To Seattle and Beyond- Stop One, The International Peace Gardens

To Seattle and Beyond- Take That Lewis and Clark
Chummy the third has been christened with a short shake down trip and then my month of camp hosting at Pike Lake State Forest. I am thoroughly enjoying the roominess, the modern luxury touches, and most if all not having an engine, transmission, and a separate electrical system to worry about. I will always miss Chummy II but I have already come to really enjoy Chummy the third.

I am starting out on the longest journey we have ever taken in all three Chummys. Our niece, Becky is marrying a wonderful man, Ken and they have honored me by asking me to perform the ceremony. The wedding is in Seattle, Washington on July 11. I will be driving Chummy the third and our new van, which is starving for a name, out to Seattle. Fran will fly out and join me right before the wedding.

There are twelve days between my last day at Pike Lake and the wedding, minus one day for the rehearsal and two days to un-pack and re-pack Chummy I have nine days to reach Seattle. My intention is to take my time, enjoy the ride and have fun. My route will be U.S. Highway 2, a two-lane road which runs parallel along the Canadian border and almost touches it.

My major points of interest along the way will be the International Peace Gardens, the high plains of North Dakota and Montana, Glacier National Park and then Seattle. Fran and I will drive down the coast of Washington to Cape Disappointment, then up the Columbia River Gorge through Idaho and onto Yellowstone National Park. We will also see Shoshone National Forest, Mt Rushmore and the Badlands.

My journals are stuffed with stories, anecdotes, queer things, and the beauty of these 6500 miles I have driven. I look forward to sharing them with you over these next few months. The pictures will be posted on Flicker to correspond with each episode. My photo link is: http://www.flickr.com/photos/chummytravels/ I will try and install a button for the photos after each episode.

I start this story at the end of day two. I am in the International Peace Gardens at Dunseith, North Dakota or Boissevain, Manitoba depending on whether you look up or down. I have driven almost a thousand miles and have reached my first important stop of the trip. I carefully planned my route and time so to make it to Seattle by Wednesday.

What I did not plan is where I would be staying, nor did I make any reservations. I had a little concern traveling over the July 4th weekend; however, this is North Dakota and no one lives up here so finding a place to camp was no problem.

Last night I stayed in a nice state park in central Minnesota, tonight I am in the campground operated by the International Peace Garden and have decided to stay tomorrow as well since I rolled in here late. There is a promise of fire works and I could not pass up the opportunity to see fireworks shot off in maybe Canada or the U.S.

The International Peace Garden covers 2600 acres with no border markings between Canada and the United States. At the entrance there is a cairn inscribed with these words: "To God in his glory. We two nations dedicate this garden and pledge ourselves that as long as man shall live; we will not take up arms against each other." That’s my kind of marker and I think it needs to be reproduced throughout the world and placed at every border between every nation.

Tonight was a treat. There is an International Music Camp in the gardens and they had a concert. Patriotic music was played from both Canada and the U.S. The large wind ensemble was as good as any I have heard and the resumes of the three conductors and solists were quite impressive.

Tomorrow I will explore the gardens. I was also told there is a herd of moose roaming around so maybe I’ll get up early for a moose hunt.

There was a very late frost in the garden this year which lessened the colors from the annual plants. I was told that everything needed to be replanted and the garden did have the appearance of early June not July. However, there is an abundance of perennial plants which I really do prefer.

There is a large open mowed grass field on the walk between the formal gardens and the Peace Tower. In this field is the international border between Canada and the U.S. but there is no line, marking, or even a straight mower cut to tell you which country you may be in as you walk down the center. I strayed off of the sidewalk to walk in the middle of this grass field. This is world peace. A place where two countries can have a border with no guns, gates and guards. Sadly, reality would slap me in the face later this day.

At the Peace Chapel I met a family from China. Fifteen members of this extended family were traveling through Canada and stopped at the gardens for a couple nights. They had rented a cabin on the grounds and were staying there.

After touring the gardens and a mooseless moose hunt I left the to visit a replica of Stonehenge. To leave the gardens I had to pass through the U.S. border customs. The lady on duty was intent on ruining everyone’s day who passed by her booth.

I will admit that as angry and rude as she was my answers to her questions did not help her disposition. First was how long I had been in Canada. I answered maybe a few minutes to an hour or so since the border was not marked. She puffed up and asked what my reason to be in Canada and I replied it was to see the flowers. She puffed up even more and asked where I went in Canada. I replied that I walked down this mowed field which really did not have a line as to where Canada was and the U.S. was.

In my defense she was sitting in sight of the Peace Gardens and could even see the cars pulling out of the exit. I certainly could not have been the first to make these kind of replies. She then demanded to know what my purpose was to visit Canada. This time I replied that I met with fifteen people from the People’s Republic of China and we exchanged pictures. She asked if that was my only reason to be in Canada and I said no I also wanted to see the flowers.

She eventually let me go after thoroughly searching my van and finding no bombs which I would use to explode at the next grain elevator. So much for open borders, liberty, and freedom. I drove on to Stonehenge recreated on the edge of Turtle Mountain but before I got there I made on little detour.

There were these gravel roads going North and I figured if I turned right, eventually I would be in Canada. I did and I was. Here it was about two or three miles away from the woman filled with rudeness and disregard to our liberties. The open border to Canada and the United States. You could simply drive across unmolested.

I must insert here that when I left the peace gardens the next morning with Chummy in tow. I stopped along the pavement to adjust the equalizer bars and a customs agent walked over to ask if I needed help. When I got up to the booth, the agent was courteous, friendly, and wished me a safe trip. Why can’t they all be like him?

The Stonehenge make-believe was as advertised, make-believe. However, the view from the edge of the escarpment was very nice and the drive along the bottom of Turtle Mountain was pretty. Tomorrow I set out for the high plains of Montana along U.S. Route 2.

Photos Photos Photos

There are just too many pictures from each stop on this trip to Seattle and back to post here on the blog. So, I am going to organize them and post them on Flicker in separate folders under the same heading as each of the stories. Please let me know if this works for you or if you would prefer another service or maybe you can suggest one. I am not totally happy with Flicker and its limitations. The link to my Flicker page is: http://www.flickr.com/photos/Chummytravels/.

Climbing to Chester

Before I get too far into this installment, I must explain that I am not really traveling alone. True there is no one sitting in the several seats of this yet unnamed van. However I do have a companion and her name is Dora. Dora is my Magellan GPS. She tells me where, when and how to turn; which road to take and how to find that road.

I have grown to enjoy her pleasant voice and gentle instructions. However, she does have one failing. Somewhere deep inside her chips and diodes she has been instructed to direct me to the nearest interstate highway regardless of where I may be. My route for this trip included almost no interstate highways so I had to trick her chips and diodes to create a route inside her which corresponded to how I wanted to go. Already there have been times when she is not very happy.

Today Dora and I drive across the high plains of Montana. My goal is Havre, MT. Which I would pronounce Havre being from Wisconsin and having Brett Favre as our quarterback for many years. But, I bet the good citizens of Havre pronounce it Havre. The town’s original name was Bullhook Bottoms but the railroad barons did not like it so they decided on Havre, Frenchy came in second.

I left the Peace gardens at the ripe hour of 4:00 A.M.. My campsite was so un level that I needed to drive out to the entrance of the gardens to put on my equalizer bars. While I was putting the bars on and getting them adjusted a customs agent walked over to inquire if everything was OK and if I needed help. I knew right then that this would be a great day.
Dora kept me on a state road out of the gardens much to my surprise. But the road was smooth and straight and at four in the morning you don’t see much scenery. I drove on this state road for almost three hours when I looked down at my gas gauge and realized I had under a quarter of a tank of fuel left.

Those of you who drive today’s gas sippers would not understand my panic. My wonderful, but sadly unnamed van, gets about 8 MPG in good conditions. I was now driving through some serious rolling hills. I stopped in the middle of the road, since I had yet to encounter any traffic since leaving in the morning, and checked my map.

There was a town, Williston, ND just south of me and some county roads leading toward it. I turned off this nice straight, smooth highway and started driving toward Williston on a series of poorly marked but generously potted back roads. My fuel gauge kept going down and there was nothing along the road. I passed no cars, no houses, no barns, no cows, just a couple oil wells pumping oil. My low fuel light came on with the ringing of a bell.

Now I kept one eye on the road and the same eye on the fuel gauge. Did I ever mention I have only one good eye? The road has no shoulder to pull off onto when I did completely run out of fuel and the hills have now become taller. I turn off the radio, the vent blower, and crouch in the seat to make myself more aerodynamic while driving. The fuel gauge drops lower, down to the empty line.

I see a shadow of a water tower in the distance, could it be? Yes it is. Williston. But, this road comes in on the back side of town and no gas stations are available here. I drive across town gliding through stop signs and easing around turns, then I see it -Sinclair. All fifty-five feet of me coasts up to the first pump and lets out a sigh. The unnamed van took 29.5 gallons in its 30-gallon tank.

The clock in the station said 10:00 and my watch said 11:00. Somewhere during fuel panic I crossed the time zone and gained an hour. I decided right then that I would spend that extra hour in church. I asked where the closest church was and the young lady did not know of any.
Williston is not a very big town so I went out on the street and looked for steeples and located one. As I approached the First Lutheran,( there is no second or third) I asked a gentleman on the sidewalk if there was a place for me to park my van and trailer during the service. He looked at me and said I was way too big for their parking lot and would take up too many spaces on the street. I got out and looked for another steeple.

