“A what?  A veggie!” exclaimed the man in the cowboy hat selling sausages. “Not many of you types up here in Montana!”

Our first stop before heading to the cabin was to the farmer’s market for provisions.  It was here while tasting some samplings of sausage that I outed B, much to her annoyance due to the ruckus it raised,  as a vegetarian.    Despite that we gathered a large amount of vegetables, some heirloom eggs (the young owner of the egg business kindly checked every egg in our carton for cracks as well as proudly told us about his hens), a steak, some sausages (obviously mine), a small peach pie, and a new belt buckle; B’s gift to me despite the vegetarian outing incident.  We were now ready to set up camp in our little neck of the woods.

At the cabin…

“Don’t you dare try to scare me!” said B as the night began to settle in.

Who me?” I replied and quickly shelved the idea to sneak up to the window and peer in with axe in hand as B was washing up the dishes from that evening’s meal.

Later that night….

“Babe, where are you?”

“I’m right here.  Just a little ways down the drive.”

“I can’t see you!”

Waving arms, “I’m right here.  Just trying to frame the cabin so I can get the stars too.”

“Sweetie, there’s bears out there! Get back here!”

 I took a look around me and thought “wow, it is really is dark out here.  Yeah, maybe I will just set up the tripod a bit closer to the cabin.” And thus ended my night time photography adventure.

Later that night in the loft…

“I really hope their aren’t any mice in here,” says B as we settle into our sleeping bags.

“You never should have read those old log books*,” I replied.

Thus ends night one in our little cabin in the woods.

*The log books were filled with stories by previous travellers about some of the mice issues at the cabin.  I think the one B was most concerned about was the story about a mouse trying to make a nest in someone’s hair while they slept.   Fortunately the only encounter we had with a rodent was the poor little chipmunk that drowned in the bucket on the porch.

A traffic jam and people running into the woods with cameras in hand.  It can only mean one thing.   Wildlife has been spotted in Yellowstone National Park.  In this case a really, really big male elk.  Whose rack, yes, was bigger than mine.  Now they tell you never to get out of the car and approach the wildlife…but when droves of people are excitedly pointing and snapping pictures, well, far be it from me to not join.  I also have a pretty nice zoom lens.

Montana’s advertising blitz had worked on me and in May I booked a forest service cabin,  located just outside West Yellowstone,  that I had been eying for a few months.  These cabins, many dating back to the 1920s and 30s were originally used by the forest service rangers but can now be rented out for a sweet bargain; twenty or thirty bucks a night.  Many of them require some hiking and packing in to get to but this particular cabin, at least in the summer, was a drive up.  But don’t let that fool you.  It was out there and it was rustic.  No electricity, no water.  Just a wood burning stove, a table, some chairs, a bunk bed and a loft.  Dishes and pots and pans were also provided but cooking was done either over a campfire or with a backpacking stove.  An outhouse and woodshed completed the rustic picture.  Clean, quaint and serene was our little cabin in the woods (my girlfriend was with me) and I gave it five out of five rustic stars.

Prior to arriving in Bozeman to pick  B up at the airport, I had spent three days driving out via Wisconsin, Minnesota, South Dakota and Wyoming.  One of the highlights during my drive was being passed by a group of Hell’s Angels.  I then started to realize that I was seeing a lot of motorcycles, especially Harley’s, on the road and a quick check on the smart phone confirmed that it was indeed that time of year, Sturgis 2011, the largest motorcycle gathering/rally/party/lovefest in the United States, if not the world.  More on that in a bit.

My first day of driving got off to a rough start for I had sprained my left ankle while packing up the car that morning.   It was a swollen thing of beauty.  After dropping B of at work, my first stop on my road trip was the first Walgreens I could find for an instant cold pack,  Ibuprofen, and an ace bandage.   After this painful and delayed start, I still managed to make some good time and was able to get to Albert Lea, Minnesota before I decided it was time to call it quits and get a spot for the night in a state park rental cabin.  With the gimpy ankle and killer mosquitos, I was in no mood to deal with setting up a tent.  I did however briefly enjoy this gorgeous sunset over the lake.

I have a thing for diners or if you prefer, greasy spoons.  City diners, small town diners, it doesn’t matter.  But I love these working class places where the coffee is bad and the eggs, bacon and pancake platter costs $3.99.   Well maybe a bit higher in the city diner.   I was on a hunt for such a place to get day two off right.  I am sad to say that the interstate highway system has ruined the small town diner.  As I drove along I-90 I stopped at three towns, including Blue Mound, home of the Jolly Green Giant,  that I thought would be sure to have that diner full of farmers, truckers and John Deere dealers in their small, historic down towns.  But no such luck.    The Perkins and Country Kitchens and generic truck stops located next to the interstate had pushed the mom and pop diners out of business.  A sad loss of Americana in my opinion.

