And we're back...

It's our last day on the road, today we're heading back to Boulder. It turns out that a friend of ours was just diagnosed with a brain tumor. Our daughter has been staying at her home, creating urgency to get back quickly. We've done the drive from Jackson to Boulder several times before, so we're not missing anything we haven't seen before. But this definitely puts a damper on our mood.

It's a beautiful drive, starting out driving over Teton Pass, driving thru Jackson and cruising US 287 all the way to Longmont, Colorado, just 15 miles from home. The landscape changes rapidly along this route, starting as jagged mountain range, and transitioning quickly to a smaller range of fragmented rock faces, then red rock hills and sagebrush prairies.


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We drove through the Wind River Reservation and stopped off in Lander for lunch at a local cafe. You really feel the recession in Lander: lots of main street businesses have closed down and there is a generally somber mood. It was amazing how much food they serve for $5.


After lunch we tanked up and drove straight to Rawlins, topped off the tank again for the milk run home, and got on I-80. At Laramie we turned south on 287, passing the fireworks stands, and bee-lined it down to Longmont. As the sun is getting low the landscape turns a vibrant mix of deep green trees and shades of brown, orange and red in the exposed rock.

Between Loveland and Longmont, I had the only real mechanical problem of the trip. It felt like the rear wheels were wobbling, like they had a flat. We pulled over to see what the problem was but couldn't find anything. We limped down the road to a gas station and turned off the engine. Still couldn't find anything wrong. I started the engine again, then drove around and everything was ok. By 8:30 in the evening we pull into the driveway.

It's good to be back home.


The last picture is Long's Peak at twilight, as viewed from Longview Farms in Loveland, Colorado.

Did you fart?

One of the dreaded realities of a road trip is that when you spend eight to ten hours a day in a car, you're going to break some wind somewhere down the line. And when you have a passenger, someone is bound to notice. As we pulled into Yellowstone, Isabel asked me, "Did you fart?". When you go to Yellowstone, nature provides the perfect smokescreen of deniability.

The signage around the various geothermal sites includes this warning.


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It seems appropriate to visit Yellowstone on Earth Day, since this is thought to be the site of one of the next major geologic events, possibly doing us all in. The joke's on us. Here's a collection of images from the day:

North Gateway: For the Benefit and Enjoyment of the People.









Trees trapped in Mammoth Hot Springs. Mammoth is a large area where sulfurous water boils out of the earth's crust, the minerals harden into boundaries forming pools of hot water and small rivulets spill over, forming descending terraces of more pools.



An Australian photographer was taking photographs of the waterfalls, and was kind enough to take this picture of us there. The park was almost empty of people, the most we saw were about twenty others at Old Faithful. If you're a misanthrope like me, this is the perfect way to see the place. The following pictures are from the Norris Geyser Field. You really get a sense of standing on the caldera of a volcano here, it's a bizarre, steaming lunar landscape. I loved the visual textures.

We went to Old Faithful at the end of the day, as a spring storm swirled around us. As we made our way through the park to the west portal, we encountered elk, coyote and several herds of bison. The bison were taking their time walking down the road, and created a small traffic jam. They particularly seemed to dislike our BMW - "die yuppie scum!".

The last two pictures are from the approach to Driggs, Idaho, where we spent the night at the Super 8. The Tetons at sunset are something to see. We had dinner at The Royal Wolf, a local bar that happens to have excellent food. Isabel had the trout and I had the chili. I've stayed in Driggs many times before, and this is my favorite watering hole.

Zig-zagging from Missoula to Livingston

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Took the long route, south along the Bitteroot Mountains, then east across the mountains following the roads that were available, extending what would have been a less than three hour drive on the interstate into a six hour drive. Was it worth it? Yes!

As we drove south on 93 (which follows the Lewis and Clark trail here) we passed through several towns and began to wonder if this choice of route was a mistake. The towns have so much roadside dreck (billboards and other signage), that we literally could only glimpse the mountains in between the visual garbage. I was thinking of a clever homage to Venturi, a la "Learning from Montana". But as we got further south, it cleared up, and by the time we passed through Sula it was just like we were hoping - big mountains and nobody around. Drop dead gorgeous. We topped out at Lost Trail, a Forest Dept ski area that is huge and yet hardly developed at the base. There's parking for maybe 200 cars.

