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710<a href='http://twitter.com/oneyeartrip/'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZq4awIGo217hurcd30wi_ysAiB3v7-9Hq2UOxpJ6lH8u9GZpVCY86kYc3yrUwfp2GS_4fskRoGTkqOfwRIyYWcwBbvn9CPFyduwtrOttcGy_Y_loHiOumuW2FXC5gkYqw9zWwTVBk6R9/s320/twitterbutton.gif' width='145'/></a>&#160;<a href='http://feeds2.feedburner.com/oneyeartrip'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghZuK09RuTsFMTs34PFXarPQAUys2J1PuhkoVuS9_szRkaAR1cVBpJW7BLzvGRjsZYnmQ4oqWVCnJyDXJhtLdDEWYPfEzOIJOTHpAGdzsZ7Pu_cOsxAocpkI1KW-BO7wszaTZTMIhbHhfP/s320/rssbutton.gif' width='145'/></a>&#160;
711
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789<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/06/top-10-things-to-do-in-edinburgh-or-so.html">Things to do in Edinburgh #1</a>
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809<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/03/week-in-new-york-city.html">One Week in New York City</a>
810
811<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/02/four-days-in-tokyo.html">Four Days in Tokyo, Japan</a>
812
813
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819<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/03/three-hundred-and-sixteen-dollars.html">Ways to Spend $316.00</a>
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830
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837<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/08/trip-planning-part-0-index-summary.html">Part 0: Index / Summary</a>
838<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/07/helpful-tips-for-planning-year-long.html">Part 1: Planning Destinations</a>
839<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/07/helpful-tips-for-planning-year-long_30.html">Part 2: Budget / Culling</a>
840<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/07/helpful-tips-for-planning-year-long_4586.html">Part 3: Hotels vs Hostels</a>
841<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/07/helpful-tips-for-planning-year-long_5975.html">Part 4: Internet Research</a>
842<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/07/helpful-tips-for-planning-year-long_5083.html">Part 5: Tour Groups / Solo Travel</a>
843<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/07/helpful-tips-for-planning-year-long_9788.html">Part 6: Important Travel Gear</a>
844<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/07/helpful-tips-for-planning-year-long_1365.html">Part 7: Packs / Packing</a>
845<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/07/helpful-tips-for-planning-year-long_3932.html">Part 8: Medical Requirements / Travel Insurance</a>
846<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/08/trip-planning-part-9-saying-goodbye.html">Part 9: Saying Goodbye / Staying Connected</a>
847<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/08/trip-planning-part-10-no-fear-travel.html">Part 10: No Fear Travel</a>
848<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/08/trip-planning-bonus-part-overlooked.html">Bonus: Overlooked Travel Tips and Tricks</a>
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1081<h2 class='title'>favourite Articles</h2>
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1083<center><span style="font-size:78%;">
1083Top 10 Things to Always Pack<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/02/10-things-to-never-leave-home-without.html">
1084<img style="border: 1px solid rgb(85, 136, 170)  ! important;" width="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtx0HvArfZ6wLB4pKb-OWKI4UNWTbM9GAS7SHF3jqdzXMbcVkgCH7EEINej578zGtlV6RIiXo66H0dAPvgHP9ihyphenhyphen1FW-C2adLvvOFA4LsJhEonH1pFp0xILo89f03kZ3T4rWbf0Jd-GxE/s200/all.jpg"/></a>
1085
1086<br/>Toronto Anime Walking Tour<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/04/anime-lovers-guide-to-city.html">
1087<img style="border: 1px solid rgb(85, 136, 170)  ! important;" width="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREBtMmaUyxYJZ9LWm9FzCjlBtD4Weqfv9z615OhDRq5kmaN_DiVypm6KS9zpVhO8_AV10EdU0EiYwzKNnNHs7_qm8_fb2EuPj66lvV86FCtCB-GgZjfN9p2CjJbN2KPN56dQlvR_8R-Bx/s320/manga.jpg"/></a>
1088
1089<br/>10 Offbeat Tokyo Experiences<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/02/top-10-offbeat-experiences-in-tokyo.html">
1090<img style="border: 1px solid rgb(85, 136, 170) ! important;" width="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUA_4QN3AeIM3rwjuk_q1p5ZHmDTY3811-YgazMZKdiNUwqAJkXHAJXLol3walPUogv_z06xx2KfPvFDib2eHNgddY7Fn_15fQFNeiePfqSAILOan4cM_7Pr0LXJhNkiXciP4OWyOUiFew/s800/haragraf.jpg"/></a>
1091
1092
1093<br/>Tilley Endurables<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/08/tilley-endurables.html">
1094<img style="border: 1px solid rgb(85, 136, 170) ! important;" width="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVMJpC6HsShcsxwg-rGOYAdno6-poRfnIArTOHADDNxWO81aLGKnSXYiUeO6Iu06jcjCBigREBYyNhRO5Rq13_rR64WajNAG8smo9nSooBn-HQmLG4CPdnZauJCJU7n-PvVv1bIlHv1vIt/s320/tilley.jpg"/></a>
1095
1096
1097<br/>Graffiti: Pure Artform<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/04/graffiti-pure-artform.html">
1098<img style="border: 1px solid rgb(85, 136, 170)  ! important;" width="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaKKCC1V5Cbaf_YJxXjhQ51qg4KofzVnrYCxTaq-GFVSrS45aOvY2SGy47w5ELPNr8UzPTdwEh3grAn4c2RJZMozHbcR5LewiyiZfXSkQn1bLSN13SocAF0QoGcmUuaEi6oTYWdObWY_LY/s400/cntowerwide.jpg"/></a>
1099
1100<br/>Dinosaurs in YYZ<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/08/there-are-dinosaurs-in-yyz.html">
1101<img style="border: 1px solid rgb(85, 136, 170)  ! important;" width="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3-IbYhdCF9CfMoJxGsdljGJoRRmOWNE2YESUI9sf838OlKxW79J9MoM4PLt-keXcIjQM0hUiWn5a0gj0hSo3cFriKwzcjpve5P9BPqYRNamgUwc0XBYzcU0CRwxpHkkw-uSXpaCc5ueDw/s400/IMG_2904.JPG"/></a>