South Dakota sure does fancy the billboard.  Of course, most of them are telling you that Wall Drug and it’s 5 cent coffee is only 355 miles away…now 325 miles…300…  anyway, Wall was as good a place as any to pull up for the night.  It’s proximity to Badlands National Park was also a plus, allowing me a quick hike after a long day of driving.  Gimpy ankle or not, I was determined to get out for at least an hour hike which was really all I had before the sun set.  Wouldn’t want to be stuck out in the Badlands at night.   Though the trail I headed out on took me only about a mile away from the road that goes through the park, once you are beyond the rocks, it becomes eerily quiet.  One wouldn’t know a road existed nearby.  I couldn’t help but think about an episode of Man Vs. Wild that I  saw once on the Discovery Channel.  Some goofy Englishman has himself blindfolded and dropped off into some supposedly remote wilderness and he then uses all of the survival skills at his disposal to make his way back to civilization.  This particular episode took place in the Badlands and I remember thinking how overly dramatic he was; for god’s sake I-90 wasn’t even twenty miles away!  But I can see how people could get lost and disoriented.  I certainly didn’t want to spend the night there or have to catch and cook a rattlesnake for dinner.

Side trip through the Badlands over, it was on to the kitchy town of Wall, South Dakota.  Population 800.  I stayed at a little mom and pop, or judging from the sweet lady in the office, a grandmom and grandpop, motel in the “heart” of town.  Dinner was a tasty cheeseburger and fries at the Badlands Bar.  As I was drinking my Miller Light, I amused myself by reading the bumper stickers behind the bar.  “Life is too short to drink bad beer,”  (I found this amusing being the other choices were Corona, Bud, and Coors) and “Jane Fonda BITCH!  An American Traitor.”  Yep, it was that kind of bar.  Vietnam isn’t just a distant memory here!  I struck up a conversation with a nice, fatherly biker from Iowa sitting next to me at the bar who was on his way to Sturgis and it’s famous and infamous motorcycle rally.   Apparently it gets so full of bikes that it can take two hours just to go two blocks through town.   It also gets quite wild.  I can only imagine after seeing a listing of some of the events that were to take place.  Some were silly, some were so politically incorrect it made me uncomfortable just reading about it, and one was just downright scary.

The scary: The largest 2nd amendment celebration and rally in the country.  Come on out and shoot military grade weapons, new and old, no experience necessary.  This is AMERICA, man!!

The silly: Pickle licking contest.  Need I say more.

The politically incorrect: Midget tossing or was it mud wrestling.  Regardless…made me wince.

Okay…onto Montana we shall go after a short stop in Deadwood, South Dakota for some slots and a Bloody Mary with beer chaser at Saloon #10.  It was here that lady luck ran out on Wild Bill Hickock and he was shot in the head during a game of poker. The chair in which he was sitting hangs above the door.  Lady luck was not with me either on this day and the $2.25 I won on the nickel slots was immediately lost.  So goes my attempt to fund the vacation via gambling; couldn’t even fund my own drink with my winnings!  But I wasn’t shot over a deck of cards so I guess it all went well after all.

Eight or nine hours later, after a somewhat tense drive through a thunder and lightning storm in Wyoming, I arrived in Bozeman with just enough time to shower and nap before picking up B at the airport.

I’m still smiling.  It’s the little things in life.

Such was leg 22 of Ragnar 2011.

“You’re doing what?  That’s just crazy, ” was often the reaction I and my fellow Ragnar teammates received when we told our friends and families that we were running a 197.3 mile relay from Madison, Wisconsin to Chicago, Illinois.  You read correctly.  One hundred ninety seven point three miles.  Nine women, three men, two vans, and twenty-four legs running for over thirty three hours. 

I was in Van Two.  Three girls, three guys, one very goofy team.   The following are some of the highlights and quotes.

“I need a woman as a navigator.  A soft voice.”  –Keith, the navigator was confusing Will, the driver.

“I may be gay but that guy has some nice legs.”–That would be me admiring the very toned legs of a male runner that walked by us. 

“I think I’m going to slap my own ass out of the starting coral.”  Dina, before her first leg.  She did.  It was impressive.

“Angie!  Angie! Where are you?”–Joel after his second, and somewhat delirious and grumpy leg 2, searching for me for the bracelet handoff.  I admittedly was a little behind in getting to the transfer point. 

“You know, by the time the bracelet gets to me, there will be eleven other people’s wrist sweat on it.”–Keith, runner number twelve.

“Well somebody had to put trippin’ n’ slippin’ into actual practice.” –Me again after falling and twisting  my ankle cheering on Sara.  Coincidentally, this happens right after I say, “so far so good on the ankle.   I usually twist it just when I’m nearing the completion of a run or a hike.”

“I’m not funny enough to make it into the quote book”.  Sara N.  For the record, she was hilarious….and full of energy.  Even after her last leg.  Frankly, I think she was a little runner crazy at that point.

Joshua Tree National Park

The Salton Sea Area

Salvation Rock And Slab City

Pioneertown and Rimrock Ranch

“April 1-30. The only rule for 30 Days of Biking is that you bike every day for 30 days—around the block, 20 miles to work, whatever suits you—then share your adventures online. We believe biking enriches life, builds community, and preserves the Earth. This is the second year, and third round, of 30 Days of Biking!”

