala, whom I haven't seen since 1995!

We haven't changed in 16 years!

We all worked together in the U.A.E. back in the early 1990s.  It was great getting to visit with them and catch up, and see how Salam's two little babies have grown up into fine young men.

After an outstanding lunch of Salam's homemade Thai curry with fish, Team Grigsby hit the road again.  We headed west, back towards the U.S. border crossing at Port Huron, Michigan.  The CBP people let us through without incident (though crossing this direction, we did, finally, have to show someone our passports).  We then headed down to Ann Arbor, spending the night at the local Microtel, cheap and clean, after having dinner at Zingerman's Roadhouse, an Ann Arbor classic.

Grigsby survived his first international journey without incident.  Next stop, the midwest.
 

Oh, Canadia!

Last Saturday, His Grace, Grigsby, hit three milestones.  First, he turned 2000!  [*applause*]

Next, he took his first boat ride:  A trip on the Lake Champlain ferry from Vermont to New York.  [*applause*]

They didn't have a life preserver in his size.  Good thing we didn't capsize!

And finally, Grigsby went international.  We traversed the St. Lawrence River at the Three Nations Crossing and found ourselves smack dab in the middle of our 51st state, Canada.  [*applause*]

Canada on the Left.  America on the Right.  In more ways than one.

Now, we joke about Canada being just another one of these grand old United States, but seriously:  The Canadian border guard didn't even look at our passports, or any other identification, for that matter.  He just asked us where we were going, why, and for how long.  So either they really are all secretly Americans up there, or they're just desperate for visitors.  Or maybe the border guard had a man-crush on Grigsby.  Yeah, that's it.

As soon as we crossed over, the landscape was totally different.  Instead of the rolling hills of the northern Adirondacks, it was flat flat flat, long straight roads that extended to the horizon.  Or more accurately, Ottawa.  Or even more accurately, my friend Richard's balcony, which was awash in margaritas and bourbon sours lovingly crafted by his Dutch-Canadian hands.  (I'll call Richard "R2" so you don't confuse him with me, the original Richard).  As with Joe and Wendy, R2 was concerned that I was running late for cocktail hour, so he did what any other self-respecting highly functioning alcoholic would do:  He started drinking without us.  (Note, he was not alone.  His friend Biz was also there.  But if she hadn't been there, he would have started drinking without us, trust me.)

By the time we arrived, R2 was a few sheets to the wind.  But Jenny and I rapidly caught up.  And five hours later, around midnight, I was passed out on the couch.  R2, Jenny, and Biz evidently did a late night walking tour of Ottawa whilst I was unconscious, but I have no verifiable proof of that.  R2 did have a healthy bruise on his arm which he said came from a tumble he took in MacLaren Street, but really, that could have come from anywhere. 

Anyway, we woke up the next morning a little worse for the wear.  Nevertheless, after some ibuprofen, hydration, and mid-morning naps, we set out to explore Ottawa.  First stop, Hogwarts.  I mean, Parliament.

Jenny and R2 in front of the building where the cigarettes are made.

The Parliament buildings are rather impressive in that "let's make this look like ye olde England" sort of way.  They're full of fun detail work, including animals and fantastical creatures of all stripes.

Canada.  Land of Unicorns.  And rainbows.

We then enjoyed a leisurely brunch at Social, where I had duck confit hash with a poached egg and duck gravy.  And we shared a pitcher of sangria.  The combination instantly cured me of my hangover.

Social was right by Ottawa's Byward Market, which is an open air market full of fruit/vegetable/flower vendors and surrounded by bakeries, cheese shops, junk shops, bars, restaurants, etc.  We wandered around the market checking out the stalls.  And we spent an inordinate amount of time in the cheese shops just breathing in the funky, cheese-soaked air (plus, they were a lovely air conditioned break from the unseasonably hot day in Ottawa).

We also ducked into the Moulin de Provence bakery, which, judging from the photos of Barack Obama everywhere, is the "White House North."  President Obama stopped by the bakery on his state visit to Canada back in February, and the operators of the bakery won't let you forget it.

Please keep the inappropriate jokes to yourself.

But the official "Obama Cookie" looks suspiciously Canadian, yet more proof that Canada is simply a rump U.S. state:

Everybody sing:  I've got the whole country in my hands.

Or wait . . . .  Maybe it means that Obama is secretly Canadian, not Kenyan!  Yeah, that's it.  Produce the REAL birth certificate, Canada!

Late afternoonish, we realized that our big brunch and hair of the dog had actually made us sleepy, so we all went back to R2's to nap. 

We got up in time for dinner at Town (chicken liver crustini, cheese-stuffed meatballs, fig/prosciutto/fried ricotto salad, valpolicella, etc.), and then we walked back down to Parliament for the laser light show.  Yes, a laser light show.

I must say, I was quite impressed with the show.  It had the potential to be horrendously schlocky, but it was only mildly so.  (They wisely kept the Céline Dion soundtrack to a minimum.)  The voiceovers recounted Canadian history, geography, climate, culture, and hopes for the future.  And many of the actual lighting bits were very cool.

Christmas in July!

I was actually kind of jealous.  There is no way that something like this would be permitted on the U.S. Capitol.  First of all, Americans are too uptight to try something interesting and different like this on the Capitol (which is pretty much a useless building, anyway).  Plus, there would be ENDLESS fights over the content.  The TeaBaggers would want to, as always, rewrite history, and Democrats would sputter and grouse and eventually cave in, but then the TeaBaggers would cut funding anyway because a light show is socialist.

Anyway.  After the light show, we staggered back to R2's and collapsed for the night.  We got up bright and early the next morning, R2 went to work (well, OK, he "telecommuted"), and Jenny and I loaded up Grigsby and hit the road.  Many, many thanks to R2 for being such a wonderful host and emissary for his people.