1102
1103
1104<br/>Brooklyn Bridge Crossing<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/03/brooklyn-bridge-crossing.html">
1105<img style="border: 1px solid rgb(85, 136, 170) ! important;" width="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnjbxGbRlDF4zkFIKF00LzTDWMMvia8sYfwB9Mun3PRyMvJw94iltiJHwDTUbPIS1Xu8e5c25Ci2kQsuY9DAPZFsJVYCCX_aVnhsyNZ4m128rYr3C22GM_7VCzptzQW8ioy4kyC9SHqY5n/s640/IMG_5587.JPG"/></a>
1106
1107<br/>How to Spend: $316.00<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/03/three-hundred-and-sixteen-dollars.html">
1108<img style="border: 1px solid rgb(85, 136, 170) ! important;" width="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixJauW-U7RCODKdvBEKVvCU9W-xjpqYACpV8Z37xyebobZpHvtxFTXOYQLXAVuNuYiv_oaIBSZx1b0FvuonqQpPAREd05y2Y9UkW_qlQOeYhkGsU1Ai5cCJH1d7mJ88xeZCa0Jf47ik8FK/s320/gumballs.jpg"/></a>
1109
1110
1111<br/>M.E.C. Shopping Extravaganza<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/02/mec-shopping-extravaganza.html">
1112<img style="border: 1px solid rgb(85, 136, 170) ! important;" width="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhklU00NemVkqq7FML3X58TmFQxgBKDBGYhlAsjP7epEbwPyUK1G3FCDfVTcf9F8R6wmjpWC3f4gdUq7MRxvcP94IyCynNPaPO3cbwCuj4XsnZrknWtylkCueHCts9-86-LMRvxO946UH9t/s400/boxers.jpg"/></a>
1113
1114
1115<br/>Departures: Travel Show 
1116<a href="http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/02/departures-greatest-travel-show.html">
1117<img style="border: 1px solid rgb(85, 136, 170) ! important;" width="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwODYh9JP_oE81TMDBdM7Ws8Xc_k58rU09tnrG9c-sNHfX1bOzzG48DfdMPBjXbYlVMDOUYgq2SP2zLo01kaY4ONDO2g2WZwFXKWd_SNrYGuh9jmWTGVnMKQaBhi5FAyX8BOVupjwSR-ju/s400/departures.JPG"/></a></span></center>
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1121</div>
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1128
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1130        
1131<h2 class='date-header'><span>Monday, September 13, 2010</span></h2>
1132
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1139<a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2010/09/yellowstone-grand-loop-road.html'>Yellowstone: The Grand Loop Road</a>
1140</h3>
1141<div class='post-header-line-1'></div>
1142<div class='post-body entry-content'>
1143<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK47MhSoZwoVdp2_DzOUB5A4xQCdpR7V0UjJwpcHfW22xYWaXx3e71ZoRTZOI5GUI6JBp-O9TklMUWmmbfIKkUl6Bf7a0gAxDP5u9nSeDcC-uz_XXZ8fMtIcNXhMM3FiXHEOy9A6f4kUJ7/s1600/IMG_4906.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516294016036743986" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK47MhSoZwoVdp2_DzOUB5A4xQCdpR7V0UjJwpcHfW22xYWaXx3e71ZoRTZOI5GUI6JBp-O9TklMUWmmbfIKkUl6Bf7a0gAxDP5u9nSeDcC-uz_XXZ8fMtIcNXhMM3FiXHEOy9A6f4kUJ7/s320/IMG_4906.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>September 11th, 2010.  Todays marks, amongst other things, the ninth anniversary of my first even University class.  I wonder what that version of myself would think of this version of myself.  He might probably ask, &#8220;where's the trench coat?&#8221;<br /><br />We got up determined to do what the ranger said was impossible &#8211; see Yellowstone Park in one day.  Step one was accomplished.  We were still alive.  The guy we let camp in our site turned out not to be a murderer.  Well, he didn't murder us, anyway, so there's that. <br /><br />Step two would involve fueling up the car &#8211; the Yellowstone Grand Loop Road is not a short one. <br /><br />Step three was something about breakfast. <br /><br />But then &#8211; then, step four.  Start driving the loop.  From Mammoth Springs we headed east along the top of the loop, travelling the opposite direction from where we set out yesterday.  I had hoped that travelling this way would put the sun in the right spot as we made our way around the park.  It would get up to Old Faithful while the sun was right, anyway. <br /><br />Making the clockwise loop we headed out to where the ranger had, yesterday, suggested we might find bison.  There were no bison.  Not even one little bison to be seen along the whole stretch of road.  But that was alright &#8211; we were too occupied looking at the &#8220;silly cars only&#8221; club.  It seemed that a half dozen Model Ts were making their way around the park.  These were not unlike the cars we saw coming out of the Redwood park a while back.  Something strange was a foot.  Seeing one of these cars?  Fine.  But a whole convoy of them?  No.  I could not accept something this ridiculous as they bumbled along the roads, both paved and dirt.<br /><br />Our first stop was a six mile road that ran parallel to the main loop.  Apparently we would see some lovely sights.  I wouldn't know &#8211; I was too busy trying not to bottom out on the ungraded dirt path.  Go back, go back, I may have been screaming at myself &#8211; but it was all for not, as it was a one way road, and other cars had unwittingly followed in behind us, expecting to see something wonderful that just was not to be.<br /><br />Thirty minutes later, emerging victorious if not a little beaten, we found our first pull off.  A petrified tree.  That's right &#8211; another special tree.  It seems like this country is just full of them.  Now you can't just drive to the tree, there's a little walk involved, about two or three minutes in length.  This wouldn't seem like much, but when you see the tree, it's all fenced off and really &#8211; it just looks like a short trunk.  