The Green Green Grass of Home………..

Trip Statistics:

· Dates: April 30 to August 13, 2006
· Number of days away 105 days
· Miles driven in Maggie: 11,627 (18,712 km)
· Miles driven in the Honda: 6,452 (10,383 km)
· Cost of gas for Maggie: $5,880 Cdn$
· Cost of gas for the Honda: $1,034 Cdn$
· Cost of campsites in Canada: $ 438 Cdn$
· Cost of campsites in the USA: $ 851 Cdn$ (because it was so damned hot)
· Number of nights in campsites in Canada: 20 nights
· Number of nights in campsites in USA: 21 nights
· Number of nights boondocking in Canada: 46 nights
· Number of nights boondocking in the USA: 18 nights

It cost us 50 cents a mile in Maggie for fuel
It cost us 16 cents a mile in the Honda CRV for fuel

What have we learnt on our epic journey?

· We must always live near the ocean.
· Bridges freeze before the highways (we first learnt this in the Maritimes where every bridge is preceded by this sign).
· We must carry sockeye salmon and rice crackers with us from home.
· We hate hot sunny weather and will never complain about Vancouver rain again.
· An Internet connection is our lifeline.
· Travelling with a dog is like travelling with a child – very rewarding but a big responsibility.
· The freedom of retirement is wonderful.
· We love our country.

From Sea to Shining Sea…..

Aug 10 - 13, 2006

A mass of touristy trash occupies the side of Highway 2 West for quite a few miles after leaving Glacier Park. The drive-through Grizzly Habitat offended me the most. Leave the poor bears alone in the wild.

The highway took us in a horseshoe arc north to Bonners Ferry, Idaho and then south to Coeur d’Alene. Bonners Ferry is a pretty town and it was our intention to park there overnight at their casino but it was too early when we passed through and it was a bit too hot so we carried on to Coeur d’Alene where we found a Passport America campground right in town on the river – the River Walk RV Park. Sounds nice, doesn’t it! Hrmph - It had the smallest space ratio that we’ve ever seen but it was packed almost full. There were only 3 spaces left. We chose the one on the end and luckily nobody took the one beside us because they would have been 30 centimetres/12 inches away from us. I don’t understand the mentality of those that choose to stay in such places for several weeks or months, packed in like sardines. On the plus side, we had good wifi and full hookups – we left the A/C on while we toured the town and returned to a cool motorhome.

Coeur d’Alene is the Kelowna (a city in BC in the centre of the wine district of the Okanagan) of Idaho – an attractive and booming tourist town on the lake with lots of good restaurants and tourist facilities. Every corner through the bustling main street has a differently designed water fountain, obviously commissioned works of art. A tree-lined river and lake walk/bike path runs for miles along the beautiful waterways. Caesar enjoyed an occasional stop at areas where other dogs had left their scents – a sniff and pee stop. We picked up pizza for dinner, poured a big glass of Cabernet Sauvignon for me and a beer for Fernie and settled down to an evening of wifi and tv – very sophisticated!

Washington, east of the Cascade Mountains was an arid wasteland before they introduced irrigation – in the 1940’s. Now it’s a fertile valley with vast fields of golden grain for mile after rolling mile. We watched as the sky darkened ominously ahead of us and jagged lightning slashed the sky directly in our path. The deep slate blue clouds contrasted sharply with the pale blue of the clear sky and the puffy white clouds making for a beautiful vista. We pulled in to the side of the road in Davenport to have lunch and let the storm pass. Leftover cold pizza – the best lunch I can imagine.


The gasoline in eastern Washington was almost as much as highest we’d seen $3.259/gallon just a penny lower. Intelligently, we fuelled up at a Flying J in Idaho at $2.959/gallon. After writing this, we saw the highest gas price at $3.279 in Coulee City, Washington.

We planned on staying at the Walmart in Wenatchee but it was too hot when we descended into the fruitful valley so we carried on not sure where we would go and ‘lo and behold’ at the edge of Wenatchee, the most beautiful park-like RV campground that we’d ever seen appeared just south of Highway 2 running along the river. Huge deciduous trees shaded the well-spaced RV’s and the expanse of emerald green lawn was lush and thick. It’s called Wenatchee River County Park and is run by the city. We stayed for a delightful two nights. A breeze came up and the cooled the air and it brushed over us as we lounged outside with our drinks. Caesar found renewed energy, as did we. We’re finally away from that dreadful heat!

