Home (Day 25)

I took my time leaving; for once, I wasn't in a hurry to get checked into a hotel or do any sightseeing. I'll admit, it was kind of a weird feeling when I pushed the button on the GPS that says "Go Home." The last 25 days have been a complete whirlwind, and in some ways I still haven't absorbed all that I've seen. I can't believe that after all the months spent planning this adventure, it's coming to an end.

The drive home was blessedly uneventful; I took I-80 the whole way through Pennsylvania, which is a pretty drive through mountains thick with trees. When I entered New Jersey, I began to feel some sense of excitement building, as the realization that I was finally going to be back in NY began to sink in. Incidentally, I've never entered New Jersey from the west before, and it really is a beautiful drive in, much different than coming up on the turnpike. I made very few stops on the drive, except of course for the essential gas fill up; and with every mile I grew more anxious to get home. By some miracle, I hit absolutely no traffic going over the George Washington Bridge, and only very minor slow downs on the Cross Bronx. Coming over the Throggs Neck was almost surreal, and at around 5:00pm I found myself parking the car. Home, at last.

I'm still a little overwhelmed. I haven't finished unpacking and I have quite a bit of laundry to do, but when all that is done I look forward to re-reading this blog, going through my pictures, and beginning to absorb all that I've seen. Before I do, though, I feel like it's important to say something to those of you who've been reading this travel journal: THANK YOU! Writing this has been just as big a part of my experience as the sightseeing has been. I feel like you were all with me on my vacation; whatever I was seeing, wherever I was, I was thinking about what I was going to tell you all about it. Your comments made me laugh, and more importantly, they made me feel really supported, and because of you I never felt alone on my journey.

Taking this trip hasn't satisfied my urge to travel; instead, it has only made me want to see more. I'm already thinking about what my next adventure will be, so if you're interested, stay tuned! Meanwhile, thanks again for being a part of this.

Goodbye for now,

Peggy Mac

Indiana, PA - The Jimmy Stewart Museum (Day 24)

I had a lot of trouble getting started; usually I'm up pretty early but when the alarm when off it was singularly difficult to force myself to move. I have an excuse, though. In the last seven days I've passed three time zones. It's bad enough when annually faced with the dreaded turning forward of the clocks - but now I feel like I've been going through that daylight savings time "lose an hour" every other day. Still, I had another long drive ahead, so I forced myself to get motivated, and I managed to be on the road before 7 am.

The first five or so hours of the trip were scintillating; endless highways without much scenery to speak of. There were tolls, though, which I hadn't seen at all out west, and I really started to get the sense that home isn't far away. Once I passed into Pennsylvania, the scenery changed. I left the main highway for a two lane road that passed through low mountains. Ironically, once I hit the mountains the rain started - as if nature wanted to test my driving skills one last time. I survived the mountain drive though, and the weather cleared as I arrived in Indiana, PA.

Now, I don't know if it's possible to fall in love with a person at first sight, but falling in love with a place is certainly within the realm of possibility. For me, that kind of love happened as soon as I drove into the town. This is small-town America - Frank Capra couldn't have done it better: pretty, old, well-maintained buildings on Main Street, interspersed with new ones whose more modern architectural styles coordinate perfectly. An extremely moving war memorial (right) next to the courthouse listing the names of all the many citizens of the county who'd given their lives for their country as far back as the Revolutionary war. Off Main Street, the tree-lined streets are populated with beautiful Victorian houses, many in the Queen Anne style. This is truly a lovely town; as I drove through I began to wonder if the local high school might need an English teacher...

Indiana, PA, for those of you who don't know, is the birthplace of Jimmy Stewart and the home of the Jimmy Stewart Museum (left). It seemed to me that there was nothing more appropriate for this journey across our country than to visit the place that gave us perhaps one of our most beloved citizens. I knew a little about him before arriving. In addition to being a famous actor, I knew that he had enlisted to fight in World War II and that he was a decorated war hero. Still, I was anxious to learn more.

I parked my car and entered the museum, which is attached to the local library. A warning to anyone who intends to visit: once you enter the building you need to walk up four flights of stairs to get to the museum. When I walked through the main doors at the top of the stairs, I was greeted with tremendous warmth by the gentleman who worked there. He asked about my travels, and then escorted me into the museum, where he spoke to me a bit about the museum's layout and the origin of many of the displays. The first room is filled with artworks and other things that had been sent to Mr. Stewart by his fans. This was a man who deeply appreciated his fans (see poster, right). He kept the many letters and gifts they sent him, which I think truly says a lot about what kind of person he was.

Moving further into the museum, I learned how the history of Indiana, PA was deeply entwined with the history of this man. His many-times great grandfather was one of the original settlers in the town; he later became a soldier and was captured by the British during the Revolutionary War. Thankfully, he survived his imprisonment and returned to the town. His sons and grandsons continued the tradition of military service, right up to Jimmy Stewart.