I found the First Episcopal Church and they were so happy to see me that the congregation probably would have dropped everything to come and help me park. The morning message was good, the people warm and welcoming, and the break from the road to worship was wonderful. This is still a great day.

Now Dora and I were driving along Route 2 climbing up to the high prairie of Montana. How did I know we were climbing? When you are towing 10,000 plus pounds, you are very aware of climbing.

This region is known by several names, the Hi-line, the high prairies, open sky land, big sky, and all are appropriate. I am not going to give exact definitions or in-depth discussions of the geography or history, believe it or not. Briefly, The high plains is an area with an elevation of about 2000 to 3000 feet sandwiched between The Missouri River to the south and the Canadian border to the north.

You can see mountain ranges north and south for the most part as you drive across this great plain. It is very flat. It is amazingly flat. It is "seeing the horizon and curvature of the earth miles away" flat. U.S. Route 2 follows the tracks of the BN Railroad. It starts at the eastern border of Montana and ends at Glacier National Park. It travels through some beautiful country..

The high plains is scarcely populated and I decided to never allow my gas gauge to creep near the quarter mark again. With this new fuel rule I ended up stopping at almost every town along the route. And I found out why Dora was sending me along that nice state highway in North Dakota.

Approximately fifty feet beyond the welcome to Montana sign there was another sign which read "Your Tax Dollars at Work," then the pavement ended. The road was reduced to a rutted, weaving, single lane of gravel. And to think my taxes tore up the road. The next sign read: "Uneven Pavement Next 20 Miles." All the way to Cuberston was single lane ruts. Dora’s route would have taken me away from this mess.

The road did not improve much after the pavement was put back on. Driving in Montana was a real challenge for the first hundred or so miles. What I missed as I tried my hardest to keep all fifty-five feet of me going in a straight line was the area where Route 2 actually borders the Missouri River. Here is where Lewis and Clark started to talk about splitting up into two parties, which they did a few miles ahead at Traveler’s Rest. I missed seeing Fort Peck lake which is the largest body of water in Montana and proves the theory that if it flows in the west someone will dam it.

This is dinosaur country. Numerous fossils have been found of prehistoric animals and the locals are trying to exploit the fact. Billboards announce roadside museums which are said to be filled with wonders from the Jurassic and beyond periods. One rancher cleverly structured dinosaur looking objects out of hay bales and rusted iron. Too bad I could not stop in time for a picture. Route 2 is promising something else a step back in time, maybe the 1950's before the rush of interstates when we used to take family vacations in the old Ford.

There are towns along this route but most of them are no more than a gas station and with this being Sunday they were not open. Fortunately, with pay at the pump and self serve I was still able to get fuel. Chummy’s bathroom and kitchen took care of my other needs. The only towns I drove through with actual people walking about were Glasgow, Malta, and Havre and this along five hundred miles or so of driving.

This is lonely country. The last gas stop had just the gas pumps working and a pop machine buzzing. No one passed by walking or driving while I was stopped there. There are also no radio stations. So to pass the time I put in my first book on tape, Nathaniel Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter. Hester, Pearl, and the good Rev. Demmesdale will be my new companions.

About half way across Montana I spotted the mountains for the first time. They were not in front of me as I expected but directly to the south. I got out my map and guide book at the next stop and found them to be the Bear Claw Range which runs for about 30 miles, twenty or so miles south of the highway.

This middle section of the high plains is less flat and boasts some rolling hills and odd rock out cropping. When I approached the town of Havre there were actually large hills or very tiny mountains. Route 2 does not bypass this sprawling city of almost 9000 people but runs right through the center of town. My intention was to find a place to camp for the night so I began to search.

Havre has a lovely downtown with about six or seven casinos, a grouping of a movie set cowboy bars and a few other businesses downtown. On the west end there was actually a shopping center with a K-Mart and Walmart plus the one store which makes any town legitimate-Radio Shack.

The Walmart parking lot was filled with campers, motor homes, trailers and I think I even saw a tent or two. That was not a good sign. I have to be really desperate before I’ll spend the night in a Walmart parking lot; however, by the number of other campers there it may be the only show in town.

I tried Dora’s POI feature to find a campground and she told me she had no POI’s for this area. I asked at the gas station if they were aware of a campground and they sent me down to the county park. Once at the county park I did not locate any fellow campers or a place which would appear to be a campground. It is not easy for me to drive around looking for something in an area which I am unfamiliar with.

I have backed Chummy up over a block to get myself out of a spot where I did not belong. There were also some very memorable U turns which I will talk more about in later stories. Bottom line is I like to know where I am going and so does Dora.

I left Havre, thinking there would be camping down the road or at best in the next town. As I drove by what was probably the last place to safely turn around at, I began thinking how nice that Walmart would have been for the night. When I saw that the next town was 70 miles away I really thought that Walmart would have been fine.

The next seventy miles were spent with Hester being shamed and the good Reverend hiding behind his collar. The people of Salem were properly proper and the governor still did not know his sister was a witch. Reading the Scarlet Letter I could understand why some people would risk their lives to journey out to the west and start a new life.

These seventy miles produced no campgrounds or any commerce beyond a few shuttered gas stations. There were clusters of homes and a name assigned to the cluster but no more. Eventually I reached Chester.

Chester was like the other small towns along the way. There were a few store fronts with one or two of them being occupied. A café, which was closed. Two gas stations, and a grain mill. But Chester did have something else: a sign for camping pointing left at the next corner.

I did not miss that turn and soon found myself at the Chester city park. There was a motor home parked on the gravel dive and I pulled ahead and put Chummy at the other end. Here was my night’s campground. The park offered bathrooms, water, weber grills, picnic tables and a lovely garden.

I leveled Chummy out, opened the windows, turned on the vents to air him out after the long hot drive, and then walked directly over to the garden.

The garden still had peonies in bloom and they were gorgeous. There were several colors of Iris, still in bloom and several colors of day lilies booming. Another part of the garden had pink and red roses also in bloom. How did they ever manage to get them all to bloom at the same time? At least the hostas were not in bloom.

After dinner I took another walk, this time around the town. Those people who were out returned my greeting. This had been a great day and I was very happy. This little city park was

the perfect ending to my drive across the Montana high prairie.

Tomorrow, Dora, Chummy and I go to Glacier National Park.

Jack Dempsey, Pamida and a Cemetery Road, The End of the High Plains.

The northern BNSF railroad runs through Chester as it follows route 2 through Montana. Last night I went to sleep to the wail of the whistle and the rumble of the train through town, and this morning I awoke to the same sounds. The rail line dominates the towns along this route as much the same as it must have when it was built in 1890's.

I pulled out of Chester’s city park early in the morning. My driving goal was Glacier National Park and my time goal was early afternoon. I drove by the local café and gas station to find them both closed so I had to wait for my morning coffee.

The first town of any size was Shelby. Shelby is famous for hosting a heavyweight title fight between Jack Dempsey and a little known fighter named Tommy Gibbons. The town of Shelby built a stadium to hold 42,000 people but then could only convince a few thousand to actually come way out to west end of the Montana High Line. Jack Dempsey won the fight but Tommy did stay in the ring for nine rounds. He was the only person who had ever accomplished that feat against the great Dempsey. The town of Shelby, on the other hand went broke. It had a giant stadium and giant debts to match. Then even the lumber used to build the stadium was repossessed and the stadium was dismantled.

Today, Shelby is much the same as the other little towns along Route 2. It shows no evidence of its fifteen minutes of fame. Although it does boast a Pamida department store, which is, to those who are not indoctrinated in small towns, an almost Wal Mart. Pamida was named for the founder’s three sons, Pat, Mike and Dave, Pa-Mi-Da. The stores used to be called Gibsons so Pamida is an improvement. They are nice stores and sized right for these communities.

Shelby did have an open gas station where I was able to get my morning coffee. While there, I met a local beer delivery guy for Budweiser. I explained that my son, Nigel had delivered beer for Miller in Milwaukee. I asked how big his territory was and he described an area of about 400 square miles. Nigel’s territory was probably about forty square blocks. I gave him some of the samples of micro brews Nigel had given me and he left a happy driver.

Along the road there now appeared small white crosses erected just beyond the shoulder. I correctly guessed they were roadside memorials memorializing someone who died in a fatal crash at that site. I thought it would be interesting to count them but soon lost count when I encountered multiple crosses on the same post. The road was still very flat and straight and now it should be added it is also deadly.

There were older crosses with worn paint and newer ones freshly placed. There were crosses with names and some with plastic funeral wreaths laying alongside. One cross had a sign hanging from it which said: "Drunk Driving Kills." The roadside became a virtual cemetery, and one could hardly drive a mile without seeing a cross. When I approached Cut Bank, the road started to turn and had more hills and this only increased the number of crosses.

A little research has informed me that these crosses are the projects of local American Legion posts. The state provides the information and a pole, a local welding shop the cross and the legionaries the time and labor to erect the cross. Depending on how serious the local post is with the project they will even go out and paint the older ones and do maintenance such as making certain they stand straight. The hope is that driver’s will see the crosses and improve their own driving so they will not be the next cross. I must say they did get my attention.