We didn’t do very much during the two days, just a lot of lying around which we crave after so much activity. We drove the four miles down the road to Cashmere, a lovely little town that is famous for its ‘Aplets and Cotlets’ factory. They are a fruit candy that originated in Cashmere. They made us put on hair nets while we toured which gave me a giggle trying to put Fernie’s longish curls into the net. We ate a few too many samples, which gave me some heartburn later, but they’re so delicious.

While driving around Wenatchee, we stopped at the Apple Information Centre. An elderly lady met us at the door with a cold can of apple juice, welcomed us in and put on a video about the apple industry for us. We caught her eating her lunch and she had crumbs on her lip but she bustled around for us. I think we were the first visitors of the day – we signed the visitor book at her request and nobody had been there since the previous day. She suggested we head two blocks down the road to “a lovely winery with open tastings’. Who am I to pass a winery! They had ‘free tastings’ for the month of August, which included some of their high-end wines. We sampled seven each and the only one I thought was great was a Syrah – very peppery and full bodied – at a price of $32.99/bottle. Too much for me! So we came out of there with nothing but a pleasant glow.

Our plans to go out for a nice dinner were changed when we both didn’t feel hungry that evening. I took my computer outside and found a pretty good wifi signal. My son, David was online so we got into a chat. I was enjoying it very much when our neighbour, a pony-tailed, 40ish and garrulous guy, yelled over “Are you online?” and proceeded over to talk. He had a new Toshiba laptop “just like yours” he said and asked me to help him get online. Hrrrmph! I told him I was involved in an online business discussion but he wouldn’t give up. The wifi signal wouldn’t let him on but he recognized the name of the woman whose network it was. “I know Linda – she just lives over there in the other camping circle” he said. Kurt and his wife live in their 5th wheel trailer and move around with his work – bathroom renovations and painting. They stay in Wenatchee for about four months, six months in California and a couple of months in Mexico. I told him to walk over closer to Linda’s and he’d probably get on. I watched as he perched down on the grass about 100 yards closer and happily got back to my online chat.

The sun was lowering in the sky and a soft breeze rustled through the leaves – the weather was perfect. Thank goodness we’re away from that eastern humidity and the temperature extremes in the plains.

We zoomed through the Cascades and Stevens Pass loving the sunny though cool weather. There's a comfort now we're in our own backyard, so to speak. Everything's familiar and we know where each road leads. We stayed our last evening at the Tulalip Casino and were lucky to get the last vacant spot in the RV parking area. Fernie played poker while I roamed the outlet shops, we stocked up on groceries at Walmart, then had dinner at Applebees, early to bed and early to rise. After all, we'll be home tomorrow.

We’ve done it – from the Pacific to the Atlantic and back - “From Sea to Shining Sea”.

She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain…….Maggie, that is!

Aug 7 – 8, 2006

They said it was going to be hot today – high 90’s, but that’s around Shelby not up in the mountains. We drove the Honda into Shelby first thing because we’d picked up a chip in the windshield. Pat at Shelby Glass said he’s really busy, but he’d do a chip repair right away for us.

We went for a walk around town while he was working on it stopping at the info centre again to ask if there was an SPCA that we could report a neglected animal. Mabel, the elderly lady at the info booth advised us to go up the hill a short block and we’d find the city hall ‘kitty-corner’ to the blue and white building. “You talk to the mayor” she said, “He’ll make sure it’s taken care of”.

In the Lake Sheloole Campground, which is run by the city of Shelby,
a dog (pit bull cross, I’d guess) was tied to a tree for at least nine hours yesterday. There was a pup tent and a car in the campsite beside it. The dog was quiet and it had water and food but we thought it was really cruel. No wonder dogs like this become vicious when they get no emotional feedback. Our neighbours, Wayne and Bev said that the young man was away for twelve to thirteen hours – obviously working somewhere by the state of his clothes when he’d return and they said the dog didn’t sleep in the tent with him but in the car alone. We watched last night as a friend drove him to his tent and he sat in the truck for half an hour while the poor dog whimpered and howled to get his attention.

Well, we didn’t ask for the mayor but we reported the transgression to the receptionist who said she’d advise the ‘animal control officer’. She was obviously an animal lover too as you could see she was affected. We felt better after we’d dealt with it and trotted back down the hill to ‘The Griddle’, a local café recommended by Mabel as having the best breakfast in town. We ordered a really unhealthy sausage, egg and hashbrown special from a tiny frizzy-haired old woman who was as tough as nails and watched the locals come and go. A long table full of ‘border-patrol’ officers ran through the centre of the room and as one would leave another would sit down. Guess the Canadian border isn’t keeping them hopping! The bill came to $9 – good deal!