I appreciate that it is an amazing feat, petrified when half of the United States was covered with volcanic ash from the eruption of the volcano which is the Yellowstone National park &#8211; but, still &#8211; just a tree.  Saw it, checked it off the list, and kept driving.<br /><br />Next up was a river and a waterfall.  The light was in the wrong direction for photographs, and with Katherine failing to act as my counter balance, taking on my somewhat jaded opinions as her own, we both shrugged claiming, &#8220;I've seen water before,&#8221; and then headed off.  I don't know how I feel about this monster I may have helped create &#8211; I'll just tack it up to her being tired after a cold night's sleep.  Once we reached our first sight of true beauty and colour her attitude changed, and she was back to her normal, excited about the world, self.  And that always rubs off on me.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlZJg-jcrY0vF2LiPyDP514Kgsomg4jBlBEi9RLTBYHNowXk6df0ETr2J-J07Dms9aQpavRG2Swkez84ZPCc6god1GBVePysANWpVD
1143BojRrptW4CWjgDjkfDfhrrx-zpRp4bv4OUotWQZN/s1600/IMG_4910.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516294027232313698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlZJg-jcrY0vF2LiPyDP514Kgsomg4jBlBEi9RLTBYHNowXk6df0ETr2J-J07Dms9aQpavRG2Swkez84ZPCc6god1GBVePysANWpVDBojRrptW4CWjgDjkfDfhrrx-zpRp4bv4OUotWQZN/s320/IMG_4910.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>Cars were stopped in both directions &#8211; a coyote ran through the field.  Behind me a man on a scooter nearly ran into the back of our car, apparently unimpressed that we were not moving, choosing t take his anger out on us: those directly in front of him, clearly responsible for the entire flow of traffic on the road.<br /><br />We arrived at the Mud Volcanoes.  These are one of the two reasons to visit this side of the park.  Here a number of pits and pools bubble with churning mud, grey gloop springing in to the air, and settling back down into the stew festering on the surface of the earth.<br /><br />Small caves issue fowl smelling smoke, as water boils outside &#8211; here there be dragons.  Sour lakes on plateaus above contain water slowly transforming into sulphuric acid.  Swimmers be advised &#8211; jumping in is at your own risk.<br /><br />Rings of colour surround the pools, each a different type of microorganism staking claim their region.  The temperature of the water can be told be the colour &#8211; each species needing specific conditions to survive.  A living rainbow is formed with blue, the clear waters, in the centre.  These waters reach temperatures exceeding two hundred degrees Fahrenheit.  The pools boil here, and hot water can burn in less than three seconds.<br /><br />There have been cases of tourists falling in, a painful death.<br /><br />Pools of all shapes and sizes have formed, and a small trail took us past all of them in this area.<br /><br />As we proceeded farther down the Grand Loop we came upon the other reason to travel this side of the park.  The lake.  Brilliant blue, with snow capped mountains along the shore line &#8211; this is a sight not to be missed.  And while, once more, the sun was in a less than ideal position for capturing the splendor of this area, it was still remarkable. <br /><br />Near the bottom of the lake another hot springs beckoned us out of the warm car, into the chilly air.  More pools of all colours awaited us, and as we walked the board walks, built to prevent people from falling through the thin crust, we marveled at how the blues contrasting the sparkling whites of the land.<br /><br />One pot existed within the lake itself.  While the water in the vast body reaches a max of seven Celsius in the summer, in the pot it is near boiling.  Stories are told of how fishermen used to catch from the ocean, and then drop it into the geothermal pot to cook, pulling it out to eat, all without ever taking the fish off the hook.<br /><br />This is no longer allowed.<br /><br />People fell in.<br /><br />Give someone a pretty pool of boiling water, and you're just asking for trouble.  Those are the lessons best learned from Yellowstone National Park.<br /><br />Rivers of glowing yellow  cut through the shimmering surface of the rock leading steaming liquid all the way down into the lake itself.  A wonderful contrast of colours, form, and temperature.  Still, even with all this activity, the lake is cold at the best of times. <br /><br />As noon came and went we finally found ourselves back at Old Faithful.  The predicted eruption was one hour from when we arrived.  Slowly making our way through the information centre, mostly pushing buttons and pulling levels without paying attention to the education that said levers and buttons were trying to present us with, we killed half an hour.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1u-PQVNH12_rq8Cc1DspyR9TBxCbPjJ3x_SU0OibzA9xTUB280_gm2AohWe6EpMXdy7Wi_69pALy8IwYKGJ4wgHnJyrB3zqNH4Vps6siDVC-d1ObvuwSjs6uBp5LPe2tUFsUGZlg3W43U/s1600/IMG_5004.JPG" onblur