To make it more interesting, I’m also challenging myself to take at least one interesting photo during said biking excursion.  That might mean a bunch of various pictures of my alleyway since I’m sure to forget to go ride and will have to hop out of bed at 11pm to do a ride around the block in my pajamas!

Update:  Due to technical difficulties, i.e. brakes in need of repair, this little goal last all of five days.  But bike is now in tip top shape and so let the riding commence once again. 

In previous trips to the Southwest, I had to deal with some emotional upheaveal…not to mention that damn car rental fiasco.   This time around I decided I wasn’t going to let that happen.  I was going to focus on visiting an old friend, my photography, my travel writing, the sky, the desert, and most importantly,  the review mirror when backing out of a parking space.  I’d say I was successful for the most part in not letting my mind go places it didn’t need to go. 

The other difference is how I felt upon my return to the daily grind.  I usually have a week or so of the post holiday blues.  After traveling by myself,  for even just a short period of time, I guess I have to high of expectations of having been missed somewhat by those that aren’t furry and have four legs.   Then again, maybe if I stayed off Facebook while traveling… but I digress.  This time felt, well, different.  I didn’t feel as lonely.  Maybe it had to do with the fact that I stayed somewhat in touch while gone.  Maybe it was because my wonderful friend Jami was willing to pick me up at the airport at midnight on a Saturday night.  Not to mention take me to the airport at 6am on the previous Saturday.  Jami, a table will be reserved at Green Zebra for you soon.   Or it could have been the fact that I spent the first three days visiting a friend, followed by a couple of days of solitude and ending with a mixture of solitude and socializing with people I met in Pioneertown.  Jim and Nancy, retired artists and teachers staying at the same ranch where I rented an Airstream for a couple of nights, were so sweet.  They reminded me of my last evening in Peru when, because I was alone, three couples from India invited me to join them for dinner.  It also helped, I think, that rather than having to immediately go back to work,  I had a day in which to continue the vacation mindset by meeting up with folks to plan our crazy Madison to Chicago relay run.   Or it could be that I had a travel writing class to look forward to as well as some other opportunities awaiting in the near future.  I will learn that damn harmonica, I swear!   

All this isn’t to say that I didn’t experience a little post vacation blues and loneliness but it wasn’t the same intensity as in the past.  Could it be I’ve realized I travel in part because I want to enjoy coming home?

Oh, and Pickwick and Gepetto, I missed you too.

So I’m glad I went and watched. It’s easy to just sit back and read the reports in the newspapers but it’s definitely a different vibe when you are there, even if the cause doesn’t immediately affect you or you aren’t actively participating. I’m definitely not a “marcher” but more of an observer hiding behind the camera lens type. But I can report on what I see and what I saw was people of all ages, ethnicity, lifestyles coming together for a common purpose. And it was peaceful and respectful. There were even Republicans for Unions out in support.  Well, Republicans against the Bill.  Anyway, we know you are out there. Don’t let these other bozos take over your party!  (Photo credit to K. Griffin).

We were however disappointed to not see some outrageously attired tea partiers though. My friend really wanted to see some folks in colonial tri-cornered hats, which we did see but I think they were on the “good” side so we didn’t feel right poking too much fun at them.

It was a good day to experience and participate in some history. May history show us that the politicians got it right.

Class also started on an amusing note for me and the gentleman I sat next to in class.   Apparently my reading skills went by the wayside when heading to the restroom before class and I walked in to the men’s room!  Oopsie!  I felt we both played it off quite well but wouldn’t you know it the only seat left in class was next to the dude at the urinal!  Well, travel stories are often filled with amusing anecdotes, right?

I did enjoy our final little writing exercise.  Describe the best meal you’ve ever experienced.  I am so not a food writer and decided I wouldn’t even try so instead took it in a different route and described the place in which I had the best meal ever.  I will reproduce it for you.  Remember, this was written in about five minutes so don’t judge to harshly!

The Witchery in Edinburgh comes quickly to mind not just because of the food but also the atmosphere.  Imagine it just as it sounds.  After all it is called the Witchery and this is Scotland.  Dark gothic interior, candelabra with lit candles providing the only light (okay go ahead and laugh at that sentence because I am!) Lest you think tomb, fear not, think Lord Byron, chic, elegant and dangerous to know.  The mushroom tart was…and that’s when we were told to stop.

If we had been asked to rewrite the same it would have looked a bit more like this:

When asked to describe my most memorable meal I immediately think of The Witchery in Edinburgh, Scotland.  Imagine a dark, gothic interior with many candelabras throughout providing the only light.  Lest this brings you to think Igor and mad scientists, fear not, dear eater.  Instead imagine Lord Byron; chic, elegant and dangerous to your wallet.

I’d then try to describe the wild mushroom tart which really was damn good. 

Update:  Wasn’t able to use my laptop for an extended period because most of the outlets on the bus weren’t working.  So no Northern Exposure for me.  However, the ride itself wasn’t too bad and you definitely can’t beat the price.  However, eight hours is a long time in any moving vehicle, especially during the return trip when your mind, body and soul are ready to be home.  But it beats Greyhound hands down.