The chip was fixed when we got back to Shelby Glass; we paid the $40 and drove the couple of miles back to Maggie and Caesar. We found out from Wayne and Bev that the ‘animal-control’ officer showed up about an hour before we returned; he obviously responded to the message immediately. The dog wasn’t outside when he got there but he posted a notice on the dog’s water dish – not sure what it said. We did some cleanup and maintenance and hit the road shortly after 11am.

It wasn’t long before we left the plains behind and started through the foothills. Just around Browning, we caught sight of the Rockies – I’m always awe-struck - a wall of mountains appearing suddenly after miles of flat land. The mist, which must be smog, I guess, was thick and veiled the distant peaks. We found out later that it wasn’t smog but a forest fire that had been burning for nine days at the east side of Glacier Park.


The last time we were in Glacier National Park, about four years ago, we had our old Class C motorhome (Maggie 1) and no tow vehicle. So we weren’t able to complete the Road to the Sun, the road that runs across the park, as it doesn’t allow vehicles longer than 21 feet and we didn’t have time to book a tour through. We had to get back to work in those days. – Hahahahaha!

For convenience, we pulled into one of the park’s large campgrounds for two nights on the west side of the park, under the tall pines, figuring it would be lovely and cool. Hah! Not so. The afternoons were blazing hot and stiflingly still. As usual, we paid our ‘senior’ fees of $7.50 a night into the self-registration box and made ourselves at home in a pull through space. Well, we found out through this experience in Glacier Park, that if Fernie or I ever became incarcerated, we would have a nervous breakdown or at least hourly temper tantrums because that’s how we felt - as if Big Brother was watching over us every minute.

Within a half an hour, an aging ranger came to our door.
“You didn’t put your Golden Access # on your registration” he whined.
“What’s that?” questioned Fernie, innocently.
“Well, you gotta have one to get yer half price camping.” He continued, officiously.
“So how do we get one” pursued Fernie.
“You gotta be a citizen of the United States of America,” he said, his chest puffed out like a pigeon with pride.
“Doesn’t say that on the sign” said Fernie.
“Sure does” the old geezer answered
“Where does it say I’ve got to be a US citizen?” Fernie wasn’t going to give up easily.
“It asks for your Golden Access number” the old fxxx was starting to get mighty cranky by now.
“How am I supposed to know what a golden access number is?” said Fernie
Old guy just sputtered and Fernie said “Oh alright, just put the $15 down for one night then.

There were more rangers than campers it seemed. They cruised around in their mini trucks; they walked around looking at everyone’s sites and registration posts; they appeared out of nowhere asking “What is it you need ma’am?”. Then we read the rules! Two pages of how we were to behave while camping in Glacier National Park.
“Generators can only be run three times a day – 7 to 9am, 12 to 2pm, and 5 to 7pm.” And there wasn’t a chance that we’d get away with a minute later than that. Fernie put out our little Honda generator and again, out of nowhere appeared another old geezer ranger “Now, you know the hours that you can use that?” he said rhetorically
He proceeded to slowly recite the full rule and the precise hours.
“See - - - breakfast, lunch and dinner” he said.
I held back from saying that we don’t eat our meals by a timetable. A young family across from us in a Minnie Winnie Class C, put their generator on at 7:30pm (it wasn’t loud). They had just got back from the lake and were going to prepare dinner.
“Let’s watch and see how long they get away with that” I said to Fernie.
Thirty seconds later, at the most a brown shirted ol geezer ranger marched up the road and into their campsite.

When we were leaving a couple of days later, Fernie pulled Maggie out of the dump station and I, in the Honda was going to find a place for us to hook up the tow vehicle.
“Ma’am” I heard and ignored
“Ma’am” louder now and I saw a little wrinkled figure running after my car. I stopped this time.
I just looked quizzically at him.
“You can’t hook up yer vehicle in here” he said bossily
“I wasn’t planning on it” said I.
He continued on, talking over me “You gotta go to the big parking lot up front”.
I started driving off.
“Ma’am” demandingly, at the top of his lungs now. “Don’t go that way”.
I impatiently waved out the window at him.
He ran through the trees and flagged me down as I came down the next row. “I told you, don’t go that way. Don’t follow your husband – just go up to the parking lot and wait and I’ll tell your husband where to meet you”
I couldn’t be bothered arguing and went to check out the parking lot and turned around to make sure Fernie was coming the right way.
“Ma’am” right across the campsite - he was yelling, waving madly and beet red with impatience. I ignored him and waited where I wanted to for Fernie. As Maggie approached, I led the way through the trees to the ‘big’ parking lot and what did I spy coming through the forest but the ol’ geezer waving me in on the right. I arbitrarily pulled in on the left. He was sputtering with infuriation by now and tried to guide Fernie in but Fernie would only go where I told him, so I waved him in and snarkily told the old guy. “We’re ok; we know what we’re doing; don’t bother yourself ”.