1143="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516294050069982866" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1u-PQVNH12_rq8Cc1DspyR9TBxCbPjJ3x_SU0OibzA9xTUB280_gm2AohWe6EpMXdy7Wi_69pALy8IwYKGJ4wgHnJyrB3zqNH4Vps6siDVC-d1ObvuwSjs6uBp5LPe2tUFsUGZlg3W43U/s320/IMG_5004.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" /></a>With event time near, we grabbed a seat on the bench, then on the wooden deck under the bench, as others took seats along here, which threatened to block our view, we past the time by playing Cthulhu dice.  Ten minutes before schedule, everyone took out their cameras and made ready for the experience.<br /><br />It seems sad to me, still today, that so many people &#8211; myself included, will never see the eruption, so concerned with looking at our LCD screens in order to capture it all for future posterity.<br /><br />When the water and steam did shoot up into the air, under the glowing sun, it continued for some time allowing for shot after shot, and then moments to just look and be amazed.  Yes, I'd seen geysers before.  Yes I'd seen this very one less than twenty four hours before, but seeing it now, under the afternoon sun &#8211; it really was something to behold.<br /><br />After the eruption we stopped for some lunch, and then headed to a gift shop where I asked two tellers to search their tills in hopes of coming across the elusive Iowa quarter.  No such luck.  This was beginning to seem like a lost cause.  However, we did end up with a Yellowstone National Park quarter &#8211; part of their new fifty states quarter program which is set to run the better part of the coming decade.  Maybe if we take another American road trip five to ten years from now, we'll have to find those instead.  I'm sure Iowa will continue to be elusive.<br /><br />After our meal, with full stomaches, feeling as if we'd seen everything there was to see, we started to make our way back up the loop.  Of course there were always more hot springs to stop at, one which ha a large crow living in the parking lot, taking up ominous positions on the mirrors of those who park to take a peek.<br /><br />Different colours lashed out at us.  No two pools were the same, no matter how similar.  Each demanded its own special position in the park, and its own level of attention.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje-3Gw8JqkJ-X_sx6LHJqTqjpHxgyIgxv12b6M5Nf_PlO1cQ2YLxDh7_OZz8BF53bmcTrjy-BSgCN6Szx_C0HoRnJQeDbpk3jxd3VaNZjsYsxQPXrYIXFxnM-tXomJr9HDfwKLPfoMOjDA/s1600/IMG_5111.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516294060071025746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje-3Gw8JqkJ-X_sx6LHJqTqjpHxgyIgxv12b6M5Nf_PlO1cQ2YLxDh7_OZz8BF53bmcTrjy-BSgCN6Szx_C0HoRnJQeDbpk3jxd3VaNZjsYsxQPXrYIXFxnM-tXomJr9HDfwKLPfoMOjDA/s320/IMG_5111.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>As we made our way through our final basin , the steam poured forward, obstructing all views except for the of the silhouetted photographers using the occurrence for ethereal images.<br /><br />I wondered what this area would look like in the summer, when the air war warm, and the steam &#8211; presumably &#8211; less.  I wondered what it would look like in the winter, waters still bubbling away while the land was blanketed in snow.<br /><br />Small terraces chipped into the rock, Peru in miniature.<br /><br />Oranges, blues, greens, and reds, all came to life as the sun lowered in the sky.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyEs8O2dMxzkPYYClzhaOP9Gzxu3_Du84poXgjV6fMmUsLKsG0-HZxrdyVgq7dma9ZHZRyRKIbGhloSbFaUKVXVhxZdxj54k0ak7KItmjcv2mc2Vsq0CABDpP8aASX3jN8JWf3HFrO6znU/s1600/IMG_5123.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516294238180047058" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyEs8O2dMxzkPYYClzhaOP9Gzxu3_Du84poXgjV6fMmUsLKsG0-HZxrdyVgq7dma9ZHZRyRKIbGhloSbFaUKVXVhxZdxj54k0ak7KItmjcv2mc2Vsq0CABDpP8aASX3jN8JWf3HFrO6znU/s320/IMG_5123.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10
1143px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" /></a>As we returned to our site, we paused to photograph some buffalo wandering the field.  Once more, they were in the same position they were n yesterday.  Why that ranger had suggested areas with minimal or no buffalo confused me, when clearly there was this location &#8211; plentiful with the animals.<br /><br />Cruising back to the camp site after the sun had fully set we were initially distressed to not see our tent where we had left it.  Had it been stolen?  Did the camp not think we paid for both nights?  But no &#8211; there it was, fallen and collapsed beside where we had left it.<br /><br />Inside our gear was tossed around.  We emptied the tent, and reset it back where it should be.  It didn't seem windy today, but apparently it must have been to rip the tent, pegs, and gear away from where it had been.<br /><br />One pole was slightly snapped at the end &#8211; no real problem, as they still fit together well.  Another was warped, sliced down the middle.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BQ2Y9KyNgUoaJbkLltwhyphenhyphenLtEsxVP_5Xhme3haQ725fRD3oWvBhw7iPL7nglw3Df3zZ_7D4E6RMRhxOwZKpqjjOR2YVvliPEacKn1pEiZmuRLKxrSF-Lq4o3EHtvE_N9oooz0oMcdEZUl/s1600/IMG_4949.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516294033289935698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BQ2Y9KyNgUoaJbkLltwhyphenhyphenLtEsxVP_5Xhme3haQ725fRD3oWvBhw7iPL7nglw3Df3zZ_7D4E6RMRhxOwZKpqjjOR2YVvliPEacKn1pEiZmuRLKxrSF-Lq4o3EHtvE_N9oooz0oMcdEZUl/s320/IMG_4949.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>With nothing we could do in the moment, we set it up as best we could, crawled inside, and attempted to sleep.<br /><br />Thirty minutes later something could be heard peeing on the fabric walls.  Person, dog, or beast &#8211; I do not know.  I'm not sure what I would have preferred either.<br /><br />It had been a long day &#8211; ten hours around the loop to see the park in its entirety, hiking trails, and offshoots excluded.  242 kilometers we drove from start to finish.  Yellowstone &#8211; it is a very large park.  One that you could easily spend a week in.  One that would be worth every single minute there.  But for us?  Our time here was through.  Tomorrow we'd be moving on once more &#8211; so much country left to cover, with every day eating away at the time remaining.