As a young man, Stewart was a good student, involved in sports and the high school band, academically strong, and by all accounts a great kid. He worked in the family' s store, which was a staple in the town for over a hundred years. The museum is filled with personal accounts of his childhood: Stewart was the prototype of the all-American boy. After he finished school, he decided that acting was his passion, went to NY where he worked as a stage manager and managed to get small parts in Broadway shows for which he received critical acclaim. He then went on to Hollywood, and the rest, as they say, is history.

He was the first of the Hollywood stars to enlist to fight in World War II. Although his celebrity status meant he easily could have avoided combat, Stewart asked to fight; he flew more than 20 combat missions, rose up the ranks to Brigadeer General, and in 1985 received the Presidential Medal of Freedom. After the war, he returned to Indiana to visit his family, and went back there often over the years. Small wonder this town is proud to have given this man to America. So proud, in fact, that they erected a statue of him in the courhouse square.

I'm so glad I visited Indiana, PA. I had half-expected the museum to be a kitschy, touristy sort of place, and I'm thrilled that I was wrong. I spent nearly two hours there and could have stayed longer. I then took a stroll through the town, said a prayer at the memorial, and basically just lingered as long as I could. Finally, I realized I had to go, so I took one last look around, and then headed back to the hotel to get some rest and prepare for the journey home.

Four States and Lake Michigan (Day 23)

I left Mankato extremely early, and it was still dark when I got on the road. Unlike so many other days, there was not a lot of exciting scenery today. Instead, I was faced with mostly dullish sort of highway travel for the eight-plus hours it took me to pass through four states: Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois and Indiana. Lucky for me, the monotony of speeding along the highways was occasionally broken up by miles of extensive delays caused by highway construction (and yes, that was sarcasm). I did see the Chicago skyline, albeit through a heavy layer of haze. Still, that was cool, and besides, I was a lot more comfortable driving in the Chicago traffic than I have been on the lonely mountain roads!

After what seemed like days, I finally arrived at my destination, a place called Michigan City, Indiana. "City" is a bit of a misnomer really, as it is a fairly smallish place, nestled on the shores of Lake Michigan. I was weary after the long drive, but as tired as I was, I wanted to get a look at one of the great lakes - so after stopping by the hotel I took the short drive down to the water. Michigan City is a pretty little place. As I approached the lake, I saw quite a few great old Victorian homes, architecturally beautiful old buildings and churches, and of course plenty of the kinds of bars and seafood restaurants I'd expect to see in any beachfront town. Just past the town area is a place called Washington Park, where there's a zoo and a marina, as well as lake access. I parked close to the marina and took a walk down to the beach. The lake itself is beautiful - crystal blue green water that's calm and extremely clear. The sand on the beach was smooth, not rocky, and extremely hot, so I walked all the way to the shore to cool my feet in the lake water. I walked for a bit, letting the waves wash over my feet, just enjoying the view. There's a pretty little lighthouse that juts out from the shore; I imagine it would be beautiful to sit here at night. Had I been dressed for it I might have been tempted to stay even longer to lay in the sun or go for a swim; but as it was I was still dressed for travel, and extremely tired from the long day's journey, so I snapped a few pictures and headed back to the hotel, intent on resting up for my next long drive.

Walnut Grove, Sleepy Eye and Mankato (Day 22)

Like a lot of us, many of my childhood memories revolve around television. In our house, after we all got home from school and finished our homework, we'd often sit in the "back room" watching tv. Of all the shows we watched, the one that stands out to me the most vividly, and the one that had the most lasting impact, was none other than Little House on the Prairie. It was on, in re-runs, every day after school at 4:00 on Channel 11. We watched it every single day - we all had favorite episodes, favorite characters, we quoted the show constantly. To say that some of us became obsessed with the show might not be overstating the matter; in fact, as recently as January, Kitty sent an email polling the family on the most intense little House episodes (By the way, with her permission I'm attaching the text of her original email and some of the responses below.)

Anyway - when I was planning my trip, and found that I'd need to drive through Minnesota to get back home, I immediately realized I had an opportunity to visit the place where it all began: Walnut Grove, childhood home of Laura Ingalls Wilder and setting of possibly one of the greatest TV shows of all time. I've been anticipating this for a while, so I was really excited when I set out from Sioux Falls this morning. On the way, I drove through about 70 miles of Minnesota farmland, and it was really beautiful. The 2-lane roads that had no shoulders so I couldn't stop to take any pictures, but I'll tell you, it's like a storybook. Green fields, high corn, low rolling hills, grazing cows and horses, pretty little picture perfect farmhouses surrounded with trees and flowers, red barns, little blue lakes that pop up seemingly out of nowhere, nestled right within the fields. Every now and then I'd pass through a small town, and if there happened to be someone walking down the street, they'd wave at the car and I'd wave back. I enjoyed the drive immensely - but I was anxious to finally get to Walnut Grove.