The contrary inconsistency about all this is that with a huge forest fire burning on the east side of the park, they allowed huge campfires. Then about 11 at night, they didn’t manage to quieten a group of campers, obviously drunk and out of control. “That’s the last time we’re coming to this place” were Fernie’s last words.

In between these episodes, we did drive the ‘Going-to-the-Sun Road’ (both ways) and it was spectacular. It gradually climbed up the precipitous mountainside up to the peaks - it’s fifty miles across. After so many weeks in the plains, we appreciated the mountains more than ever – the trees, the wildflowers, the glaciers, the waterfalls beside the road, the velvety low-lying shrubs above the tree line, the gophers, the ground squirrels, the mountain goats and the cool mountain air (at least in the morning).

We were hampered by Caesar though. We couldn’t do any of the hikes that we would have so loved to do. Caesar has not progressed well since he hurt himself chasing waves on that rocky beach in New Brunswick. He walks awkwardly and bow-legged now – his back end seems permanently stiffened. When he awakes from a long sleep, he finds it hard to get up. He is unable to climb, jump or chase his toys and balls. It is so sad because the urge is still there but when he tries it, he hurts himself.

Two lane highway; Goin my way; Movin fast; Two lane highway; Is taking us home; Home at last

Aug 2 - 6, 2006

Maggie was due for an oil change and check-up and we’d made an early appointment at the Ford dealer in Spearfish, South Dakota. While they inspected her, we stocked up on groceries before heading north.


Belle Fourche, SD is billed as the ‘Geographical Center of the US’. I don’t understand that. If you look at a map, somewhere further south and east would seem more correct. We passed through the historic town on our way to North Dakota via highway 85. The 150 or so miles due north were through a lot of ‘nothing’ – grazing lands and barren waste, mile after mile. We were headed for the Theodore Roosevelt National Park, which is in two sections. We pulled into the south unit and registered for two days at the park campground ($5/night for seniors but no hookups). It was beside the Little Missouri River and was full of large cottonwood trees. We had a beautiful, big and private site open to the narrow valley where the river runs through and wildlife roam free. We were able to walk through the meadows and along the river – it was delightful but it wore poor ol’ Caesar out.

When we pulled in, the campsite beside us was occupied with a tent, a couple of chairs and a canoe but the inhabitants were nowhere to be seen. They returned about an hour later and appeared aghast that a ‘big motorhome’ would be beside them. We watched as they stared, walked to the pole where our registration was posted, talked animatedly with pxxxxed off faces, walked back over to their campsite, discussed it some more and put the chairs in the car, put the canoe on top of the car and the tent (in open position) on top of the canoe. (It reminded me of the IKEA commercial where the VW can’t get under the bridge). That was that – we didn’t see them again. We couldn’t help ourselves; we chuckled with enjoyment.

About 9pm, we put our little ‘whisper-quiet’ Honda generator on to watch a bit of TV and use the computer. About a half an hour later, a woman came to our door asking us to shut it off. “Didn’t you know that generators aren’t allowed after 8pm” she said. I did know but I said I didn’t but told her we’d shut it down right away. I found myself quite aggravated (irrationally, I suppose). I held myself back from being snarky and telling her that their big motorcycle offends my ears every time they drive past. They were in a tent about 200 feet away and the generator was barely audible, just a gentle buzz from over there. However, empathetic person that I am, I understood how mechanical noise would mask the sounds of nature and that was why they were out there. So I missed an episode of “So You Think You Can Dance” and I love that show.

The strange thing about both those sets of tenters was that they chose to camp in the end of the campground with the large pull-through sites that are designed for RV’s when there’s a special section for tenters. I guess we’d better stick to Walmart in the future – we’re far more welcome and can run our generator all night if we want. No one ever complains.

It got so chilly about 3am that we pulled our duvet on top of us. How wonderful to feel real cold again.


A beautiful sunny day greeted us, that was to become a bit too hot later but we’re now pros at beating the heat. We took Caesar along with us on the 36-mile loop road through the park. The wildlife in the south unit is different from that in the north. Southside has bison, elk, wild horses and lots of those little darlings – the prairie dogs, while the north end has wild longhorn cattle and big horn sheep. Both ends have badger, coyotes and golden eagles.