Cut Bank is on the Eastern edge of the Black Feet Indian Reservation and the Western edge of the high plains. Driving into Cut Bank, the plains have already begun to roll. There are also small oil wells dotting the fields along with larger natural gas tanks. This is a dry farming area and the winter wheat was almost ready for harvest. The town of Cut Bank had a true western look to its downtown; all it was missing were a few watering tanks and hitching posts. The store fronts were full and it appeared to be prosperous. During a gas station conversation I was told most people work on the oil or gas wells and there is a new wind farm being built.

As I left Cut Bank, the plains changed dramatically. The hills became more pronounced and the farming stopped. Here there were only large grazing areas and open ranges for the herds of cattle. In the distance the Rocky Mountains were getting larger.

The town of Browning sits on the other side of the Blackfeet Reservation. This town is sad. The downtown was mostly empty except for the casinos. I wanted to see Camp Disappointment, the northern most point Lewis and Clark reached and possibly the Plains Indian Museum. I never found the museum but I did find Camp Disappointment and was disappointed to find that there was no where for me to pull my many feet off the highway to get out and look. In fact my length, Chummy and the unnamed van became more and more a problem as these next few days unraveled.

Now I was on my way up the side of the Rocky Mountains to the eastern entrance of Glacier National Park. I definitely have left the plains and now I am in the mountains.

There’s a Bear and Moose at the Lake, Glacier National Park

There is a television commercial which tempts to entertain during breaks in the drone of the show. The commercial shows this nerdy looking guy in a grey wind breaker holding a phone to his ear. Standing behind him is a group of fifty or so people holding antennas, recorders, meters, and other fancy looking electronic equipment which is too sophisticated for me to name. The voice over states: "We got you covered." I assume what the Verizon phone company wants you to know is that they have great coverage for their cell phones.

Next time you see this commercial, which will not take long if you watch any television, is to notice that this crowd of phone technical enthusiasts are always in an urban area. They have never traveled to the high plains of Montana, or been in North Dakota a state which redefines the word rural. My Verizon cell phone lost service somewhere west of Fargo, ND, a city made famous by a woman sheriff wearing a bombardier hat.

At first I was annoyed but then remembered that I wanted to travel alone on this stretch and with a cell phone I really was not alone. Dora, my GPS was still with me but she had no directions to give along this route. Occasionally I would drive around a block in a town just to tease her but other than that I never heard from her for almost two days.

I got to thinking about being alone and how hard that is for us to do these days. We are connected electronically. First there is the cell phone. My first cell phone took three hours to install, had a big black box which sat under my seat, and wires connected to the box and an antenna which stuck out of my back window. The coverage did not include all of Milwaukee and definitely not the suburbs. Today I have this tiny instrument which clips to my belt and supposedly has me covered everywhere.

My phone is not very sophisticated, it only makes and receives phone calls but still it is a tether for anyone who wants to talk to me at anytime. Next is my computer with its wi-fi capabilities. I have a friend who is on a cross country trip this summer and she keeps in touch by e-mail. I even got an e-mail from her while they were in North Dakota!

Besides the phone and computer there are the numerous cams and Skypes, and the video cams watching us as we go about our day to day activities. It is virtually impossible to be alone today.
As I have been driving when I see something which I want to share I pick up my phone and call someone. My daughter and son-in-law, programmed my route into their computer so they could pin point exactly where I was on Google Earth. However, for the past several hundred miles or so I was truly alone. My tether was broken. I was out of touch. Verizon did not have me covered. It felt strange when I really thought about it. I could not help but think of the thousands of pioneers who crossed this plain with no more than an ox, a wagon, and a dream.

My ox is the yet to be named van, my wagon is Chummy. My dream is getting to Glacier National Park today. I’m going to just sit back, drive, and enjoy being alone.

Interestingly, Verizon always had coverage on Indian Reservations. This I cannot explain but as long as I was on a reservation the coverage was like being in downtown Milwaukee. On the far Western edge of the Montana high plains just before you enter, the Rocky Mountains is the Blackfeet Reservation along the eastern edge of Glacier National Park. The scenery is spectacular and since my tether is tied again I call my daughter, Rachel to share the experience with her.

I am driving through a forest which had burned in the past few years but new growth was quickly taking over. The bear grass was blooming and it was everywhere and it was the first time I had ever seen it. The mountains were not just high, but they were enormous. One mountain would more than fill the big windshield of the still to be named van. When I came around the bend there was another mountain bigger than the last.

I had to hang up the phone and use two hands to maneuver my length and width around the turns, bends, and cut backs. Happily there was a truck in front of me so the speed was very slow. Chummy III, yet to be named van and I have been through the Appalachia Mountains but they are mere hills compared to what I was climbing now. Eventually we all made it to the summit. I felt like getting out and planting a flag but there was no time, Chummy III, yet to be named van and I were plunging downward.

The sign said: 8% grade use low gear. The sign said: Runaway Truck Lane 1/4 Mile. How about a runaway Chummy III, yet to be named van, and me lane? There were twists, turns, circles and elbow bends in the road. Two hours ago I was on a road so straight I could have reclined my seat hooked my knee over the steering wheel and taken a nap. Suddenly we were all thrust into the town of East Glacier and without missing a beat or slowing down to a sensible speed I made the turn into the east entrance to Glacier National Park.

I could smell the van’s brakes and the sweat on my palms but I had made it to Glacier and was being greeted by the ranger in the booth. First stop will be the visitor center, then a camp ground so I can shorten my length. I found out in the visitor’s center that Glacier is in reality three parks. There is the East side where I was, the Canadian or Waterton National Park which is connected and open to the U.S. park, and the west side which is on the other side of Logan Pass. My original plan was to camp for a couple days on the East side and then drive through the park and exit on the western end. The helpful ranger quickly changed all of my plans.
She first told me I could not pull Chummy over Logan Pass, there was a 23' length limit. The yet to be named van almost exceeds that limit by itself. Then she told me it would take longer than a day to drive to Seattle since there were a couple more passes which I would not be able to cross. My stay in Glacier was reduced to one night.

She laid out a one day plan for seeing the park and strongly recommended I camp at the Many Glacier Campground and not the close by RV campground. Her strong recommendation did not turn out to be the stupidest thing I did on this trip but ranked close.

To reach the Many Glacier Campground I had to leave the park and return to the "Many Turns" road and drive fifteen miles north. After chasing my taillights for fifteen miles I found the Many Glacier road back into Glacier National Park and turned in. The first two miles were perfectly normal and very scenic, then a sign popped up saying: "Rough Road" ahead. A better sign would have been: "No Road Next Five Miles." I found the next two signs to be more ironic than cautionary. The first said, "Falling Rocks" and the second said, "Don’t Feed The Mountain Sheep."

What I was attempting to drive on was nothing more than a tumble of rocks which had fallen over the years and been trampled by herds of sheep. Speeding along at three miles an hour I heard noises coming from Chummy and the yet to be named van which told me they both were unhappy with my choice of roads.

I reached the campground dreading what I would find when I opened Chummy’s door after that ride. The campground was indeed beautiful and if I was in my twenties had a small tent would have been thrilled to camp here. However, I had to find a place for 31' of Chummy and the yet to be named van. I stopped at the host site and he gave me a few suggestions. I drove by several large campsites with wide driveways only to find a small pup tent pitched in the middle of the drive. The last of his suggestions was a pull through site. This was actually a hair pin shaped drive with large over hanging trees on both sides. The exit was blocked by a tent and the entrance was partially blocked by another tent. I got out and walked around the spot several times and decided it was better than driving that roadless road back to the RV campground.

Since there was no exit I could not pull Chummy through the pull through site and needed to back him around the first tent and place his bumper up against the tent blocking the exit while avoiding the trees and not crushing the first tent with the yet to be named van. When it became clear, what I was going to attempt, a crowd of spectators assembled. This is a natural phenomenon in every National Park. Whenever there is a sight to be seen a crowd appears. Whether that sight is a buffalo or a deer along the road or just a guy trying to back into a campsite a crowd appears.

I knew I could back Chummy in since it was very similar as to how I have to back Chummy alongside our garage at home. Much to the delight or sadness of the assembled watchers I placed Chummy exactly where I wanted him on the first try. The crowd evaporated lawn chairs and all.

There was just enough room to open Chummy’s door without hitting the tree. To my surprise Chummy had held everything together, well almost, during the rough ride up here. The only thing on the floor was my bookcase and books. Strange as this might be since they were sitting against the far wall on the dinette seat and now were scattered in the center aisle. My only thought is that Chummy wanted some revenge for that ride so took it out on my books.

I opened the windows, had a quick lunch, and plotted my day on the map. I was driving back on the roadless road within an hour to start my exploration of Glacier National Park. However, before I began, I took a slight detour into the RV campground which is just inside the main entrance and found it to be quite nice. Large sites easy access and lots of room for trailers like Chummy. Next time I will know better, maybe.