When I arrived, I parked the car outside the Laura Ingalls Wilder museum, and entered through the gift shop. This gift shop, by the way, is much better than any of the others I've been in during my travels; rather than having the typical shot glasses and coffee mugs, the souvenir items are really interesting and unique. A lot of the items in the shop, including much of the clothing, food, toys and dolls, are made by the people in the town (which can't be many, as Walnut Grove barely covers one square mile.) They're going to have to stop selling many of the dolls, I was told, since the woman who makes them is 85 years old, and just can't do it anymore! After I left the shop, I went for a stroll through the museum, which is just cluster of little houses, including the old church that the Ingalls helped to build, the little red schoolhouse, an old sod house, and a few replicas of houses like the ones that would have been there back then. Visitors (in this case, it was just me and an elderly couple) are able to enter the houses and look around, and many of the displays, like the old organ in the church, are hands on. There's even a place where little kids can play with old toys and try on old dresses. It's really pretty great. Although there was hardly a soul there today, the woman in the gift shop told me that it gets crazy there on pageant weekends (apparently I just missed the Laura Ingalls/Nellie Olsen look alike contest - damn!)

While I was chatting with the woman in the gift shop, I heard a loud siren begin to wail outside. I jumped, thinking "Oh God! Tornado!" but the woman in the gift shop told me not to worry; the siren goes off every day to remind the farmers that it's time to have lunch. I thought that was pretty neat; anyway, I realized I was getting hungry myself. So I left the museum, intending to grab a bite at Nelly's Cafe. On the way, I stopped into Olsen's Mercantile, where the friendly woman who worked there offered me a cup of coffee when I entered - I can't get over how nice these people are! I bought a few things, and then went into Nelly's for a quick lunch. After lunch, I strolled around a little more; there wasn't much more to see, but I really didn't want to leave Walnut Grove. Folks in the few cars that passed as I walked waved greetings, and as I was heading back to my car I passed an old gas station, where an elderly man wearing jeans and a button down shirt with a denim cap stood outside, tending to one of the flowerbeds that lined the station. He paused when he saw me, tipped his hat and nodded a hello. Being in Walnut Grove was really like stepping back in time to a much friendlier, much simpler, world.

After leaving Walnut Grove, I drove through Sleepy Eye on the way to my hotel in Mankato. Sleepy Eye is a pretty, older town; there were a few shops open but I didn't see a soul on the streets. I got out of my car to take a few pictures of the buildings there, which are obviously very old - I'm don't doubt that they're the same ones that were there when Laura Ingalls was a child. I didn't stay in Sleepy Eye long; and about an hour after I left I arrived at my hotel in Mankato. I got such a kick out of my visit to Walnut Grove today. I'm beginning to feel sad to be heading east and getting closer to home, in part because I'm still having so much fun!! Oh well, I still have a few days left. Anyway - as promised - below is the text of Kitty's aforementioned email, as well as some of the responses.

****
Kitty's email:

Happy New Year all. One of my resolutions this year is to really focus on the important things in life. Having said that I pose the following question to you all:

What, in your opinion, was the most intense Little House on the Prairie episode? Don't rush to an answer. Think about it. And, if you are struggling with what is intense? Think about Mary, Mr. Edwards, Pa, Carrie, Keesia, Doc Baker, Almonzo or Zaldamo, however you choose to pronounce his name. The list is endless.

I do ask, that you send only me the answers, so that I may use my Prairie knowledge, to rank accordingly.

I leave you with this thought. What, in heavens name, could have been going through Half Pint's mind when she put the apples in her dress - because she wanted to have 'bumps' like that mean girl Sam had. And when they fell, at the blackboard, while trying to figure an arithmetic problem, and Miss Beadle asked her if she needed to be excused? Ohhh. Riveting. No. Intense.....

Hope to hear from you soon.