Caesar absolutely loved watching the antics of the prairie dogs – he’d hang out the window and quiver with delight, occasionally whimpering with the desire to go out and give chase. We saw large herds of bison grazing and rolling in the dust, but came across one massive lone bull only a few feet from the side of the road. His scent must have tickled Caesar’s nose because our pooch was up and almost out the window after him, barking crazily, which is something he seldom does. The bison slowly turned his heavy head threateningly and we figured it was wise to move along before he charged us.



The terrain is considered to be “Badlands” but I would call it “not very bad lands” because there was a lot of greenery – cottonwoods near the river and creeks; juniper on the north facing hillsides.

Medora, an historic town built around a meat packing empire is nestled at the entry to the south unit of the park. Its major tourist draw, other than the park, is the Pitchfork Steak Fondue followed by a musical play in a western theme – lots of cowboy music. Fernie had gone without red meat for three months (a record for him), so it got his mouth watering to a point of craving. The Pitchfork Steak Fondue is a literal description. Narrow pitchforks are loaded with rib-eye steaks and bubbling cauldrons of hot oil await. The steak-carrying pitchfork is plunged into the hot oil and Voila! minutes later medium rare to medium steaks.

It’s held atop a high plateau in the open air. There was a single sitting at 6:30pm. Long picnic tables were set up, some under cover and some outside. There was enough room for about 500 and it was close to capacity. The country western musical theatre group entertained from a stage in the corner while the cowbell rang to signal dinner was starting. We couldn’t believe our eyes when 95% of the diners rushed up to stand in a long line-up in the full hot sun. We watched as they returned to their tables, a huge steak on one plate and another plate heaped with salad, baked beans, baked potato and garlic bread. As the line dwindled to just a few, we joined it. I had chosen the half-size steak (5oz) and they gave me a black plate. Fernie who chose the full 11 oz one got a white plate. We watched as they plunged our steaks into the huge vats and pulled them out minutes later. There was no choice on how you wanted it cooked. A sign read, “We strive to cook all our steaks medium rare to medium”. Well they came out perfect and delicious – and I’m the one who says, “I don’t eat red meat”. The cost of this cowboy barbecue was $18 for the small and $22 for the large including the buffet of side dishes, dessert and lemonade.

Oh, the reason I mentioned the colour of our plates was that I looked over the panorama of folks ‘chowing down’ and I only saw a couple of black plates. I can’t believe how people can eat such huge chunks of meat – Fernie couldn’t finish his and neither could I. Caesar was delighted at the doggy bag we brought back for him.








We declined the hard sell on tickets for the country western musical following even though they insisted, “You’ll be sorry you missed it”. I replied “ We have to get back to our dog; it’ll be too hot for him in the motorhome”. Caesar saved us!

On our return, we noticed a beat up pickup truck in the spot beside us. A dark-skinned, long-curly-haired, young man sat cross-legged at the picnic table chugging down a beer. Not a good first impression and ‘Dang blastit!’ (That’s my new cowboy cuss phrase) we wouldn’t be able to run our generator again. He gave us a wave as we got out of our car and Fernie answered with a loud and friendly ‘Hiya!’

I made Caesar his dinner of steak and yogurt while Fernie got out our lounge chairs and made us a drink, which we took outside to imbibe. Within five minutes, our neighbour sauntered over and what a ‘handsome dude’ he was – drop dead gorgeous! Even Fernie agreed.
“How’re you doin?” he asked with a strong southern accent.
“That’s a fine southern drawl you have, where are you from?” I answered a question with a question.
“Kentucky – Lexington” he drawled as he sank down onto a big rock.
He introduced himself as Cory and shook both our hands. Caesar was immediately drawn to him and sat close in front of him so he could be petted. He must be a good guy then, right?
He was about thirty years old and got out of the US air force just over a year ago after he spending some time in Iraq and Afghanistan without seeing much action.
“Iraq is the hottest place I’ve ever been to” he said “and I’m used to Kentucky where the humidity is so high that you get out of a shower and you’re sweating right away”.
He told us that just a couple of months ago he completed a four month bicycle trip with a group of fourteen right through Africa from north to south.
“The Garden Route just north of Cape Town is the most beautiful place on earth” he said “and I’ve travelled a lot – been travelling since I got out of college”.
“I’m just about running out of money now, but I’m heading up to Alaska first and I’m going to stop by Whistler to see my girl friend on the way”.
“It’s getting time for me and my girlfriend to settle down, buy a house in a small town in the mountains and get a job teaching basketball in the local high school”.
He excused himself with “Just a minute while I run over and get my Ramen noodles”.
He was back in a flash with the pot of noodles and a spoon and two cans of Coors beer, sank back down onto the rock, Caesar beside him and asked us about what we were doing and where we were headed. He was a charming guy and really entertained us for a couple of hours. He also said “No problem” when Fernie asked him if our small generator would bother him.