Glacier has these "red bus" tours. The buses are renovated original 1936 busses which have been in service since the park opened. I considered taking one of these tours but then thought it sounded too organized for me. I struck out on my own driving on the Going to the Sun Road.
There are more than two million visitors a year at Glacier and of those two million only about five thousand apply for a back pack permit. Of the remaining one million nine hundred and ninety-five thousand people it has been estimated that only about 25% of them ever leave their vehicles. Today I’ll be joining those one million five hundred-thousand or so visitors who only see Glacier from their vehicle’s windows.

The Going to the Sun Road is the only east- west road in the park and the one on which I could not pull Chummy. My plan was to drive up to Logan Pass which was 18 miles and 6000 feet in altitude away. I had driven no more than eighteen yards when I was realized it was a good thing Chummy was back in the campground.

I was determined to stop at every viewpoint and point of interest; however, most were so crowded with parallel parked cars so the occupants could get a better view I could not stop. When possible I would park on the road and walk back. Fortunately, I had a rain coat since it had started to rain. The rain became serious as I climbed higher into the mountains but I would still get out and try and see what was there to see. I imagine the vistas were beautiful but in the driving rain and fog they lacked some of their spectacular awe.

The road is a true masterpiece of engineering. The road was started in the 1920's and completed in 1934. Prior to that time the only way a car could reach the other side of the park was on a flatbed car on the Great Northern Railway. I imagine the early climbs in the Model T Ford were quite an adventure. My Ford was having an adventure hugging a mountain side at one curve and overlooking a sheer drop of thousands of feet at the next.
I was amazed at the east side tunnel just below Logan Pass and how in 1926 they were able to get the machinery this high into the mountains to accomplish the feat of building this road. Sadly, the rain is really coming down now and there is zero visibility off of the road. The visitor’s center at Logan Pass sort of jumped out at me from within a cloud and it just might have been a cloud.

I stopped and when I opened the van door realized the temperature had dropped at least thirty degrees, and it was cold. I did have a sweatshirt. Many of the tourists were in shorts and tank tops, shivering as they ran through the snow drifts to the visitor center entrance.

There was a ranger talk on the continental dive in a few minutes and I hung around to hear it. I had always imagined the continental divide as this long straight line which divided the continent but have since learned it is a very jagged line. I have already crossed it several times this trip. In Glacier there is a triple divide on the summit of Triple Divide Peak. Here the water flows to the Atlantic Ocean, through The Gulf of Mexico, The Pacific Ocean, and the Hudson Bay. If only the cloud would lift, we could see the peak. One thing for sure there is water flowing today.

Buttoning up my rain coat over my sweatshirt, I took a long hike around the Logan Pass area. There was snow on the path which followed the continental divide which made a great photo op for a July hike. The sky was beginning to clear but the clouds were still to low for there to be any clear view from this altitude. I returned to the yet to be named van and drove back to the campground.

On my way into the park I noticed there was only one gas station so I though it best to get gas before returning to the campground. This is the only fill up which cost me more than $3.00 a gallon, ouch.

There was another ranger talk that night at the campground on global warming and the glaciers. It started at 8:00 so I made supper and walked over to hear the talk. When I arrived, I was there was just the ranger no one else. It was just going to be the two of us for the talk tonight. I was stunned to learn that almost al of the glaciers in the park have melted away. In 1850 there were about 150 glaciers today there are about 35. It is predicted that in 2030 there will be no glaciers left in the park. The ranger had photos of the park fifty years ago and the spots today. The changes were dramatic. Most dramatic was the encroachment of plant life on the mountains as the temperatures rise. As she was talking a person walked by and interrupted her asking if the snow cover was the same this year as it was last year. She answered that it was and he then said well that proved there is no global warming. Too bad he could not stay for the whole talk.

She recommended a hike on the Swiftcurrent Pass trail out of the campground and I decided to go right away. The trail is easily found at the end of the parking lot loop by the restaurant. After hiking for just a few minutes I was away from the people at the campground and lodge. The first animal I saw was a young beaver crossing the path to his lodge. He held up his head long enough to get a picture and see his buck teeth. My next animal encounter was a mule deer. At first I thought it was an elk since it was bigger than deer I was used to seeing but the ears were floppy and it was smaller than an elk. Next was a group of human hikers returning on the path. They excitedly told me about a bear and moose at the lake right down the trail.

I remembered the sign saying that the lake was two miles so I decided that was not a bad hike and started up the trail. I met a few other hikers returning from the lake and they were just as excited from seeing the moose and the bear as the first humans I met.

After hiking for about a mile or so I began to think that maybe this was not such a good idea to be out here alone at dusk looking for a bear and a moose. However, the scenery had me hooked. What I could not see earlier in the day was now as clear and brilliant as could be. This is a spectacular place to be. Although, just to prove I was not out of my mind I took out my pocket knife and opened it to the cork screw and took its picture. Those of you who have read my China narrative will remember that my grandson was going to save me from bad company with a corkscrew in Guangzhou, China. If it would work in China, it will work here.

After meeting several more humans walking back from the lake and hearing about the bear and moose I decided it may be a myth or an advertising gimmick on the part of the park service. The park service may hire these people to say there is a bear down the path just to get people to leave their cars and take a hike. I even suggested that to one person and they had a good laugh at my imagination.

Eventually I made it to the lake, Red Rock Lake. The scenery was out of a public Television special. The sun was starting to set in the west turning the lake a beautiful reddish color with the reflection of surrounding mountains rippling off of the water. From the far side of the lake I could hear the waterfalls.

Enough of this beauty stuff there was a moose and bear to be found. The moose was supposed to be by the waterfalls and the bear on the hillside south of the lake. I spotted the bear way up on the hillside and with the camera lens could just barely make out the movements of his retreat. So the moose became my quarry. Using my hunting skills I stalked around the lake to the falls and sneaked behind some bushes so I could look out without being seen. What I saw was a wonderful view of the waterfalls splashing into the lake with no moose in sight. Noisily I turned and climbed out of hiding and sensed a presence on my right side. Turning, there she was, laying in the weeds, a moose, about five yards away from me. She was chewing something and keeping an eye on what I was doing. I stood up on a rock and took a picture, told her I would disturb her no more and left her to her chewing.

The sun was setting fast and I began to hurry back along the two mile trail to the campground. Along the way a family of hikers met me and asked if I saw the bear and moose. I thought about it and said the bear was too high on the hill to really see well and the moose was not in the lake. I felt some kind of partnership with that moose like she and I shared something. If she wants to be found, she will make a noise again.

It was very dark by time I reached the end of the trail and my pocket knife had no flashlight. There were lights on at the lodge restaurant and headlights in the parking lot which served as guides to get me home. I was happy to be back in Chummy and excited to see my moose pictures. The tent blocking the entrance to my camp site was gone so I thought it would be a good idea to hitch up the yet to be named van to Chummy so I could get an early start in the morning. Tomorrow I wanted to get at least half way across the state of Washington.
　
　
　
　
　
　

Lake Sulktathscosum, The Day Before Seattle

No one is completely normal. We all have our little quirks and diversions from the mainstream whether we admit to them or not. One of mine is time. I do not change my watch when others switch over to daylight savings.

I do not even change my watch when traveling into another time zone or even after crossing a date line. Time to me is always good old Central daylight-saving time, the time I was born in. The time I live most of my life in and will most likely die in. That one time is good enough for me and I never saw a need for any others. However, that does not mean that I will not take advantage of moving into another time zone.

An example would be crossing into the Mountain Time Zone I gained an hour so that meant I had an extra hour of driving. When I stopped driving for the day at 6:00 by my watch, it was really 5:00. In the morning when I started out early at 5:00 it was really 4:00 but my watch said 5:00. I now have a 25-hour day. See how that works?

My campsite at Glacier National Park was partially blocked by a tent, a truck and another tent when I set up. However, the truck had pulled out and I used the opportunity to hook up Chummy to the yet to be named van so all I would need to do in the morning is weave my way out past the blocking tent and trees.

I set my alarm for 4:00 since I wanted to get an early start and put these mountain passes behind me. Remember now when my alarm went off at 4:00 the folks around me were pretending it was really 3:00AM. I ate a quick breakfast and was ready to pull out when I stepped out of Chummy and saw a truck completely blocking my only exit. In fact it was so close to the yet to be named van the driver would be unable to use their door.

Left with no other alternative I started to knock on tent flaps looking for the driver of the blocking van. I found him in the second tent which I knocked on and he grumpily agreed to move his truck.

It took me almost twenty minutes of inching forward and then backing up, then slightly turning the front of Chummy to pivot his rear around a protruding tree. All this was done in the dark. The only way I was able to do it in the dark was to keep getting out of the yet to be named van and checking with my twenty bulb LED flashlight exactly where all of Chummy, the yet to be named van, and the trees, and the tents were.

I eventually managed to place Chummy and the yet to be named van perpendicular to the road and the campsite, so it made sort of a T. My last maneuver before final extraction was to back straight up almost to the tent behind. With my twenty bulb LED flashlight I surveyed the distance between Chummy’s bumper. My intention was to not run over the tent.

Slowly I began to back up, creaking the hitch assembly and the yet to be named van’s tires. I got out and checked the distance again. There were still another five feet to go. I back up slowly again. This time when I checked the distance I discovered ropes tied to the front of the tent and staked into the ground in front. Chummy’s bumper is several inches from the ropes and I decide I have backed up far enough.