In Charles' name,
Kitty

REPLIES:

"Intense you ask for??? One Phrase, from the lips of Caroline Ingalls: 'If thy leg offend thee, then cut it off' That one scared the bejeebers out of me.." - Jeannie

"The one where Nellie pretends to be paralyzed and Laura pushes her down the hill. Also, Albert and that girl Sylvia with the scary father in the mask." - Peggy

"There were a lot of nail-biters, but nothing compares to when the Fonz was doing his motorcycle jump." - Cousin Jim

"Still pondering...one of my resolutions is to think before speaking...anyway, you crazy fans might enjoy the following: http://zunshine.com/home.html" - Cele

"For me, it's got to be the one where the midget with the baby moves to town. Remember how he got a job at the bank, but then got in trouble for stealing from it? (oops...) Harriet wanted him in jail, but changed her mind after he saved Nancy when she fell into the well. Powerful stuff.. Perhaps not as intense, but terribly moving was the one where the Rev. Alden got a girlfriend." - Cousin Mary

"Or the one when Pa lets the old man win the lumberjack contest…unforgettable." - Cousin Jim

"My favorite was the one when Pa cried.................oops, that happenned on each episode." - Cousin Mike

South Dakota - The Badlands (Day 21)

Months ago, when this trip was still in the planning stages, this day was intended to simply be a travel day, a means to get a little closer to my next sightseeing stop. However, that changed when I met that wonderful gentleman at the South Dakota welcome center. He pointed out (on one of the many maps with which he provided me) where to leave the interstate to take Route 241, "The Badlands Loop", which would only add about an hour to my journey and would be well worth while. He was right, and I'm so glad that I listened to him.

I'll be honest, I had no idea what badlands were. My only connection with the term comes from one of my favorite Bruce songs. So in case you're interested, here's just a little information about the area, stolen from the National Park literature given to me at the entrance to the loop. Badlands is a term given to the area by the Native Americans, and coincidentally later the Spanish and the French, due to its harsh terrain, unpredictable and often violent weather, and the therefore extraordinary difficulty of crossing the area. Although precipitation is infrequent in the badlands, when it does rain or snow it does so heavily and violently. Temperatures in the area can range from -40 up to 120, and the weather changes drastically and without notice. The drastic weather makes the terrain ideal for erosion, revealing layer upon layer of earth and along with it fossils and apparently a wealth of information about evolution. In addition, the badlands are just simply extraordinary to look at.

I entered the loop behind a large group of bikers; not an uncommon sight for the last few days due to something called the Sturgis Rally in the Black Hills which starts next week (apparently, its a big deal, though frankly I don't know much about the whole biking subculture.) Shortly after passing the main gate, I saw the bikers pull off onto a side road, so I followed them, wanting to see what these badlands were really all about. The first views I was treated with were simply stunning. Unbelievable. Kind of like the grand canyon turned upside down. Seriously, incredible. So I walked a bit through some tall grass to the edge of a cliff to take the picture above and some others - I saw a few deer walking on the ledges, but unfortunately those pics didn't come out. Anyway, I then got back into my car and continued along.

At the next view point, I got out of the car and saw the sign to the left; thus terminating any additional forays through the tall grass to get better pictures. I did get a lot of great shots though, although (and I know, I sound like a broken record), the pictures simply do not come close to depicting what it was like being there. It was extraordinarly hot and dry outside the car, though it's difficult for me to guess what the actual temperature was. The roads themselves drive through the terrain, not around it; so for the entire 40 miles or so you are surrounded on either side by steep ridges, or you drive up and down high hills with cliffs on either side. At certain points, you can really see the different colors of the layers of the earth, reds and pinks contrasted with the green of the grass, the grey and beige rock, the blue sky; frankly, the Painted Desert has nothing on the badlands.

I wish I could have spent all day enjoying the scenery, and maybe taking advantage of one of the hiking trails to get a closer look, maybe see a fossil or two. Sadly, though, I had many more hundreds of miles to cover before I could rest. I wish I could go back and hug that man who convinced me to take this drive. If you ever get a chance to see the badlands in South Dakota, take it. Literally, literally it will take your breath away.

Before leaving, I stopped quickly to grab another magnet at the gift shop, and then headed back onto the road. When I returned to the interstate, I was a little sad to have left the badlands behind. Not completely though; the Springsteen song was still playing in my head - and continued to for the rest of the 300 mile or so drive to Sioux Falls.

Devil's Tower, WY and Mt. Rushmore, SD (Day 20)

I left Billings, Montana in the early morning, not long after sunrise. I was treated to an unusual sight as I approached the interstate: first one, then several more hot air balloons floating overhead. It was so cool that I had to pull over to the side of the road to take a few pictures before continuing on to my eventual destination, South Dakota.

The route I took didn't leave me on the interstate for very long; most of the drive was on a two-lane highway through some more beautiful Montana scenery. I passed Little Big Horn battlefield, although I didn't stop there. Still, I drove alongside that battlefield for a few miles, the whole time imagining the Custer's big final battle against the Native Americans. Along the same route, I drove through one of the Cheyenne Reservations in some pretty territory that resembled in some ways parts of Arizona and West Texas. A little further along I passed some huge cattle ranges, wher I actually saw a large group of antelope as well as a deer or two along the side of the road. So I guess I found the range where the deer and the antelope play. Beautiful, really - and I can confirm this: the skies aren't cloudy all day.