Next morning we drove seventy miles up to the north section of the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. En route we saw cowboys riding the range inspecting fences and just looking very romantic and glamorous. We passed a ranch with a fenced compound at the side of the highway that contained two bulls. The odd thing was that one was a longhorn bull and the other a bison bull.

We registered to stay one night at the Juniper campground. The day started much hotter and the temperature continued to climb to an uncomfortable level – somewhere in the high 90’s F but after the 113 degrees in Deadwood, we weren’t complaining. Instead we vegged out, reading and writing and snoozing under the shade of the cottonwood trees. We roused ourselves in the afternoon to take the drive around the park and the cool of the car’s A/C was rejuvenating. Caesar really enjoyed it. There was little wildlife to be seen; the heat of the day had probably sent them under cover. The scenery was terrific though – from ‘badlands’ to forest, to grasslands.

We didn’t even try to break the rules and kept our generator off in the evening. We laid under the stars watching for the shooting kind and eventually went in and played a couple of games of cards – ‘Spite and Malice’.



A breeze broke the still air in the early morning and by the time we got up, it was a full-fledged wind rustling the leaves to sound like the chink of coins in a casino. The temperature dropped twenty degrees to somewhere in the 70’s – thank goodness.



Our next destination was Glacier National Park in western Montana, so we faced the fact that there was going to be a lot of boring prairie scenery on the way. We stopped for gas in Wolf Point, Montana and a group of five ‘biker’s were filling up their motorcycles ahead of us.
“Are you headed for Sturgis?” I asked. “We just left there a couple of days ago and it was already full of bikers”
“Yeah we are, we figure on getting there later today – been goin’ to it for five years now”
I asked them if they camped in the fields and they told me they did but the ranchers charged $40/night just to pitch a tent. Those guys who looked so tough and mean in their leathers were delightful and wanted to pursue the conversation with us.

Otherwise, it was an uneventful day and we stopped for the night in the Hi-Line RV park in Glasgow, Montana. No Walmarts and no boondocking opportunities unless we went way out in the country to the National Forest Service campgrounds but that would take time and cost more in gas than the $15 they advertised as the charge. It provided full services in an industrial setting and it was almost empty – just one other RV. There was no place to register so we just pulled into a pull-through site, hooked up the electricity and water figuring someone would come around to collect, but they never did.

Montana’s nickname is ‘Big Sky Country’ but so far travelling on US2 from east to west, I’d call it ‘Big Yawn Country’. Flat prairie, small farming towns, ‘Indian Reservations’, sagebrush, wheat, range cattle, railway line, telephone poles and the most expensive gasoline that we’ve seen $3.269/gallon. It was so boring driving this stretch of highway that the squished insects on the windshield became a topic of conversation.
We settled in early at the small town of Shelby, Montana in the city campsite beside their reservoir. It was very green and shady and provided hookups. A motorhome just down from us had a Direcway Internet satellite dish out but he had the connection secured so I was unable to access a signal. A man walked by as we were setting up our TV satellite dish and struck up a conversation and introduced himself – Wayne from Tennessee just returning from Alaska with his wife Bev and a beagle. It turned out he was the Direcway dish owner and he asked me if I used WIFI and I said ‘when I can get it’ and he offered to allow me access to his for the rest of the day. I jumped at the offer and he did all the setup for me. He looked too young to be retired, and he told us he worked on the road – some sort of techie stuff – electronics/software; he didn’t want to elaborate, probably thought that we wouldn’t understand.

While we were in town shopping, we stopped at the Visitors’ Bureau and were given four ‘Outdoor Adventure Gift Packs’. They contained toothpaste, granola bars, body wash, and that sort of thing. Fernie decided to take two of the packs over to Wayne and Bev to say thank you and they invited him in for a visit.

Guess it’s obvious how the evening was spent. We had to schedule for who had online access when.

The Wild, Wild West

Aug 1, 2006

Cool, cool morning! I love it. A glorious, fresh day waited for us to explore and enjoy. We were euphoric and giddy with what we usually take for granted – cool, clear weather.

We decided to visit ‘The Headquarters’ – Sturgis, the centre of what’s happening, biker-wise. So much fun - us and 50,000 bikers. The main street had been changed into biker utopia, full of biker gear – leather chaps and jackets, logo t-shirts, skullcaps, scarves, chains, hats, saddlebags. Bikes were parked everywhere; cars were the minority. The bars were overflowing onto the sidewalks. The ‘Christian Biker Movement’ had set up benches all along the street and they were well used. I approached a long lean blonde who had a tiny dog on her (actually his) lap. The dog named Harley, a poodle/yorkie cross was dressed in a Harley Davidson leather skullcap and vest. I couldn’t resist. I was so surprised when the long blonde haired person turned out to be an extremely attractive male and hopefully didn’t show my shock. I asked him where he got such a cute little outfit and he answered “Oh, Momma got it at the Harley store; it was on a stuffed animal, so Momma bought the whole thing”. With that, along came Momma, not at all what I expected – she was a large boned tough looking and talking woman not the cute little biker gal I anticipated.