At this junction we turned left on Hwy 43 and headed east toward Wisdom, as one does. We approached a National Historic Site that commemorates the Battle of Big Hole. In general we haven't followed the pull of historic markers, but something about this place was powerful. The Battle of Big Hole started when Army infantry ambushed Nez Perce natives as they slept, and killed men, women and children indiscriminately. The warriors repelled the attackers, forcing them into a nearby thicket, and kept them pinned down there for a day and a night to provide cover while the survivors escaped. They also captured the army's Howitzer artillery cannon.

A small museum is on the site, with photographs and accounts from people on both sides who lived through the siege, and a enthusiastic park ranger, a woman in her sixties who looked like she could have been a mixed descendant. The anglo survivors were disturbed by their actions, haunted by the howls of agony as the returning warriors discovered their slaughtered families. The natives fled north to an area near the Canadian border, where they were confronted again and signed a treaty. The Nez Perce now live on a reservation bordering the Grand Coulee dam near Colville, Washington. Years later General Gibbon and Chief Joseph would meet, reconciled to the horrors of that day.

We asked the park ranger which route she would recommend, and she directed us toward Virginia City, so we continued to zig-zag east across the high plain. Taking adequate pictures of this landscape is a futile task - the scale of everything is so vast that it defies the lens. At least with the hit and run photography we're doing. The area is pure Montana ranchland. We saw huge herds of cattle grazing on seemingly endless pastures. One herd of cattle we passed was easily over a thousand head. We passed through Wisdom, a small, weathered cowboy town with the basic services for ranching and the highway - a restaurant, a mechanic with a big wrecker truck, a welder, a feed and supply company and a gas station.

We continued over the next range and coasted down, hitching up with I-15, which we took north to the town of Dillon, just a couple miles up the road. Dillon is ranching town with a small state university. The development pattern is similar to many we've passed through on this part of the trip: two downtown main streets, one that fronts on the train line, and another main street perpendicular to it. We grabbed a burger in a cavernous restaurant fronting the tracks, empty except for us and a small group. The right wall was lined with video games (Asteroids, Tank Commander, Defender etc). Against the opposite wall were electronic slot machines, which everyone seems to ignore The hotel fronts onto the train track, and offers $10 rooms.

Leaving Dillon, we passed through a series of ranch towns similar in character to Wisdom or Dillon, depending on the size. Two notable exceptions are Nevada City and Virginia City. We just passed through these and didn't take any pictures, which I regret now. They are basically well-preserved western ghost towns with all the original buildings, farm implements etc. The stores are all geared to tourists, but the outward indications are very subtle. Taos Pueblo does a similar act: maintain the illusion from the exterior, and sell touro schwag. What else?

As we approached Bozeman, the ranch land gave way to commerce. Bozeman is in a beautiful location, and with a large university it has a similar feel as our hometown of Boulder. Overall, I was not very interested in Bozeman. Nice place, but boring and expensive. We drove another 25 miles east to Livingston, which is both a ranch town as well as a tourist way-station, for folks who are heading to Yellowstone, like us. We checked into a Best Western with around 100 rooms, but probably only 5 of them occupied. Headed over to the main street for dinner at The Stockman's, which was just ok. I wonder how these towns will do when the tourist season starts again.

Back in the USSA

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Checked out of Grand Forks around 10:30. We wanted to stay in the Canadian mountains a bit longer, so we headed east. Lots of mountains, some still with snow, which highlights the interspersed clear-cut forests. Went around Christina Lake, which is quite picturesque.













Around 1pm we got to Creston, which sits in the broad flat Kootenay valley, an agricultural zone between two huge mountain ranges. (I switched the map view to Terrain mode so you can get a better idea of the topography.)