Eventually, I left Montana and entered Wyoming (right). Wyoming is just extraordinarily beautiful. Rolling hills, red earth, cliffs; even the grass seems to be a deeper shade of green in Wyoming. I enjoyed my drive tremendously, but began to get really excited when I started to see the top of Devil's Tower looming in the distance. Of course, I couldn't help but think of Richard Dreyfuss making mashed potato sculptures and suddenly the theme to Close Encounters began playing over and over in my head. (It still is, in fact - it's a bugger of a tune to get out of your brain once it's in there!). As the tower gets closer, it looks all the more impressive. I didn't drive all the way up to it but I pulled over at the side of the road to take a few pictures. Incredible, really.

About 25 miles past Devil's Tower, I found myself back on the interstate. I crossed the border from Wyoming into South Dakota, and stopped at a rest area. The restrooms are in the same area as the welcome center, and as I stepped out there was an elderly gentleman behind the counter who asked me if I'd sign the guestbook. When he saw the state that I wrote down, he started asking me what I was doing so far from home; I told him, and before I knew it he was loading me up with all sorts of maps, explaining the most scenic routes I could take while in South Dakota. I was blown away by how kind and friendly he was; for the few minutes that we chatted I felt like I was like taking a step back into a simpler time. I was in great spirits when I got back into my car, headed for Hill City.

Shortly after leaving the rest area I found myself off the interstate again and back on the two lane highway, this time driving through the Black Hills of South Dakota. This is beautiful mountain territory, but it was also the heart of the gold rush; every once in a while I drove through a town, like Deadwood, which would be entirely old-western themed, with casinos, saloons, and people walking the streets dressed like 1850s cowboys. Further down, I passed the Pactola Dam/Reservoir, nestled in the Black Hills. About 25 miles or so past the dam, I reached my destination - Hill City SD.

After checking into the hotel and getting a little rest, I got ready for the drive up to Mount Rushmore. By the time I left the hotel, the skies had begun to darken considerably; thunderstorms loomed in the distance. I drove through town, which again has the "old west" theme; and made my way up the mountain. I saw more interesting wildlife, although sadly I didn't get pictures; I passed a family of wild turkeys crossing the road, a few deer, and even a couple of mountain goats! I continued up the windy mountain, and as my car approached the top of Mount Rushmore, I found myself dwarfed by these enormous rock formations. I wish I had gotten better pictures. They looked so forbidding and so, well, alive. I was kind of reminded of the big talking rocks from Never Ending Story, and I don't think I would have been that surprised if they had started speaking. Yes, I know, I know - I'm a dork.

I got my first view of the memorial as I was parking my car - I wish I could have gotten a picture of what I saw. The thunder and lightning had started; and over the top of the stone carvings I saw crack after crack of bright white lightning tearing up the sky. It was extraordinary. Simply unbelievable. After getting out of my car I turned on the video camera to see if I could record more lightning, but it wasn't meant to be. Still, even without the lightning the memorial is really something to behold. I gazed at it for a bit while under a stone awning trying to take shelter from the rain; and then went in to have a bite at the cafeteria which looks a lot like the one from North by Northwest. While eating, I watched the storm continue over the mountain, and then as the rain began to ease up I ventured back outside and walked around. I strolled through the hall of flags, where there are flags waving that represent every state in the union. I also spent about an hour in the Rushmore museum, which includes the history of the building of the monument as well as the history of the United States. I learned quite a bit, including why each of these four presidents was chosen for the monument. Apparently, Washington signifies the struggle for independence and the birth of the republic; Jefferson the territorial expansion of the country; Lincoln the permanent union of the states; and Roosevelt the role of the US in world affairs and the rights of the common man. I thought that was pretty interesting.


I had originally intended to stay at the mountain to watch the lighting ceremony at 9:00pm, but the rain, the wind and the thought of driving back down the wet mountain in the dark made me change my mind. Also, it occurred to me that standing in the open at the top of a mountain in a lightning storm probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. As I turned to leave the monument, I gasped in awe at what I saw - a full rainbow, clearly arcing from one end of the sky to the other. It was brilliant. I took it as a sign of good luck; what a perfect way to end another great day on the road in America.

Idaho, Wyoming and Montana - Yellowstone (Day 19)

I left my hotel in Pocatello, Idaho in the pre-dawn hours, wanting to make it to Yellowstone early so that I would have time to enjoy it before driving on to my hotel in Montana. I haven't been fair to Idaho. I understand there are a lot of beautiful things to see in the state; unfortunately my route didn't take me past them. Still, the weather there was nice, and the morning sky before sunrise over the highway was beautiful. There is one more thing I can say for Idaho: the people there are remarkably warm and friendly. I spoke to quite a few Idahoans, and interestingly enough everyone I spoke to, when I mentioned my plans, told me all about the bears in Yellowstone. The man who changed my oil told me that there were an unusually high number of bears this year, and that he'd seen "a bunch" last time he'd visited the park. A gentleman staying at the hotel with me said being at Yellowstone was like being inside a zoo on steroids and warned me not to get friendly with the bears. Even the woman who hogged all the guest laundry machines had seen "a ton" of bears in Yellowstone.