While I was taking a picture of a corpse in biker gear in a storefront, from behind I heard “He’s a good-looking dude, ain’t he?” and did a double take when I saw who was talking – he was dressed exactly like and was just as skinny as the corpse mannequin. I answered without thinking and put my foot right in my mouth “Oh my gawd! You’re twins – you look exactly alike”. I quickly added “Well that’s what you’ll look like in the afterlife”. He guffawed so heartily that I realized he wasn’t at all offended and thought it was pretty funny.

There are double again the number of bikers on the roads – I can’t imagine what it will be like on the weekend and all next week. Two million are expected – where will they all go? Our campground is filled with 5th Wheel toy haulers, carrying Harleys, motorhomes towing bike-carrying trailers, bikers with tents, bikers that rent cabins, and us. I saw a sign “Harleys for rent”. I tried to persuade Fernie to rent a couple of bikes, buy some leather gear and be part of the crazy scene. I halfway convinced him.
We made a second visit to Deadwood with the intention of exploring the historic areas and ignoring the casinos. Mount Moriah cemetery is situated high up on a hill overlooking the town. One-dollar admission provided us with a map of the gravesites and a bio of the notable dead. We spent a couple of hours grave crawling in the ponderosa filled burial ground. Wild Bill Hickock is buried there and Calamity Jane beside him, at her request. Wild Bill’s original gravestone was stolen and a marker that replaced it was also stolen. It makes you wonder where they are now – in someone’s basement rec room? Tossed out in a garbage dump? In somebody’s rock garden?

It was interesting reading the bios of the individuals who first populated Deadwood. They were a colourful lot. Some murdered, many died in mining accidents, children who died of diphtheria, smallpox and scarlet fever. There was a Jewish section, a Chinese section (even though most of the bodies were exhumed and sent back to China), a Civil War Veterans section, a mass grave of fifteen men killed in a boarding house fire. They all came alive for us as we read their histories.

Seth Bullock, the first sheriff of Deadwood, requested that he be buried high above the main cemetery facing Mount Roosevelt – President Teddy Roosevelt was a good friend of his in his later years. We traipsed up the steep winding path wondering why we were the only ones who tackled the climb, pausing to take a breath every so often finally reaching the lone gravesite. People had left coins all over the top of the large gravestone. What’s that in aid of? Well thanks to Seth Bullock, I burned off 500 calories.

We noted the saloon where Wild Bill was shot – Saloon #10. We took a look at the location where Seth Bullock and his partner Sol had their hardware store now occupied by the Bullock Hotel. It was only 130 years ago that Deadwood was booming and we went back in time this afternoon. When watching the next episode of Deadwood the series, we will be so much more familiar with the characters after visiting their locale.

Tomorrow, we’ll leave the Black Hills of South Dakota but it has become one of our favourite spots in the USA and we’ll always have an affection for it.

Easy Rider

July 30 – 31, 2006


Each day we travel in the Black Hills and surrounding areas, we see more and more motorcycles arriving early for the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, which starts August 7. The noise is already invasive as a group of ten or so roars crazily around the mountain roads. I can’t imagine what it will be like next week – motorcycle gridlock we’ve been warned. Almost every billboard has been tailored to appeal to bikers; every storefront invites “Welcome Bikers!”; tents are set up in dozens of surrounding towns ready for the numerous planned events; logo merchandise abounds. Harley Davidson seems to be the motorcycle of choice and they have a huge presence sponsoring so much of the rally.

The bikers are congregating like zombies in a horror movie. Every highway, street and lane funnels a new bunch down to the Black Hills and the headquarters – Sturgis, South Dakota. Hotels, motels, campgrounds are booked solid for the week prior to and the week of the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally 2006 and yet a majority of them camp out on the vast grazing lands surrounding the town. I was shocked to hear the expected turnout. Last year 800,000 registered and a whole bunch more didn’t register. There’ll be even more in 2006. YIKES! Gotta get outa here! From the very young in their late teens and early twenties to the portly aging grey-pony-tailed gang, there’s no shortage of money by the looks of their bikes. The older, more affluent arrive in their huge fancy diesel-pusher motorhomes, pulling matching trailers that hold their shiny Harleys. Hardly any of the bikers wear helmets – there’s no helmet law here. Can’t imagine the carnage if there’s a collision or wipe-out.