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1190<a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2010/09/yellowstone-national-park.html'>Yellowstone National Park</a>
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1194<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw4APAKibyzy5vUSY11B3kXdYDiDMOWDBWMj-1ecItekmGCfClg9_m5mu0bgunJSIdJ5W_RVtBTSnOvP8Njofh-rh5VTL0NJbY-7IiVKqqlXl3F9_R3SopDkz151uBex5CEb1jXb0bTtr_/s1600/IMG_4760.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516293293765470386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw4APAKibyzy5vUSY11B3kXdYDiDMOWDBWMj-1ecItekmGCfClg9_m5mu0bgunJSIdJ5W_RVtBTSnOvP8Njofh-rh5VTL0NJbY-7IiVKqqlXl3F9_R3SopDkz151uBex5CEb1jXb0bTtr_/s320/IMG_4760.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>The museum ticket we bought yesterday for the Museum of the Rockies was good for a second day as well.  With little road to cover, we thought it would make sense to spend some more time there.  And  by we, I mean me.  I love dinosaurs.  Freaking awesome.<br /><br />But what else was awesome?  The breakfast at the Super 8 Motel.  They had waffles!  Yes the elusive waffles!  Unfortunately, Katherine was sick this morning and could not enjoy the bountiful harvest laid out before us.  I made sure to eat her fair share as well, and them make some more to put aside for later, when we got hungry driving around, or felt peckish at Yellowstone.<br /><br />Yes, after the museum, where I gazed at more dinosaurs, and marveled how their appearance changed from young to full matured &#8211; looking like two or three completely different species &#8211; we got in the car, hit the road, and made our way to Yellowstone National Park.<br /><br />This is the big daddy of National Parks.  The great one.  The one in which, slightly fictionalized, a talking bear who always seems to be after someone's pick-a-nick baskets resides.<br /><br />As we entered into the town just on the outskirts of the park, I wondered what type of people were using the RV parks there?  They were more expensive than being in the park themselves.  The motels I understood &#8211; expensive, but cheaper than the lodges within the boarders &#8211; and much more comfortable than a tent.<br /><br />Then it struck me that I was here in the off season.  A constant stream of cars still past through the bricked archway marking the entrance to Yellowstone, and summer was over.  During peak season, the park must be flooded.  I imagine every spill over site on the outskirts fills up quickly too.<br /><br />It saddens me that when I go back to teaching my only travel will be during peak season &#8211; but then I've done my fair share of getting around the world this year.  Perhaps that will make up for it (it won't.)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis93shzMQFnOw5RLbcWzMGWB-nqACpTwEKslzQrLWaN9fFd2Q5CFEmOSNJfbm3mVzCoIfOVfoySvZ5TSR5lN4UFgcxdfnp9wuJlYjtg8qqsQrB8g-velVp7SrazN8xzSDGTxQ3DwbLOnF5/s1600/IMG_4682.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516293256648233042" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis93shzMQFnOw5RLbcWzMGWB-nqACpTwEKslzQrLWaN9fFd2Q5CFEmOSNJfbm3mVzCoIfOVfoySvZ5TSR5lN4UFgcxdfnp9wuJlYjtg8qqsQrB8g-velVp7SrazN8xzSDGTxQ3DwbLOnF5/s320/IMG_4682.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>Driving down the road to Mammoth Springs camp site we past a herd of elk grazing down by the river.  A large male bull elk was present, capturing the attention of many a photographer, and ranger alike.  The elk are a big draw during the month of September, as they are rutting.  Yellowstone, for this reason, keeps ranger activities, and most park services running all the way until October.<br /><br />When we dragged ourselves away from the animals, we saw the the camp sites fill up just as quickly even in the off season.  When we go there, just after two in the afternoon, we were lucky enough to snag the very last tent site.<br /><br />Katherine wanted to set up the tent, lest someone comes along and steals our site, but I was too eager to get out there and see what Yellowstone had to offer.  As the afternoon wore on the sky began to break, and we were rewarded with some of the first glimpses of blue that we had seen in what seemed like ages.<br /><br />This was an experience not to be wasted.<br /><br />In the ranger station I asked where we should start our Yellowstone experience.  The girl in full costume &#8211; uniform, perhaps, but I imagine she just bought hers at a thrift store, or something &#8211; looked at me with blank eyes.  Finally she pulled random pamphlets and showed me pictures.<br /><br />That's great, I thought &#8211; but where should I go?  What are the highlights?  I imagine this girl is asked this question no less than a dozen times an hour, and yet she had nothing ready.  Finally I asked if I should just drive the big loop road.  She still seemed dazed.  When we told her we had two nights here she seemed to give a little saying, &#8220;i guess, but it's too big for one day.&#8221;  Very well, I thought &#8211; I just said I had two.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZygq1V6P5s4seLNzhrmL46Qwt5gHsDwgXWOqJVMIM4NFFAoQx4eVVMjMJ0xkZPEceggXKBUeavKkCzDSrW_Hz3HpNd5lws2ShKGwN0pyQQUEQo3l8kTAuPnClZxglsvMdThqlmFoL2s3b/s1600/IMG_4754.JPG" onblur
1194="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516293286581354306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZygq1V6P5s4seLNzhrmL46Qwt5gHsDwgXWOqJVMIM4NFFAoQx4eVVMjMJ0xkZPEceggXKBUeavKkCzDSrW_Hz3HpNd5lws2ShKGwN0pyQQUEQo3l8kTAuPnClZxglsvMdThqlmFoL2s3b/s320/IMG_4754.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>Trying to escape her vapid look, I couldn't stop myself from speaking once more, &#8220;what are the odds of seeing bison here?  Where should I look for them?&#8221;<br /><br />She pointed off to the far side of the loop road, where I'd not be going today.  I thanked her.  I moved on.  On to the gift shop.<br /><br />Katherine was not as eager as I to spend more nights in cold tents, despite all the camping being her idea in the first place.  Her feelings of animosity towards the prospect stemmed from her not being prepared for it.  Here in the shop she would obtain a warmer top, and warm bottoms.<br /><br />I suggested the mustard hoodie, which I was later told was actually, &#8220;gold,&#8221; in colour.  She grabbed some warm track pants.  Then, as luck would have it, we discovered there was a sale today of the buy two get one free variety.  Due to this, I ended up with my very own, free, Yellowstone National Parks hoodie.  Despite the sulking and complaining about colour choices for people my sized, I quickly came to love and adore it (though I kept this a well guarded secret for reasons unknown.)  In return, I bought Katherine her very own Junior Ranger badge.  Now the world can know that she, &#8220;Kathy&#8221; (a name which she despises, but the only option in the world of Jr. Rangering) is ready to inform people on the proper ways to... I don't know, bear proof their foods?  Not get bit by rattlesnakes?  That kind of stuff.