A word or two about bears before I move on. I brought two really great books with me on my trip: Travels with Charley in Search of America by John Steinbeck, and another excellent and extraordinarily entertaining bit of non-fiction called A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson. Both books mention bears, both specifically talk about the bears in Yellowstone, and both discuss how dangerous bears are particularly when faced with idiotic tourists (like me). The prospect of seeing bears in Yellowstone was unnerving even before I'd read these books, and reading them only fueled my nervousness. After speaking with the friendly folks in Pocatello, I found myself under the impression that the park was literally crawling with the animals. I actually had a nightmare about being attacked by a bear, and by the time I set out in the morning I had visions of myself gripping the wheel in terror as I tried to navigate my way through a sea of angry black bears. Why do I say all this? Because for all the wonderful, amazing, incredible things I saw in Yellowstone, the one single thing I did not see? You guessed it - not one single solitary bear.

I arrived at the entrance to the park very early, and stopped to have a really great breakfast at a place named (ironically enough) the Three Bear Lodge. I then began my drive through the park, which from about a mile in becomes absolutely extraordinary. I was blessed with perfect weather, too - blue skies and sunshine. The road runs along side a clear blue flowing river, which is surrounded by green grass, wild flowers, mountains and trees. There is still plenty of evidence of the wildfires that struck in Yellowstone a few years back, but the green is pushing its way back through. Driving by one of the areas where the trees had been damaged by fire, I saw an entire family of elk - a mother, father and four children, just strolling through the woods. I walked into the woods, and got within about 20 feet of them so that I could get a few good pictures. I knew not to get any closer - they aren't bears, but they're not exactly bunny rabbits either, and it's best to let them have their space.

Continuing on the road, I came to an area where there were hot springs and geysers. There's a nature walk through the area, along a wooden walkway. There are signs warning folks not to walk on the ground as it is quite hot and extremely unstable. Of course, it occurred to me that the walkway was built right on top of this unstable ground, but I elected to ignore this fact and proceeded down the trail. One of the springs was stunning; I wish you could see it more clearly in the picture - boiling, crystal blue water going deep into the surface of the ground. Just a few yards further is an area known as the "Paint Pots", where the mud bubbles and boils, and it does look quite like white paint. Just slightly further still are a few small geysers, and almost everywhere you look you can see pockets of steam rising from the ground. It occurred to me that this place must have been shocking to those who first happened upon it; before there were National Parks and signs and rickety walkways. I can only imagine what must have gone through their minds; certainly this place looks like no other I have ever seen. It's a bit mystical, and a bit frightening. I enjoyed it for a while, but before long I began to doubt the safety of the walkway and hightailed it back to my car.

My next stop was Old Faithful. There are estimated times posted for the famous geyser's next eruption, which are supposed to be accurate within 10 minutes on either side. I was lucky; I arrived there within about 30 minutes of the next "scheduled" eruption, which actually occurred about 2 minutes after the posted time - not bad. Hundreds of people gather around the viewing area, which is set about 50 yards or so from the geyser. There are no fences, nothing to prevent anyone from getting closer other than common sense. Speaking of common sense, while we were waiting for the geyser to erupt, in the distance we could see some tourists taking pictures of a buffalo. The tourists approached the buffalo, and I could hear a man behind me saying "those idiots should back off" - and he was right - before our eyes the buffalo charged the tourists, although they were able to escape the angry creature unscathed. This was a pretty entertaining sideshow, and then finally - the main event. Old Faithful erupted - at first just a few small shoots of water, followed by a huge explosion of boiling water from the ground. It's hard to tell from the picture what an awesome sight this is. The whole thing lasted about 5 minutes or so - funnily enough, many of the tourists began to mill away before it was over, something I can't understand. I guess they figured the initial eruption itself was the big show. Anyway, I stayed until it was done, then continued through the park.

The rest of the park is incredible; waterfalls, mountain roads, rock formations, rivers. At one point I stopped because there was this huge number of cars at the side of the road and people everywhere with cameras. I asked someone what was going on - apparently there was a bear lumbering up the hill. At this point, I had begun to be a bit disappointed that I hadn't seen a single bear, so I grabbed my camera and ventured into the woods to see if I could get a look, but by then the bear had gone on his merry way. When I got back into my car and continued to drive, the ridiculousness of what I had just done dawned on me. Bears are big, dangerous, wild, unpredictable creatures. Tourists are maimed and/or killed by bears by the dozens each year. And so when I hear that there's a bear in the woods close by, what do I do? I grab my camera and go in after it. If I had seen the bear, and said bear had chosen to maim me and my camera beyond recognition, I would have deserved it.