Passport America has been a wonderful investment - $37 for the first fifteen months. There are so many campgrounds that honour the membership giving a 50% discount. Rush-No-More (clever play on words) in Sturgis allowed us three days at half price in spite of the increasing number of motorcyclists arriving each day. A good location, only a half a mile off I90, set in the edge of a ponderosa pine forest at the foot of a hill, excellent wifi and only $12.50/night. It was only an hour’s drive from Hermosa and we were checked in at 10:30am.

The temperatures have built day-by-day arriving at a crescendo today (Sunday, July 30) of 113 degrees F. This weather is intolerable to us and to the locals who can’t bear it either and grumble constantly. Diane, the proprietor of Rush-No-More said with a laugh “I don’t do heat, I’m too big a gal”. She went on to grumble “and I have to clean the toilets and showers in this heat”. I totally sympathised knowing I couldn’t do it – but then I couldn’t clean public toilets in any weather – Yuck!

The historic town of Deadwood had a particular interest to us as we follow an HBO series “Deadwood” a gritty (a mild word which really means full of swearing, nudity, sex and violence) and accurate depiction of life in the old western mining town in the late 1800’s. Wild Bill Hickock was shot while playing poker in Saloon #10 – holding aces and eights at the time which is now referred to as a “deadman’s hand”. His grave and that of Calamity Jane are in the Mount Moriah cemetery, high above town.

Deadwood is only ten miles out of Sturgis, reached bay a winding road climbing up into the mountains. It’s tucked into a narrow valley and it was really hot. We slithered down the shady side of Main Street, slipping in and out of casinos and shops getting a good blast of A/C at each stop. Bikers were everywhere – the bars and casinos full of shaved heads and tattooed torsos (on the men) – long blonde hair, tight jeans or ridiculously short shorts, halter-tops and also tattoos (on the women).

The casinos on Main Street were very small replicating the originals but they weren’t appealing because everything was shabby and children were allowed to run wild even handling the slot machines – the opposite of Nevada. Finding a decent restaurant was impossible – the choice was between fast food and grimy buffets. We enjoyed imagining the town historically though.

Back at the motorhome, Caesar was as cool as a cucumber; he’d snoozed the day away happily. This area is not prone to brownouts in the heat as it is the east so we weren’t worried about Caesar frying inside but we left a vent and ceiling fan in case. We hate being encased inside with the AC but it’s impossible to open windows until much later on. We turned off the AC about 2AM and opened all the windows but left a fan running in the bedroom.



Sudden still heat woke us about 5AM. We couldn’t understand it, as that’s usually the time the welcome chill descends. About ten minutes later, a strong wind arose which eventually drew in cooler air. We dozed back off and awoke later to a beautiful cool morning – the heat wave was over and we could now expect normal weather – high 80’s and low 90’s for the next five days. We were overjoyed to finally get a reprieve.


Caesar joined us on a journey to Wyoming’s Devils Tower, a 1,000-foot volcanic columnar extrusion that was used in the movie “Close Encounters of the Third Kind”. It was monumental when we stood at its base gazing up at the rope-like columns, imagining the huge thrust of the magma that created this extraordinary formation. Around the base is a 1-½ mile trail circling the tower that winds its way through the pine forest. Chirpy, cheeky little chipmunks scampered all over daring us to catch them. We were able to view Devils Tower from all angles and on the backside, the trail ran right alongside the steep perpendicular columns. Huge long slabs of pillars that had broken away lay at the bottom and put into perspective how massive the tower is.

Four officials dressed in climbing gear, pulling on gloves and helmets as they strode past us were hurrying to aid a novice climber who was stuck on a ledge half way up. Approximately 4,000 people a year attempt the challenging climb up the sheer tower and I think they’re used to rescuing the neophytes.

Along I-90 on our return, a dozen or so cars were pulled over to both sides of the highway and we could see smoke rising from the median between the east and west lanes. We thought a car was on fire but it was the dry grass that was blazing and a couple of dozen people were beating the flames with anything they had available. As they beat them, another burst of fire would spring up increasing the size of the burning area by the minute. Some IDIOT flicking a cigarette butt out their car window apparently caused it. Fire trucks zoomed past us five minutes later – I hope they got it under control.

We loved the cool day – isn’t it amazing that the high 80’s can be called cool but it’s an area of low humidity. If it were humid, it would be stifling. We didn’t need to use the AC and we had a delightful evening.