<br /><br />Finally &#8211; with all these buildings out of the way, we headed out on the Great Loop Road down towards Old Faithful.  Apparently this is a big deal.  It's the only thing I knew the park for &#8211; that there were field after field of other hot springs and geysers was beyond me heretofore. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIidYqdtY5yI7C3JYtA7NRyMHNyHzvOgph50LQTDL65GFF_ssFlS6OYwPxuCYFDHIQT67Q3pGDc7vxoShmTyXXFjC5VC6aHYjqhDcyZpPoZUb2oupYsylP9ltOybbZofc8unJjD367ZLlD/s1600/IMG_4694.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516293266233766354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIidYqdtY5yI7C3JYtA7NRyMHNyHzvOgph50LQTDL65GFF_ssFlS6OYwPxuCYFDHIQT67Q3pGDc7vxoShmTyXXFjC5VC6aHYjqhDcyZpPoZUb2oupYsylP9ltOybbZofc8unJjD367ZLlD/s320/IMG_4694.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>As we past the hot springs, steam rising up into the air, we hit a clearing with a river running through it.  Apparently a River [really does] Run[s] Through It.  That was forced.<br /><br />On the opposite side of the river a buffalo roamed.  This was not where the ranger had pointed us.  And yet there one was.  We screeched to a halt to snap pictures.  I stayed a safe distance back while Kath got close &#8211; too close, in my opinion.  Cartoon images of Buffalo goring people aren't placed all around the park just for comedic effect.<br /><br />Back in the car we drove some more, another bison.  Then another.  Then another.<br /><br />The creatures were huge hulking animals the likes of which I could not have appreciated without seeing them alive, and in the wild.  Grazers, they spend most of their time head down in the grass munching away.  They are beautiful, and powerful.  And they resemble nothing else I've ever seen.  Their heads were as big as a child.  Their whole body looked as if it could dwarf our car.  Whether this was true, or just a trick of perspective, I couldn't know.  But there they were, just wandering around, doing their thing, completely unaware with how spectacular that thing was.<br /><br />It's hard to think this country was once filled to bursting with these creatures.  Enough so that the natives could chase them over cliffs, killing them by the hundreds.  What a sight that must have been.  Hard to imagine that things could change so drastically, so quickly.<br /><br />Now I feel privileged, being granted the opportunity to gaze upon them if only for a little while.<br /><br />When we finally reached Old Faithful a sign informed us that the next blast would not be for forty five minutes.  Aroun
1194d the gift shop we walked, before making our way outside.  Together we all sat, people coming from around the park to see that which happens every 90 to 120 minutes.  As the sun set, the geyser blasted off into the air.  And there we had seen it, The Old Faithful.<br /><br />It was over fast, but it was something to say you'd seen.  Something to check off the list.  Does that make it any less of an experience?  Because it was one to be collected?  I can't say.  But with the sun down, and the colours muted, it wasn't as spectacular as I imagine it could be.<br /><br />What followed was a painful quest to find food.  You'd think it easy, but getting lost in a maze of parking lots and rapidly closing establishments did not make things easy.<br /><br />When finally our hunger was sated we began the drive back to camp, eighty eighty kilometers from Old Faithful..In the darkest of night, I carefully wove the car around twists and turns, partially letting my mind go blank, partially aware that any number of animals could spring out from the bush in an instant.<br /><br />I joined up with a convoy of a half dozen other cars.  Together we drove faster than if we were alone, all depending on the car ahead of us to move out of the way, stop, or slow down, if an obstruction presented itself.  Trusting in those ahead of my, I slowly began to relax.  It was, of course, at that moment that all the cars began to switch into the oncoming traffic lane (blessedly empty.)  Red tail lights slithered, like a terrible fire snake.  At first I wondered why, but then I put my trust in them knowing the answers to that question.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEici7lQHQ91r40ya05VSZY-GfcE0UasL1WV7Y6CVZ_XbzzrUF7DlNvfSKfZGN48BIH7Hy2eOLvVJFLzyT2AWGjuaiI7zSNIJPcA4O1oPOGa9-mZbGkcHu8h29oBdwE8-DlQbDRT3YBisIyD/s1600/IMG_4737.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516293284371134146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEici7lQHQ91r40ya05VSZY-GfcE0UasL1WV7Y6CVZ_XbzzrUF7DlNvfSKfZGN48BIH7Hy2eOLvVJFLzyT2AWGjuaiI7zSNIJPcA4O1oPOGa9-mZbGkcHu8h29oBdwE8-DlQbDRT3YBisIyD/s320/IMG_4737.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>As I pulled out, I saw what looked like a transient walking down the street, sauntering with a big cape pulled over his shoulders.  In a park with this much hitchhiking such a thing would not be unheard of, though to do it at night?<br /><br />As I neared, I saw this was no man, but rather a giant bison slowly ambling along the asphalt.    With no care, trusting that all would avoid him, he was in no hurry.  Out of the darkness, it was as if a ghost-buffalo had appeared before us.  There was an eerie still, a loud silence, as we past.  Katherine looked out through passenger window, as I focused on the road ahead.  To her, it seemed the animal was the size of the car &#8211; I pictured its large eye looking into us, perhaps questioning, perhaps uncaring.  winding back into our own lanes again, the chain of  cars moved on while the animal seemed to fade back into the darkness from which it came.<br /><br />When we returned to our camp site, the moment with the animal on the road, still strong within our minds, we wondered if we saw what we thought we saw.  Had someone set up a tent on our site?<br /><br />Walking up to it, it turned out someone had.  Slowly, awkwardly, a man said that all the sites were taken, and could he share with ours?  We sized him up.  Perhaps he was a murder &#8211; but then, so too may those in the sites along side ours.  And wouldn't a murder whom we helped be less likely to stab us in our sleep, than one we sent on his way?<br /><br />Without any real thought, we said he could, of course, stay.  He offered to pay but Katherine waved this offer away.  I agreed.  Enough people had helped me out this year, this was the least I could do.<br /><br />He did move his tent from the perch, own to the lower area, and there he spent the night far more comfortably, than if we were to have sent him away looking for another place to sleep this late in the game.<br /><br />In a sense Kath's earlier fear had been proved correct.  But, had we set up our tent earlier, who knows how the night may have progressed for this fellow?<br /><br />With day one down, we had seen a lot, experienced the animals, and marveled at the scener
1194y.  With tomorrow promising the be warm, with clear blue skies, we plotted to do what the ranger said was impossible &#8211; see Yellowstone in one day.