After several hours of being blown away by Yellowstone's unparalleled beauty, I left the park and drove through Montana to my hotel. Montana is beautiful; like Yellowstone only bigger - rivers, mountains, green fields. I'd love to come back some day and spend more time. As I drove through the state, I thought about how lucky I am to be living this life right now, to have the opportunity to see all it is that I'm seeing. There's still a bit more before I start on the final stretch home - Mount Rushmore is next. Wow. Life is good.

Idaho (Day 18)

I spent the whole day driving through Idaho.

Oregon: Mountains, Rivers, and Ghosts (Day 17)

My day started perfectly. There is nothing quite like waking up to the sound of ocean waves crashing on the beach. I enjoyed my morning coffee out on the chilly terrace, just drinking in as much of the coast as I could before reluctantly leaving my hotel and facing the long drive that lay ahead. My next destination was Baker City; really just a convenient stop en route to Yellowstone, which I hope to drive through on Friday. I knew that the trip would take over seven hours, in part because I would have to drive about 80 miles through mountain roads before reaching the interstate. Wanting to get an early start, I left the hotel before sunrise, but thankfully there was enough pre-dawn light to navigate the mountain roads despite the heavy shroud of morning mist. (If nothing else, when I return home I will be an expert at driving over windy, steep, fog-covered, misty mountain roads, a skill that will do me no good whatsoever in NY.)

After I reached the interstate, I stopped for breakfast and then continued on my journey - I drove north for about an hour on I-5 before beginning to head west on I-84, which is when the scenery began to get really interesting. 84 runs basically on/next to the Hood River (which later becomes the Columbia River) for a stretch of over 100 miles. For the entire ride, the views are extraordinary: the greenish blue river to the left, and mountains and cliffs to the right. By the time I reached this stretch of road, it was mid morning, the sun was shining, and it was altogether a beautiful day. I wish I'd gotten more pictures, but there weren't a lot of places to pull off the road. When I did pull off the road, the winds were so strong they nearly knocked me over, discouraging additional stops, which was freeing really - I was able to just enjoy the drive.

The last hour or so of the drive to Baker City, Oregon was less exciting, through flat farmland for quite a long way, but things started to pick up as soon as I arrived in Baker. As I said, Baker City is really just a "way station" for me; but because I didn't want to have several days with nothing to see, I chose to stay in a historic hotel. A bit about the area: Baker City was once a booming town because of the gold rush. Many of the towns in the area now are just shells, ghost towns, but Baker has managed to survive, and many of the beautiful old buildings from that bygone era are still standing; my hotel - the Geiser Grand (left) is one of them. Built in 1889, it was once the center of Baker City, where guests enjoyed luxury, fabulous food, entertainment and (rare for the area) electricity in the most famous and opulent hotel between Salt Lake City and Seattle. From the moment I arrived I wasn't disappointed; the hotel is beautiful both outside and in.

When I got to my room I was thrilled; it was just what I had pictured - 15 foot ceilings, 10 foot windows with antique curtains, a four-poster bed with crocheted overlays. The women at the front desk had been really friendly upon my arrival, telling me all about things I could see in the area; I decided after a shower to take a walk around the town and look at the buildings and shops. The first shop I went into was the Sycamore Tree, and while there I got to talking to one of the owners, a really sweet woman who convinced me to try some of her home made fudge (great sales trick; I ended up buying a ton of it!). Anyway, while we chatted she asked me if I was staying at the Geiser Grand. When I replied in the affirmative, she then asked if I happened to be staying on the third floor. Again, I said yes - and she then said, "You do know it's haunted, don't you?"

Now, here's a little something about me: I love the idea of ghosts. When my mom and I travelled to Savannah last year, I kept telling her I wanted to see ghosts because the city was famously haunted. Whenever I see old houses I tell her I think they're haunted. And when I called her from my hotel room earlier, I had told her, jokingly, that if I was ever staying in a place that was haunted, this was it. But I wasn't serious. So when the woman at the Sycamore Tree started to tell me stories about guests she had spoken to who had seen and heard strange things, all on the third floor, I'll admit I was a bit taken aback; although frankly a bit excited at the same time. So after having an excellent dinner and some really great locally brewed beer at Barley's Brew House I went back to the hotel to investigate further.

I first stopped into the gift shop, where I learned from one of the books on display that the Geiser is listed as one of the most haunted spots in all of Oregon. Apparently, although most of the disturbances take place on the third floor, there are also often ghosts seen leaning over the railings on the second floor (left), or heard chatting and laughing in the hallways. One of the workers here once, before the hotel re-opened, saw a girl walking down the halls and into a room, but when he followed her in there was no one there. Someone known as the "blue lady" apparently likes to appear in room 302 (right).