Cranking the steering hard to the left I begin to pull out onto the road and just barely brush the other tent which sat partially blocking my front exit. The gentleman who had to move his truck was waiting at the end of the road and did not wave as I passed him. Now all I needed to do was to find some level pavement and put on my stabilizers.

The remainder of the ride out of the campground and then on the no road road
was uneventful and dark. Soon I was cruising up the mountain which just yesterday I was speeding down. Now I got to experience the 8% grade in reverse.

Traffic at in Montana is never heavy but at three thirty in the morning it is non existent. My hopes of getting a cup of coffee in East Glacier were dashed when I found everything closed. I began drinking bottles of warm ice tea. It must have been the boredom and soon I had drunk several bottles of warm ice tea. My arms were getting tired from steering through the turns. My legs were already aching from a constant shift from brake to gas, brake to gas. I am hoping this is not what all mountain driving will be.

Dora, my very dependable GPS unit tells me to take the next right turn. However, there is a large flashing sign which says any vehicle over 25' in length cannot use the road. I continue on until the several bottles of warm ice tea catch up to me.

Now, I do not need an open establishment with a bathroom. All I need is enough room to pull Chummy over to the side and use his bathroom. I begin my search and find nothing for quite a few miles. The situation is becoming most uncomfortable. Just then I see a row of what appears to be deserted cabins close to the road with a driveway parallel to the road in front of the cabins. I pull over and quickly park.

While standing in Chummy’s bathroom taking care of those several bottles of warm ice tea, I hear a horn honking. The horn is that short honk-honk-honk of the alarm systems used on newer cars. I’m standing there wondering just who would be honking their horn at this time in the morning and if you are keeping track it is about 6:00 my time or 5:00 these people’s time.

After washing my hands and grabbing a couple cookies from the cookie jar, I open Chummy’s door to hear that the horn is from the yet to be named van. Somehow, when I was standing there taking care of the several bottles of warm ice tea, I must have pushed my key fob and set off the horn.

The next thing I discovered was that those deserted looking cabins all had inhabitants. There I was standing in Chummy’s door staring at a row of some of the meanest looking guys Montana has ever produced. The ugliest one was in his BVD’s leaning on his doorpost right in front of me.

I waved and said, "How you doing fellas?" "Just had to take a leak, bye now." With that I jumped into the yet to be named van, turned off the horn and drove away. I was afraid to check the rear view mirror for almost an hour but when I did there was no one there.

My driving goal for this day was Moses Lake, Washington. I had also decided to leave Route 2 and take the interstate at Spokane. Route 2, took me through the pretty towns of Columbia Falls and Kalispell, Montana. There was no sign of economic problems here, just growth and money. Sadly, in Kalispel they are building a bypass so soon travelers on route 2 will miss this pretty town.

Idaho brought me more mountains and additional curves in the road. The scenery through this northern part of the state is spectacular. At Sandpoint, Idaho Route 2 meets up with Lake Pend Orielle and the Priest River which we follow all the way into the state of Washington.

This is logging country or at least it used to be and there are logging days celebrations in each of the small towns I am driving through. Most of the sawmills I can see are shuttered or being dismantled a couple were still in operation. I did see some log trucks rolling down the highway but nothing like the logging areas of upstate Wisconsin, northern Michigan, or Maine where they roll all the time.

What this area appears to have become is a refuge for wealthy retirees. There are beautiful mountain view homes dotting every vista. The towns themselves appear to have an older but trendier population and I have seen many Land Rovers and Lexus four wheel drive vehicles. The shops in town have given way to the art galleries, craft, and pottery emporiums. All of this gives one a feeling of being on vacation and that’s all right with me.

I have finally reached the state of Washington and sadly have to leave the Priest River. I am also leaving the mountains behind me. They are quickly disappearing in my rear view mirror and the terrain is becoming flat, the road is straightening out as well. I pass a natural lake which is rare to the Western United States. Diamond Lake is a kettle formed by the glaciers. This entire area reminds me of the Kettle Moraine area around Milwaukee.

I soon reached Spokane which I will say nothing about. I desire not to offend anyone reading this blog and understand that we all have to live somewhere. Spokane is where I bid a fond farewell to Route 2. It has been my friend and companion for almost fifteen hundred miles and I will miss it.

I do not really enjoy interstate travel but when you need to get somewhere in a hurry it is the best way to drive. I merge onto Interstate 90 with the goal of reaching Moses Lake State Park that afternoon in time for a hike and maybe even a swim. Soon I am heading due west into a steady thirty to forty-mile an hour wind.

Most trailers, motor homes, motorcycles, and weak hearted soles have pulled off of the highway. I trudged on. An Airstream is tapered in the front, side and back to resist the wind. I have weight distribution bars attached to the hitch assembly which control the sway and distribute the weight correctly. The yet to be named van has an enormous engine capable of hauling Chummy and a lot more and is handling the wind with no problem. Yet.

After driving for forty or fifty miles against in this wind tunnel I begin to get really tired. There is a semi-truck in front of me also battling the wind and I settle in behind him. I stayed back just enough to see his mirrors but close enough to allow his truck to block some of the wind for me. We traveled together like this all the way to Moses Lake. This stretch of road was the worse gas mileage I got during the entire trip.

My map showed the state park right off the interstate in the city of Moses Lake. I saw no signs for the park as I entered the city and when I exited where the park was suppose to be. After driving around the area searching for this state park, I found a policeman sitting in a driveway and pulled in to ask directions. He informed me that the state had given the park land to the city but never got around to taking it off of the official road maps plus there never was camping there to start with.

His suggestion was the city park which Dora found with no problem. The city park sits on Moses Lake, imagine that. The campground is managed by a lady named, "The Sergeant." I walked up to her trailer and she greeted me with a list of rules for camping. First, and mentioned several times, was there is no alcohol allowed in the park at anytime under any circumstances and she will come around to check if you are drinking alcohol and if you are you will be asked to leave. This surprised me coming from Wisconsin where the use of alcohol is almost a requirement in our state parks.

I made a joke about drinking in our parks and then told her I had enough beer in the van to supply all of the campers in her park this night. When will I learn to keep my mouth shut? She gave me a site directly below her trailer and I was informed she would keep an eye on me.

This was a pretty city park with a nice lake. Not a natural lake but a typical western lake created by a dam on the Crab Creek. Since Crab Creek once flowed into the Columbia this is then in the Columbia River basin. The lake is named after an Indian, Chief Sulktathscosum who went by the nick name Moses. Too bad for the nick name, Lake Sulktathscosum has a nice ring to it.

There was no beach in the campground so I went to bed without my swim. I had a glass of rum before bed and toasted the old sarge on the hill. Tomorrow I will be in Seattle.

Photos for this and other parts of the Seattle trip can be found on Flickr, follow the link-http://www.flickr.com/photos/chummytravels/
　

Seattle, The City Of

I pulled the yet to be named van with Chummy attached over to the curb and lowered the window. There was a woman holding a cup which clearly showed the Golden Arches peaking over her hands. I asked her through my lowered window if she could tell how to get to McDonalds? She replied that she did not know since she had only moved to Seattle a year ago. I thanked her for her kindness and continued to wander around this Seattle residential neighborhood.

The drive from Moses lake to Seattle was uneventful. I thoroughly enjoyed my climb and descent through Snoqualmie Pass, which at 3022 feet is the lowest east west crossing in the Cascade mountains. Tell that to the trucker straining to reach the top with her full load. Sadly I did not stop and take in the scenery. Not knowing how much time I would need to get to Seattle I was pressing on.

At the bottom of the mountain was Seattle. I was driving into the city at rush hour and traffic was going really slow. The odd thing was that there was not much traffic. It was almost as if the driver’s were anticipating a crowded road. Since it was early, I decided a cup of coffee at McDonald’s would be just the ticket for me so I exited the highway and found myself in this lovely residential neighborhood.




The highway exit led me directly to a lovely narrow tree-lined street which dead ended after only four blocks. I turned left just in time to find another lovely narrow tree lined street with the above-mentioned lady walking along the curb. After exchanging pleasantries with the lady holding the McDonalds cup who said she did not know where McDonalds was my worse fear was realized. A car was approaching from the opposite direction.




This lovely tree-lined street which was directly off the dead end street from the expressway had just enough room for one of us. I thought for certain the driver in the opposite approaching car would notice I was in a large yet to be named van pulling an even larger named travel trailer. But that was not to happen. We met bumper to bumper. The woman ignorant of McDonalds whereabouts holding the McDonalds cup passed us on the right. I threw up my arms in the universal sign of despair hoping the opposing driver was not sightless.




He shook his head and carefully placed his car in reverse and backed up to a spot where he could pull over and I could pass. However, I could not pass up the opportunity to stop and ask him if he knew where the closest McDonalds was as I passed? He motioned over there. I thanked him, and drove by.




I found McDonalds, the first McDonalds I have ever seen with no parking lot, just a free standing building with nothing around it. I allowed Dora to find me a route back to the expressway and continued to the campground where the week’s reservations were made.




Dora and I had driven two thousand six hundred and forty-two miles since leaving Milwaukee. Now she chimed out with the words that we had arrived at our destination. Our destination was a private campground in Brothel, Washington. This campground was chosen solely on its location which is half way from the bride and groom’s home and the wedding location. Have you forgotten we have come to Seattle for a wedding?