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1205<a class='timestamp-link' href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2010/09/yellowstone-national-park.html' rel='bookmark' title='permanent link'><abbr class='published' title='2010-09-13T03:13:00-04:00'>3:13&#8239;AM</abbr></a>
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1245<h2 class='date-header'><span>Friday, September 10, 2010</span></h2>
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1253<a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2010/09/montana-home-to-dinosaurs.html'>Montana: Home to the Dinosaurs</a>
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1257<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdtZHr2t5TzhEYdQO_GmA1Ne4WSFTFZt54g8BicYkRPucVaxLMUhEyOKWqP-Gc-zmU9X21mQr4yqoB-oSLqZMnCyfydksJCwr6cocbhjj9xxqz82g8VfKuqziHg-n2-upYbuGXEUfvWZxi/s1600/IMG_4609.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515160388561887762" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdtZHr2t5TzhEYdQO_GmA1Ne4WSFTFZt54g8BicYkRPucVaxLMUhEyOKWqP-Gc-zmU9X21mQr4yqoB-oSLqZMnCyfydksJCwr6cocbhjj9xxqz82g8VfKuqziHg-n2-upYbuGXEUfvWZxi/s320/IMG_4609.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>Waking up, I was not cold.  This must have been the first time in ages I was waking up, not terrified to get out of my sleeping bag.  The weather outside, while not all that welcoming, was not frigid and heart stopping.  I was actually glad to be awake, and excited to get up and out into the world today.<br /><br />Now that Katherine had a new memory card, we headed back into Bannack to take more photographs.  There was little reason to head back inside the buildings we'd covered so throughly the day before, but we did take the walk out to the gallows.  It was here, on this site, that the one time Sheriff of Bannack lynched by the citizens who discovered it was him behind the gang or murderous thieves in the area.  Vigilantly justice soon roamed far and wide putting an efficient end to those involved in the robbing and murdering that had taken place along the nearby roads.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0BIGn64UfeGv8ZW7LD4SCTb00sZN-oPzylnHzQLC7858NfEIq27h-475YrP3RrgeZujFucUPahTSpOhB6i3QYzhUtkuuHmsE1cy2fT4bw2mMaJsQrwejA3kionmGvDZb9UMAreM0IAGiu/s1600/IMG_4530.JPG" onblur
1257="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515160357784575378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0BIGn64UfeGv8ZW7LD4SCTb00sZN-oPzylnHzQLC7858NfEIq27h-475YrP3RrgeZujFucUPahTSpOhB6i3QYzhUtkuuHmsE1cy2fT4bw2mMaJsQrwejA3kionmGvDZb9UMAreM0IAGiu/s320/IMG_4530.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>From the hill top where the cemetery lay we could see the whole town before us.  Saying our goodbyes we headed down, and out (not before taking a quick ride on the old merry-go-round (ride at your own risk.)<br /><br />From  Bannack we hit the roads, driving out to Virginia City and Nevada City.  Nevada City was another ghost town, now turned into a tourist attraction.  The in-authenticity, despite the people wearing period clothing, made it less desirable.  It was also a sprawling town, losing the wonder created by having just one main strip.<br /><br />The reason we had come out here was to pan for gold at the nearby centre.  Katherine had been talking about this for months, her desire to pan.  When I found out this place offered it I quickly added it to our plans.  Unfortunately &#8211; it was closed.<br /><br />Off to Virginia City, two miles down the road.  This town was built in the same era, but rather than becoming a tourist attraction, the buildings were still in use.  Though, being after Labour Day, things had slowed down some.  Still &#8211; for the next two weeks, shops would still be manned.  This was a town not all that unlike Bannack, one main strip.  Here, however, the store fronts still kept themselves painted, and people still walked the raised wooden sidewalks.<br /><br />One shop advertised itself as a free museum.  And to be fair, it mostly was a free museum &#8211; but it offered the sale of books I could not turn down.  One was a song book about outlaws, and the other was the tale of Bannack's dastardly Sheriff, written by those who lynched him over one hundred years past.  How could I resist such things?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6VFvDKJZ6_v0-NY1szmM84kfBp1xb-22sAgoA3wCc3QsqPsyXpSLVNLXIMhsLomwRSNqgJTEfU5-rAnf2mQRCm8HErLle8ALs3p6HIIRclUAtqIevivJizMauokDBsOcDO4L4M3yDDtLK/s1600/IMG_4560.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515160362417819106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6VFvDKJZ6_v0-NY1szmM84kfBp1xb-22sAgoA3wCc3QsqPsyXpSLVNLXIMhsLomwRSNqgJTEfU5-rAnf2mQRCm8HErLle8ALs3p6HIIRclUAtqIevivJizMauokDBsOcDO4L4M3yDDtLK/s320/IMG_4560.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>As for the museum?  Well it was one of a kind.  It was the type of road-side museum that I had been promised would litter America.  But I tell you, that is a lie.  Having driven the highways and byways of this large country, I sought out such places, only to come up with nothing.