Not yet sufficiently frightened, I decided to wander around the place a bit more, and take a few more pictures. While wandering, I bumped into one of the women I had talked to at the front desk earlier. I laughingly said, "Hey, you didn't tell me this place was haunted!" She smiled back and said, "Oh yes - have you been up to the third floor yet?" When I told her I was staying on the third floor, her smile disappeared (do they practice this??) and she said, "Well, don't worry - I mean, they've only ever been seen; it's not like they've ever hurt anyone or anything." Great, thanks. Yikes. She went on to tell me that Ghost Hunters (the tv show on Discovery, I think) had already been here once, and had such a good time they planned to revisit on Halloween. Wow - so this place is haunted enough that a Ghost Hunters wants to come back for more. Huh. Friends, when you are traveling alone and you are thousands of miles from home, trust me - this is not comforting news.

Wishing I'd never gone to see the movie 1408, I went back to my room for the night. I won't lie - I didn't have the greatest night's sleep. It's amazing how easy it is to scare yourself; a few rumours of ghosts and suddenly every little noise made by a pipe or an air conditioner becomes sinister, and every shadow takes on a malevolent shape. I didn't see any ghosts, which frankly is just fine by me. I will admit to this, though - I did hear laughing and chatter in the halls several times throughout the course of the night, and though I can't be certain that the noise was made by other guests, my sanity required me to believe that it was.

Scenic Coastal Oregon to Newport (Day 16)

This was to be my last day on the west coast, and so I was a little upset when I walked outside the hotel in the morning to discover that the weather was dismal and rainy. I tried to be optimistic, but the thought of driving over more mountains in miserable weather was disheartening. The first hour or so of the drive actually wasn't bad - there was again this awesome, Stephen King/Alfred Hitchcock like mist that hung deep over the redwoods and rolled over the ocean. Leaving Northern California was like combining my drive through the redwoods with my drive up the coast to San Francisco just a few days ago - steep, jagged cliffs and rocks one minute, huge imposing trees the next. Nature sure does put on a show on the West Coast, folks! Also, apparently, this area is where there are the largest Elk herds anywhere in the world. There is a radio station posted on the highway that tourists are urged to listen to for information. I tuned into it, and it made me terribly excited to see Elk. No herds, but I was lucky enough to see one grazing by the side of the road (right).

As wonderful as Northern California was, the sights became downright incredible within minutes of crossing over the border into Oregon. I have trouble believing that the picture on the left was taken within an hour of the first pic I posted. It was incredible. Literally seconds after passing the "Welcome to Oregon" sign, I saw the blue skies begin to peek their way through the clouds in the distance, and shortly thereafter I was treated to some of the most majestic, most beautiful, most unabashedly stunning coastline I have ever seen. Thankfully, I was able to pull over to the side of the road several times to take pictures, but frankly if I had stopped at every phenomenal view, it would have taken me several days to drive the 300 miles to Newport. As it was, the drive to Newport was very long - it took nearly 7 hours, mainly because scenic route 101 passes through so many towns. The drive is so beautiful that the length of it hardly matters; if anyone is actually reading this, I hope that you get the opportunity to drive up the west coast one day. I know I won't soon forget its beauty.

When I arrived in Newport, I went straight to my hotel. I was pretty excited because I had booked a room with an ocean view, and all I can say is I was NOT disappointed. I found that my room was situated on the top floor of the hotel, with a balcony overlooking the ocean. The hotel is literally steps from the beach; walk outside and you're there. Shortly after checking in, I put on my sweatshirt (Newport is chilly in the summer) and went for a long walk on the beach. The water was really cold but it felt good, and the walk itself was incredible - dotted with the occasional large rock, and the Laquina Bay Lighthouse visible in the distance. I took the picture on the left while standing on the beach, with my feet cold and wet from the ocean.

After enjoying the beach I went into the town of Newport to do a little souvenir hunting, and picked up another magnet for my collection. (yes, Laura - it WAS your idea!) Newport is a cute little town; the shops are set along the piers on the bay. Tourists were milling around eating various sweets and booking deep-sea fishing tours. I enjoyed my stroll but longed to get back to my room to watch the ocean. For once, the "sightseeing" would be done from inside my room!

I ordered room service and then walked out to my terrace, enjoying the cool ocean air as I watched the sun disappear in the distance. I realized that this would be the last time, at least for a while, that I would see the Pacific Ocean, and so I spent a good long time just drinking it in. Shivering, I noticed someone had lit a bonfire on the beach, and remembering that I had a fireplace in my room I went inside to enjoy the fire and the view. The journey back east is next - there's still plenty more of America to see!