We dawdled around the valley a bit to check out the sights and found a working saw mill, which is a bit unusual on this trip - most of the mills we've passed by are idle due to the economy.

Had lunch at a local joint called The Other Side, which seemed to have an identity crisis but did not disappoint. In my quest for Russian food, I had the stuffed cabbage and Isabel had the beef bourguignon. Turns out the chef is from Thailand. Both meals were delicious and cheap.

We headed south on BC Rte 21 and crossed the border at Porthill, Idaho. These border crossings are sort of comical and surreal, a kind of homeland psycho therapy, except the therapist is blatant about trying to catch you in your shit. They don't have 45 minutes, after all.

"You should have waited for me to wave you over."
"Oh, sorry about that. The sign was confusing." (how hard would it be to make it clear?)
"Where are you coming from?"
"Vancouver."
"Why were you there?"
"Visiting friends."
"Where do you live?"
"Boulder Colorado."
"How long were you there?"
"Two days."
"You got all the way from Boulder to Vancouver and then here in two days?"
[feeling sheepish]
"Oh, no. I thought you meant Vancouver. We've been on the road for 12 days."
Then it turns to a haiku:
"Any alcohol?"
"No."
"Tobacco?"
"No."
"Firearms?"
"No."
"OK. You can go."

We pulled out and headed down to Hwy 2 and then turned east, following the Kootenai River valley and then rising over to another range, passing by a series of alpine lakes that were almost all thawed out. Coming down off this range into Kalispell, you can see Glacier National Park to the Northeast. It looked amazing, so it was with a bit of regret that we turned south towards Missoula on Hwy 93. As my friend Derek says, you've got to leave a little.


Kalispell is a larger town which is both charming and sad. The development has gotten a little out of control and the casino plague starts here. Americans really need to find something better to do with their money.

Driving down 93 we drove around the southwest quadrant of Flathead lake, which is strikingly scenic in lots of drive-by moments. The water level in the lake looks to be about 10-15 feet low, which is odd since there wasn't much snow on the mountains left to melt. Drought?

Following 93 further south takes you along a stunning mountain range that looks like Switzerland in places. There's a lot of road construction going on here, which seems like it might be associated with a casino under construction. And a speed trap to go with it.

Finally arrived at Missoula around 8pm, losing an hour as we changed from Pacific to Mountain time. Isabel took this picture of a cloud that looked like a UFO. Grabbed some chow and a room and there you have it. Missoula in the dark. Tomorrow we drive south along the eastern flank of the Bitteroot Mountains, through Bozeman and then to the western portal of Yellowstone.

Backcountry in BC

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Short post, lots of pictures. Great drive on the Trans-Canada Hwy 1 and BC Hwy 3. Started in Vancouver and stopped in Grand Forks, BC. Had a very simple and satisfying Russian dinner: tea, borscht, pierogi and cabbage roll. Isabel had "bumbleberry" pie, of local provenance. It was delicious, so I'm told. ;-)

Peter's Road












Farms













Working our way up the valley











The Goodyear Corral











Weird Bubbles












The Other Side












Osoyoos, BC

Touring Vancouver, Clementson-style

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We had a leisurely time packing up and having a bit of coffee, leaving the hotel around 9:30am. I was under the impression that there was a car ferry we could take from Seattle to Vancouver, and was looking forward to seeing the area from a watery perspective. No such ferry. Oh well. So we hit the I-5 route north, which was a picturesque drive nonetheless, with lots of agriculture along the way, including the biggest array of green houses I've ever seen. Mt. Baker loomed in the east, and as we approached Vancouver we got closer to the enormous mountain range containing The Garibaldi Provincial Park and the Whistler ski resort.

Vancouver doesn't have a well-developed network of highways around and through the city, which was fine by me, but it does make me wonder how they're going to handle the winter Olympics that are coming here. We spent a lot of time in slow "surface" traffic. People drive just a bit differently up here and some traffic signals operate in a way I've not seen before, and it takes some getting used to. They have traffic lights and stop signs mixed in the same intersection. The green light flashes. Bizarro.