I have been driving, hiking, walking, sightseeing, talking, goofing off and driving for the past six days and suddenly I was tired. Fran was meeting me at the airport tomorrow morning so I had the rest of the day to loaf. First Chummy needed to be put on his site and hooked up.




Those of you who have followed the trip up to this point know that Chummy has been placed on some very difficult sites. There was the first night in Minnesota where he had to negotiate a 45dgree turn uphill to make it into the site. And who will ever forget the site at Glacier National Park? Fortunately the site here was wide and the road was straight and flat. However, for some reason or another I simply could not back Chummy into the spot. I had traffic backed up for blocks, even the bicyclers.




To compound my embarrassment I ran over a cable fence and got the yet to be named van stuck on the cable. Eventually Chummy was on his pad and all hooked up. I turned around to see one of my neighbors standing next to me. “Hi” He said “see you just hooked up, that’s an awfully long sewer hose your using.” I immediately began a mental search of all of my witty retorts so I would use just the right one. To my surprise I had none which pertained to sewer hoses.




I used the standard, huh? And before it left my lips had wished it could come back. Too late, he began explaining why my sewer hose was too long, at least in his estimation. He then introduced himself as the other Airstream owner down the row. Now when two Airstream owners meet there is a list of standard questions each must ask each other so we began.




What year is yours? How long? How many Airstreams have you owned? What year? What length? Where did you but yours? What changes have you done? What changes are you planning? What changes do you wish to do but the wife will not allow you to make? What mileage do you get on your tow vehicle? Do you know so and so? And the list goes on. If you fail to ask one of the required questions you will be branded as a rude person and loose your good standing in the “I Own an Airstream Men’s Group.”




I went through the entire ritual with him even though all I wanted to do is to take out a chair and read a book. I knew we had to have the “walk around” of Chummy and then I had to go down to his trailer for the “walk around.” Just then my phone began to ring. Saved by the cell. It was Fran and I kept her on the line long enough that my new friend left. I never saw him again but he did wave when he passed.




The campground was for people 55 or over. Children were allowed only as visitors. The grass was mowed to an exact height all over the grounds. There were concrete patios and walkways to be used so the grass did not loose its uniform height by being walked upon. I set up a chair on my concrete patio sat down with a beer to read. The quiet was deafening. I needed some kids playing so I could concentrate.




That evening I made use of the laundry facilities. I hauled a large bag of dirty clothes down to the coin operated machines. There was a big washer which held all of my stuff and quite a few quarters. When my wash was finished, I took it over to the dryers, only to find them all occupied but not running. A lady was sitting there and said she was going to use the dryers next. I asked if she was going to use them all and she replied yes. Having no other recourse, I took my large bag of wet laundry back to Chummy. Next I found a length of rope which I strung from Chummy to a tree. On this rope I hung my wet laundry, T-shirts, pants, and boxers. I strung it all up in plain sight of the perfectly mowed grass.




I was awake early the next morning, since I was still on Central Daylight Time, and was able to use the dryers to finish drying my laundry. I was meeting Fran at the airport today at 11:00 so I figured that I needed to have at least one clock on Seattle time. Solo traveling had been fun but I was eager to have Fran with me so we could share the sights together.




The drive to Seattle’s airport was uneventful. I quickly adjusted to the unusual form of driving done by the locals. I found if they were driving a hybrid car the speed was adjusted so the maximum fuel mileage was being achieved, even on the expressways. A Prius traveling at 33 MPH was normal.




Next was the Subarus. These were mostly loaded with bikes, kayaks or other outdoor recreation equipment to the point the driver’s vision was severely limited. They were normally driven down the middle of two lanes. Lastly were the coffee drinkers. These drivers held a cup of coffee in the right hand, while cradling their cell phone under their chin, alternately sipping and talking. I noticed that besides the enormous number of coffee sellers in this city there seemed to be more dry cleaners than normal.




Fran was waiting for me at the arrivals gate. She had sent all of her luggage out with me in Chummy so all she had was her carry on. Dora directed us directly to Seattle’s famous Pike Place Market.




We spent an hour or so walking through the market before we both admitted to each other that this market really was not very special. Sure there was two guys flinging fish but after that most of the other stands were selling stuff which held little appeal to us. The stands in the market sold produce which looked like they had earlier purchased it at a local super market; smelly candles; chinese-imported throw away and do without stuff; and the ever popular T-shirts. The lower level held many vacant spaces among the useless nick knack junk. Having purchased our lifetime supply of Seattle coffee mugs we exited the market.




Fran and I walked to the ferry docks bought a ticket and got on a ferry. Here’s what I know for certain of its destination. It left at 1:30 and had a return ferry from the destinations dock at 3:30. It was a beautiful sunny day and we enjoyed our Puget Sound cruise. There were several others on the ferry like us who were just taking a ride not going to a destination.




We arrived somewhere with about an hour to spend before the ferry returned to Seattle. The departing passengers were walking in one direction so we followed. The group of departees led us to a downtown area of wherever we were. Here there were a few shops selling antiques, furniture, candles, and food that sprouts from the ground. On the way back to the ferry there was a coffee shop and I purchased a commuter blend in a commuter cup, Fran got a bottle of water. We now looked like Seattleans.




For dinner we chose a restaurant named the Crab Pot. The specialty is their “Seafeast” which is a variety of crab, clams, mussels, shrimp, salmon, halibut, oysters, potatoes, corn on the cob, and andoullie sausage. They steam all of this together with seasonings, put it in a big pail, and bring it to your table. The waitress dumps out the pail of goodies on butcher paper and places the pail on the floor for scraps. Each diner has a cutting board, hammer, fork, and bib. You grab, dig, pound, dig, and eat. The pile of sea food was enormous and Fran and I never thought we could finish it all. However, after pounding and digging, scraping, chewing and savoring this wonderful feast, we managed to clean off every last morsel of fish, potato, sausage, and corn.




Throughout the restaurant you could hear the pounding of the wooden hammers against the crab legs and mussels. There was the clang of the oyster shells hitting the pails sitting on the floor and the voices of many satisfied diners. This restaurant combined excellent food with a unique, fun dinning experience. If you ever get to Seattle be sure to stop there for a meal, it’s on the waterfront.




Friday was devoted to restocking Chummy and getting ready for the remainder of our trip which would start on Sunday after the wedding on Saturday. I also had some last minute wedding chores to attend to since I had a role to play in the wedding ceremony.




First on our list was to give the yet to be named van a well-deserved cleaning inside and out. Here in Milwaukee almost every gas station also has a car wash. In Seattle car washing is considered environmentally unfriendly and driving a dirty car is chic. I asked Dora to help us find a car wash and she found three within ten miles of our location. I chose the closest.




After Dora turned us this way and that for almost thirty minutes Fran yelled out, “there it is.” And, yes there it was, tucked away on a back lot, hidden behind some tall bushes was a DYI car wash. I pulled up at the shortest line behind some beer guzzling logger type who obviously hates the environment. He had a pick up truck with a chain saw on the gun rack instead of a shot gun. A bumper sticker read: “I BRAKE FOR NOTHING.” Fran took $5.00 to the change machine and returned with a mound of tokens.




We waited as Mr. Chainsaw sprayed the mud off his pick up and soon it was our turn. I put one half of the mound of tokens into the token slot and began to spray the yet to be named van with hot soapy water. When the front fender and driver’s door was thoroughly wet and soapy the water stopped. I put in the remainder of the mound of tokens and Fran took $10.00 to the coin machine. Eventually the yet to be named van was soaped, rinsed, dried and clean. The token box was stuffed with several mounds of tokens and we drove off with pride in our environmentally unfriendly clean yet to be named van.




Friday night was the wedding rehearsal and dinner. Saturday was the wedding. We probably never would have come to Seattle had it not been for the wedding. So I am very grateful to my niece and her new husband for asking me to be a part of their wedding and getting us out to Seattle. This has been a great trip so far and we have just started.




Before the wedding on Saturday Fran and I went to the Space Needle. The weather so far has been spectacular and this day was no exception. The view from the top of the Space Needle was sensational. We were quite interested in the southern view since we were traveling that way in the morning. The coast line was visible as well as Mt. Rainier. We were also able to clearly see the Cascade and Olympic Mountain ranges on this beautiful day as well as the Puget Sound.




The Space Needle is one of those cross off the list sites that you must see. It was built for the 1962 World’s Fair in Seattle. Almost 50 years later it stands as a testament to the architect’s skills and vision of the future. The design is timeless and is a recognizable symbol of the development of the western United States. Today it is the central point to the Seattle City Center which hosts museums, a concert hall, theaters, and amusement parks. Surrounding the area is a renaissance of city housing and business. I would love to see the Space Needle proclaimed a National Monument and preserved forever for all to enjoy.




The wedding was picture perfect. A beautiful happy bride; handsome smiling groom; sunny garden setting; and many happy friends and family are the ingredients for the perfect wedding and all those were present this day. We celebrated well into the night. This was the perfect ending to our visit to Seattle.

Cape Disappointment, Not for Us

Our original plan was to leave Seattle and drive directly to the coast and follow that down to Cape Disappointment. However, we were given some excellent local advice concerning the Washington coast. We decided to allow Dora to give us the quick route. Her route took us through Olympia, the capital of Washington, and then out to the coast.