We made our way through the city and went across the Lions Gate Bridge to West Vancouver, where Jeanette and Bill Clementson live. We found their house without a hitch. It's a small, angular ranch house on the side of a hill looking right across the water at Vancouver. Beautiful spot. Hadn't seen each other in about four years, so not as long as Patti and Andre, but long enough to have quite a bit of catching up to do. We piled into their car and they took us over to Horseshoe Bay for lunch, just a 15 minute drive. We didn't realize it at first, but Jeanette had planned a full-on afternoon of sightseeing, which was fantastic. Thanks Jeanette and Bill!

Horseshoe bay is along the drive up to Whistler, and as you can see it's surrounded by imposing mountains on the north, and Vancouver Island to the west. It's a very active ferry port with three sizes of ferries coming and going between various destinations. (sorry, the photos missed the whole ferry terminal, I must have thought it "ugly") It's remarkable how fast they can empty the ferry, load up again with cars and passengers and be on their way again. During lunch we saw 5 arrivals and departures. There is also a small craft marina off to the left side of the ferry docks, which you can see. Bill told the story of how a few years ago a ferry captain lost all control to the motors of his ferry, and had to steer the ferry into the marina to avoid crashing full-speed into the dock.

All four of us had fish and chips for lunch, sampling the cod (ok), salmon (better) and halibut (best), served in huge oil-laden servings that made me sleepy. Jeanette then directed Bill to drive us up Cypress Mountain to a place with a vista overlooking all of Vancouver, with the Lions Gate and Stanley Park in the foreground, and the water, mountains and islands in the distance. Fantastic view, as seen in the portrait. This is the mountain where the snowboarding competitions will be held.

Bill and Jeanette have lived all over the world, Bill grew up an Air Force kid. He's lived in Germany, Iran etc., with a stint in Pennsylvania. Jeanette is a Kiwi who loves to ski; she teaches one day a week here so she can get a season pass. She says the snow isn't as good as Colorado, but it's still pretty good. Vancouver probably offers the best compromise of proximity to major water and major skiing that exists. It says a lot that they've chosen to settle down here in Vancouver, and it's easy to see why.

After Cypress Mountain we headed to North Vancouver, which is actually east of West Vancouver, go figure. Jeanette took us to a provincial park called Lynn Canyon that has a suspension bridge spanning a steep ravine with a water fall and rapids about 150 feet below. The bridge is pretty bouncy when you get a bunch of people on it. It amused me to see how differently people coped with it. Some folks turn white and need to grab the cable hand over hand, while teenage boys run out and throw rocks overboard. Even saw a couple with a baby in a stroller. The bridge is in an evergreen forest with green moss growing everywhere people don't step. Last stop: Deep Cove, a harbor at the east end of North Vancouver. We didn't spend very long there, but it was similar to Horseshoe Bay, without the ferries, and with sea kayakers paddling around and cherry trees in full bloom in the park.

Bill and Jeanette had an event to make at 7, so we wrapped up and went back to their house. We chatted a bit in the driveway and then we headed off to Vancouver and they to their party.
On the way back to the city we drove the circuit through Stanley Park and then got a room at a big hotel on Robson Street, one of the two main drags in the shopping district. After parking our gear in the room, we headed out for a ramble. Vancouver is full of people from all over the place, but especially from Asia, it seems. In the street, some of the signs are in three kanji, which I'm pretty sure were Japanese, Chinese and Korean. Also some Ukrainian and Greek thrown in for good measure. Altogether a much more worldly place than our white-bread Boulder.

We found a hole in the wall sushi bar called Sushi Miko and had an excellent, if basic, sushi dinner. There was a bizarre Japanese man sitting at the counter, with his pants pulled way above what's healthy. He peered through big plastic framed glasses and inspected each piece of sushi, surgically applying wasabi as needed, then abruptly snapped the piece of work to his mouth with his chopsticks. He did this for over an hour, laboring over each piece for about 5 minutes. It was real-life performance art, reminded me of the delusional son in Kurosawa's Dodes Kaden.