We were given local advice that the Washington coast highway would not give us many views of the ocean and he was correct, at least along this stretch we were driving. When we were close enough to see the ocean, it was blocked by buildings but most of the time we were not close enough to even get a view. The ride was pretty, though and we also made excellent time arriving in Ilwaco in the early afternoon.




Our reservations were for Monday night and we had nothing reserved for tonight. We decided to drive up the Long Beach Peninsula and try and find a campsite on the ocean. Most of the campgrounds we saw were on the road and not the ocean. We eventually found the campground which was recommenced to us, Anderson’s.




Since our objective was to get an ocean view campsite that is what we requested and that is what they gave us. We tugged Chummy down this long row of RV’s which were all staring at each other face to face. At the end of this row was our campsite but not a hint of where the ocean was. We placed Chummy a few feet from our neighbor and began to look for the ocean.




The ocean was there, as promised, over a high bluff out of view, but within hearing. The wind was blowing hard off of the water, there was a sort of rain, mist coming down and it was cold. I told Fran that I was going in for a swim. That I did not drive all this way to the Pacific Ocean to be swayed by a few drops of icy rain and a hurricane force wind.




We reached the beach and were greeted by this sign: “No Swimming- Dangerous Currents- Those Who Have Attempted Swimming Have Been Killed” Could that sign possibly apply to me? I was willing to risk the cold and the wind, even the high waves but death? No, that is asking too much for a swim. I settled for getting my feet wet in the preposterously cold water.




Fran and I walked back to our ocean viewless site next to the high bluff blocking the view of the ocean, I with wet feet now covered with wet sand, and Fran freezing from the wind blown ice. Once inside Chummy with the door firmly shut and locked we turned on the furnace. This is July at Cape Disappointment.




Although we could not see the ocean I was intrigued by the sound of the surf. That night I opened the window next to our bed and we went to sleep listening to that hypnotizing sound. In the morning the furnace was needed once more to warm up Chummy from having the window open during the night.




Check-in time was 1:00 at the Cape Disappointment State Park where we had our reservation. We took another cold, windy, and icy walk along the beach but this time we dressed for the walk. This was the first and only time we wished we had Cromwell our dog with us. He would have loved this beach. There were many other dogs running and playing. However, we agreed we made the right decision about leaving him in Milwaukee for the trip.






After we hitched Chummy up, we drove into Ilwaco to find a post office. On this trip I had two important duties. One was to officiate at the marriage ceremony and second was to mail the signed marriage license back to the county clerk where the wedding took place. I wanted a receipt for the mailing so needed to mail it at a post office.




When we checked out of the campground we were told that Ilwaco was the closest post office and we had directions. Once we found it we also found the parking lot and surrounding streets empty of any area large enough to park Chummy and the yet to be named van. Several blocks away we were able to park. Fran and I walked back to the post office in the rain with the envelope in hand. When we reached the sidewalk a friendly man said hello and the sign on the door said: “Closed For Lunch.”




Holding the now getting wet envelope in my hand we walked back to the yet to be named van in the rain. We pulled Chummy down to the Town of Chinook where we were told they had the best seafood and had the best lunch of the trip. Then we stocked up on fresh fish for the remainder of the trip and got directions to their post office.




Parking was easier this time but we still had to park several blocks away and continue on foot through the rain holding the now damp envelope. True to the directions was the post office and it was open. This post office had, along with the usual array of boxes, special mailers for sending fresh oysters, shrimp, and crabs home.




With my second and last chore of the trip finished we check in at the state park and set up at our spot for the next three days. This time we did have an ocean front spot, albeit not a view but close enough that we heard the surf even with the windows closed. Our site was nestled into a limestone formation which begged for exploration and a short path led to the ocean.




Once again there was that “Death” sign about swimming so Fran and I left the suits in Chummy. However, there was no wind. This beach was around a point which blocked the predominant wind and we could walk the beach without being whipped in the face by ice from the Arctic. That evening I waded into the ocean up to my knees and could feel the strong pull of the current which almost knocked me over. I would not tempt this ocean any further.




Tuesday morning we left early for Mt. St. Helens. We had been told that it was best not to tow Chummy around the area and the RV accommodations were very limited. Our plan was to drive completely around the volcano stopping at each of the sights along the way. We also wanted to find one interesting place for a nice hike.




There are two basic ways to visit and see Mt. St. Helens and the surrounding area. There is the route which most people take and the one I would highly suggest and then there is the route we took. First of all there are only two places where you can get a really good closeup view of the volcano and only one place where you can look inside the crater. Both of them required a long one way drive and one of them requires and even longer circuitous windy trip through the forest and surrounding mountains. Guess which one we took?




Dora was told to take us to the Mt. St Helens Visitors Center and she did. What I did not know and she did not tell us that there were several visitors’ centers and she took us to the closest one. This visitor center did have an interesting movie and a very good ranger talk afterwards. I purchased a map of the area and we decided to drive to Spirit lake. The ranger suggested we go north and first see the crater at the Johnston Ridge Observatory but I knew better we went east.




Four hours of driving through beautiful towering pines on a slender two lane road, negotiating one lane bridges and not seeing any volcano evidence, Fran suggested we turn back. But I had my map and kept on driving on highway 503 until I made a wrong turn on highway 83. How did I know it was a wrong turn? The dead end sign was a dead give away. Fran was now very quiet, only a few sighs and under the breath, “I told you so’s” could be heard from her side of the yet to be named van. We turned around and drove back but not all the way I continued east on route 90, determined to find rubble and waste from the volcano.




At the junction of route 25 and five hours of driving I turned north. We only drove a few miles when we came around a curve and the scene was like a moonscape. We had been driving through a thick forest of old growth conifers, red alders, cedar, and pine trees now there were no live trees. What there was were stalks which once held branches, leaves and needles.




We were on the north east side of Mt St. Helens and had just entered the national monument area. The actual eruption occurred in March 1980. This was a violent eruption not like the gentle lava flow we see from the Hawaiian Island Volcanos. The blast tore off the entire north face of Mt. St. Helens. The force behind that blast pushed a cloud of hot rock up and down the valleys destroying 230 square miles of forest and killing everything in its path. Mud flows followed caused by the quick melt of the glaciers and ice covering the decimated scenery with a thick coat of hot wet cement. Homes and bridges were swept away and entire lakes were sloshed out and refilled with the flowing mud and tangled trees. The flow did not stop until it reached the Columbia River where it clogged navigation for months.




Today there are two areas of recovery. The first is managed by private timber companies and National Forest Service is being aggressively reforested. Then there is the National Monument area. 110,000 acres have been set aside to study how nature heals itself. We had just entered the National Monument area where it is estimated it will be another 100 years before the forest returns.




We took the turn on route 99 toward Spirit Lake and made several stops along the way. The first was the miner’s car. This is a jeep up ended and covered with mud which was thrown sixty feet by the blast. The family was killed. Then there was Cascade Peaks Overlook which afforded excellent views of the volcano. This is also the only place to get snacks, beverages and use a bathroom for many, many miles.




We reached Spirit Lake. The parking area is 600 feet above the lake and from that vantage point all we could see were logs stacked tightly in the water. This is how I pictured Spirit Lake from the all of the shows I had watched about the eruption and Mt. St. Helens. The trail head sign told us it was only a mile to the lake. Six-hundred feet down the mountain and one mile away. We needed a hike.




Before the eruption Spirit Lake was a popular resort area. This is where the grisly old timer Harry Truman had his resort which he refused to leave and is now buried under tons of rock. The lake was created by an earlier eruption of Mt. St. Helens about 3500 years ago and its history has been linked closely to the volcano since its birth.




The hike down was not bad at all. The interesting thing we noticed was that there were trees starting to grow at the beginning of the hike but as we descended there were none. On the lake bed there was hardly anything growing, just a few dandelions. The view from the bottom was spectacular. The face of Mt. St. Helens which was blown off was easily identified as a jagged scar on a once symmetrical pyramid mountain. There was a field of Indian Paintbrush grass in bloom giving a bright red color to the grey mud background. The logs we had seen from the top, which appeared to cover the lake, were just along this part of the shore and only extended out about thirty or forty yards. The lake beyond was blue and tranquil.

There was a large round flat rock about eight feet in diameter and four feet high which Fran and I sat on while admiring the view. A gentleman walked by and introduced himself as a geologist doing research on the recovery of the lake area. He told us the rock we were sitting on was thrown from the volcano during the eruption. Mt. St. Helens is five miles away and this rock must weigh several tons. The force of this eruption continues to amaze us with each example we uncover.

Prior to the eruption the lake was surrounded by old growth forest afterwards it was totally covered by a mat of logs. This mat now covered only a small portion of the lake. Inside this mat was an active community of insects and small mammals. Soon they will aide in removing these logs and the lake will be free of all evidence of the unimaginable violence which slammed into its water causing an estimated eight hundred and fifty foot high wave which pushed 1200 feet up Johnston Ridge leaving a ring which today resembles a bathtub ring.

The one mile and six hundred foot straight up hike back to the yet to be named van was made easier by the excitement we both had after visiting the lake area. We could of climbed twice the distance and not have noticed it. This hike was one of the highlights of our entire trip and we strongly encourage everyone to make the trek down to Spirit Lake if you are in the area.

The visitor’s centers sell a small book titled. Road Guide to Mt. St. Helens , published by Double Decker Press, Mariposa, California. This guide will give directions to all of the sights both inside and out of the National Monument. Along with the driving guide this book has hiking information with very good explanations on the trails available at each stop. It was with this book we found the hike down to Spirit lake. My best suggestion to you is to get a copy of the book prior to your visit and use it to plan how to spend your time. We traveled through some beautiful areas but wasted many hours by not planning better.

It was well after midnight when we returned to our campground. We had been gone almost twenty hours, the last hour or so we drove in a heavy fog but it is always foggy here. Tomorrow, or today we will explore Cape Disappointment.

The fog was still thick when we woke in the morning but the temperature was warm. We took a nice long walk along the beach, discovering a beached whale rotting away and an interesting little cove protected by the ever present pounding surf. I was able to get in some good wading without being pulled away by the currents. We then hiked up to the Coast Guard lighthouse which controls the traffic in and out of the Columbia River.

Cape Disappointment got its name from an English explorer, John Meares who in 1788 was unable to find the Columbia river while sailing back and forth across its opening. Not much more is known of Captain Meares but I surmise that his rum supply was quite good and his use of such was very liberal. The mouth of the Columbia River is about ten miles wide, hard not to stumble upon. The lighthouse overlooking the mouth and manned by the United States Coast Guard was built in 1871 along with a station to rescue ships in danger. This station remains today and is used as a training facility for the Coast Guards rough seas rescue drills.

The officer on duty invited me inside and allowed me to look through the telescope out into the ocean and the many ships lined up. He showed me where the bar was which separated the Columbia from the Pacific Ocean and explained how they control the traffic into and out of the river much as an air traffic controller would do. I was also able to look over the charts he had laid out and he patiently answered my questions. Today the weather was clear, no fog and the sun was shining brightly. Through the telescope I was able to identify each ship and clearly see what flag it was flying. The officer identified the cargoes of some of them and pointed out the regulars. Heading for Portland there was a shipload of Hondas, and a container ship, and leaving the river was a large grain hauling ship.

I left the lighthouse when another person came along and was invited in. I applaud the Coast Guard for sharing their work with the public. Fran and I then hiked down and over to the other lighthouse in the park. This is the oldest lighthouse still operating along the western shore of the Unites States. Built in 1856, it stands 220 feet above the sea. We climbed to the entrance in a now gathered thick fog.

When we reached the top of the lighthouse the railing along the outside deck was not even visible due to the fog. The guide gave a spirited tour sprinkled with phrases like, “if it was clear you would see,” and “on a clear day over in that direction is you could see.” I finally asked him how many clear days they have and he thought awhile and answered that there was one about two months ago. Besides the constant sound of the surf we realized that we have also been hearing the constant sound of the fog horn. I now know how lucky I was to have had a few clear moments when I was at the Coast Guard lighthouse.

Hiking in the state park was a treat like nothing we have encountered. Due to the constant fog and mist the vegetation was tropical in nature. We hiked along two trails combining the Lewis and Clark Discovery trail with the gunnery trail. This gave us a nice 2.5 mile day hike. The trails took us deep into the forest and then climbed up for some spectacular views of the Ocean and a surprise find of two world war II gun turrets. Seems that this is the only place off the coast of the United States where a Japanese submarine was sighted during the war so they built these gun turrets high on the bluffs just in case the Japanese decided to return.

All along the hike I could not stop to wonder how William Clark felt as he first walked and viewed this land. This was the end of his journey and exploration. He had met up with Merriweather Lewis here after they decided to split up. He found here a forest like none other he had encountered on his journey so far. There were new animals and insects to catalogue and then the grandeur of the Pacific Ocean. This is why we decided to visit this park, to see what Lewis and Clark saw.

The state park at Cape Disappointment is Washington’s most visited state park and I have no argument as to why this is true. Our campsite was wonderful and yes I did explore that limestone formation in back of us. The hiking trails were some of the best we had ever encountered and the history in the park just cannot be beat. If you are traveling out west put this park down as a must stop. There are plenty of hotels, motel accommodations of all types as well as excellent camping. The restaurants we ate at were fantastic. Sadly we had to pack and hook Chummy up to the yet to be named van for an early start. Tomorrow we head toward Yellowstone national Park.

Bye Bye Chummy

It was the best of times, it was the worse of times. My beloved Chummy was sold and drove off to live in Denver today. I once thought this day would never come and that they would carry my body in Chummy to the burial grounds. Once there the crowd would open the awning, break out the grill and have a picnic. My grandkids would honk the horn as they saluted my soul lifting to the great Airstream heaven above. But Chummy will not be carrying this body anymore, dead or alive. The time had come for us to sell Chummy and move on with a new chapter of Airstreams and that begins next Monday when we pick up our new trailer.

We found Chummy a very good home with nice understanding people. They are new to Airstreams but not to old cars, trucks and restoration. They reminded me very much of the folks who bought our first trailer and they turned out to be great Airstream owners and friends.
I spent the past two weeks getting Chummy ready for his new owners. First he went into the service department for a thorough check up and fluid change. He came out with flying colors. When he came home, I gave him a good scrubbing on the outside to get all the winter crud off, then Fran and I started to unpack the years of accumulated goodies we had stuffed away inside.

I spent the next week making absolutely certain everything worked perfectly. I tightened screws, oiled and greased, tested and adjusted. When I thought I was finished I started again just to make sure all was absolutely perfect for the new owners.

I picked Bill and Phyl up at the motel and brought them back to our house to introduce them to Chummy. He was smiling as we pulled up, little did I know it was really a sneer.

First, Bill wanted to know everything about Chummy. He crawled under the front end and started to ask me questions about things which lived under there. I had to explain to him that the only time I had been under the front end like he was, was a time the kid’s frisbee landed there. I don’t think I said "I don’t know" so many times in a single day in my entire life.

Then Chummy decided to act up. A pipe which had lain dormant for six years started to leak. I didn’t even know the pipe was there. Fortunately there was a shut off valve and the flood stopped. The awning which always folds right back into its place decided this time for the first time to go back cockeyed. I had to straighten it out. The worse was yet to come.

They were all packed and ready to leave. The mirrors adjusted and the engine warmed up. However, I noticed that the steps did not retract. This was the very first time this had ever happened. I knocked on the door and they opened it up and I looked down to see the magnetic switch had fallen into the chassis.

Chummy was sneering at me. I ran into the house and got a pliers and screwdriver. Located the wires and somehow pushed the switch assembly back up through this impossible tiny hole and into its correct position. A piece of tape held it in place and the steps worked.

All I could think of was the two weeks of checking and rechecking to make certain all was working as it should be. But now as I think about it maybe Chummy was testing his new owners. He’s not perfect and things are going to break. He would not want owners who got upset. His new owners just took everything in stride.

The new Chummy is sitting in Wilmington, North Carolina. He is 31 feet long and a lot younger than the first two Chummys. He has never been above the Mason Dixon line or experienced a real winter. We are excited to get him home and start tearing him apart and making him ours. And by the way this will be my last Chummy. You read it here.

Easter Dinner at a Family Homeless Shelter

Sunday was our church’s regularly scheduled night to bring dinner to the Cathedral House Shelter. Sunday was also Easter Sunday and since we would be celebrating our Easter the week following my wife and I decided to volunteer to do some cooking and help serve the dinner.
Cathedral House is a shelter for women and families. It also provides a variety of services to homeless women and children. They depend on volunteers to provide a meal seven nights a week. These volunteers come from area churches and the logistic nightmare of arranging for them is done by the Interfaith Council of Greater Milwaukee.
Our assignment for this Easter Sunday was to prepare dessert for about fifty people. This was a labor of love for both my wife and me. We each love to bake. My wife made a sinfully delicious double chocolate sheet cake and I experimented with a buttermilk sugar cookie recipe which ended up as buttermilk sprinkle bars. Other volunteers prepared ham, potatoes, fresh baked rolls, and a fresh vegetable tray with dips. Beverages were supplied by yet another volunteer, and bags of pretzels rounded out the before and after meal snacks.
Children met us at the door eagerly wanting to help us carry items up to the third floor dining room. The adults greeted us with more offers of help. We scooped potatoes, served ham, poured beverages and assisted in any other manner we could for about an hour and until everyone was fed. The children all said thank-you. Many of the adult women came back to the line to express their gratitude for us being there.
The shelter was at capacity on both the family and women’s floors. These were the fortunate ones who had a safe, clean place to sleep. These women and children received a wholesome Easter dinner tonight. I could not help but think of the families still on the street who could not get into this, the only family shelter in the city. What would they be eating tonight? Where would the children sleep?
Our final task before the cleanup was to pack lunches for the working women to take with them the next day. The count was thirty-nine, so we made that many lunches and packed them away in the refrigerator. We also made up plates of cookies for the children and put them away. The cleanup went quickly and soon we were on our way home.
We volunteers were filled with a satisfaction that this night we had done something special. We did not spend a lot of money or commit to a lot of time. The work was not challenging or difficult but it was very satisfying. This Easter I feel that I made a difference in a small way and I was able to extend my hand to help someone in need. I felt good.