<br /><br />This was the type of museum, that aside from having century old cash registers, and historical tools from the local area, also had a 'two bodied lamb' sharing one head in a box, and jackalopes mounted on the wall.  This was the place of oddities that I had wanted to see for months.  At last, here it was.  And I couldn't have been happier.  All of a sudden, paying for those two books doesn't seem so bad at all.<br /><br />When we had had our fill of the museum, which for some reason offered two toilets in the bathroom, but no dividers of any kind, and I had managed to drag Katherine out of the old tymey candy shop, we were back on the road once more.<br /><br />Our final stop for the day?  Bozeman.  At two in the afternoon we rolled up and got ourselves a motel.  Such luxury &#8211; a whole afternoon without worry about where we would sleep, and without sleeping outside.  This is how every day was spent at the start of our trip &#8211; but out here where miles sprawl between every point of interest?  Things had been different.<br /><br />Secure in our lodging we headed out to the reason I had stopped in this town:  The Museum of the Rockies.<br /><br />The Museum of the Rockies holds one of the best collections of Dinosaur fossils.  And while it may not be able to stand toe to toe with the Royal Tyrrell Museum in Drumheller, Alberta, it did not fail to impress.<br /><br />It also wasn't limited to dinosaurs.<br /><br />Stepping into the museum and paying our 11.50 (after AAA discount) each we were told the entire museum was laid out in a ring.  All halls would be walked through in order.  And the first hall?  A fabulou
1257s exhibit on Leonardo da Vinci.  Machines in Motion. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX51N98LE5Ta_ubEr2_HSDCywBzRa9UA2Typz76pUETbn6Ntz4IL6Ugg08UQB-JeI_iMv0TVr-pFqtjIxkB8MemHs6znS8d4E6KQbM5NEo8cDLTKAel-NZcTL2KMZJW9Gb7_KycADMJm_5/s1600/IMG_4596.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515160377601762530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX51N98LE5Ta_ubEr2_HSDCywBzRa9UA2Typz76pUETbn6Ntz4IL6Ugg08UQB-JeI_iMv0TVr-pFqtjIxkB8MemHs6znS8d4E6KQbM5NEo8cDLTKAel-NZcTL2KMZJW9Gb7_KycADMJm_5/s320/IMG_4596.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>This exhibit worked to create the various machines detailed in his codices.  Brought to life were his designs for a multi cannoned tank, various failed flying machines, machine guns, canons, and all number of pulley and rope systems. <br /><br />Here was a man of great genious, his works brought to life.  Awkwardly they seem to be making excuses for him.  This I am not a fan of.  He was presented as inventor of all the ideas, although many of the pulley and gear systems would have already existed.  It would have been interesting to see what was in existence, and how he added to that.  There was another section which showed his bicycle, and while it was claimed that the image in the codex was mysteriously not by him, the idea was.  This is a confusing statement.  But, not as confusing as the one which claims he deplored war.  Strange for a man who was so obviously a arms researcher and creator.  The first machine gun, the first tank, better catapults and cannons.  Even his ridiculous contraption to try and walk on water was for military applications.<br /><br />Still &#8211; beyond that, the exhibit?  Wonderful.<br /><br />And then we were into the Montana history hall where photos weren't allowed.  I don't know why one would want to take them, anyway?  There were some cars from the forties &#8211; and, well, that's about all of interest to me.  I moved through quickly.  Katherine had a chuckle over the two university girls in the section looking at Native bead work.<br /><br />Girl 1: Oh my god, I'd never have the patience to do all that.<br />Girl 2: Well it's not like you'd have anything else to do.  They didn't have Facebook back then.<br /><br />People.<br /><br />Three o'clock was nearly at hand and it was time to head over to the planetarium to view the full-ceiling movie about Mars.  Jean-Luc Picard narrated this woefully out of date film.  Yes it was interesting, and educational, but when he claimed they'd soon be launching a new lander, scheduled to reach Mars by 2001 &#8211; well, we'll just leave it at that.<br /><br />Then back into the museum proper where it was time to check out the reason we had come &#8211; the Dinosaurs.<br /><br />A number of T-Rex skeletons were in the collection.  Montana is a hot bed for fossils, and it is for that reason that there is just so much within these walls.  Fossilized eggs, and nests were found.  All number of triceratops skulls.  Big Al the Albertasaurus. <br /><br />Dinosaurs &#8211; they're fantastic.  There's not much more than needs to be said.  You look at the skull of a T-Rex and it's impressive, and it's amazing.  And then it hits you &#8211; these things are real.  These things were real, anyway.  These dinosaurs existed.  Creatures this big, with teeth like this.  They roamed around, and did their thing.<br /><br />And in that moment there's a sense of awe and understanding &#8211; which is quickly frittered away, because animals like this &#8211; even thinking of them as animals &#8211; is just too foriegn.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl6P3l8yfeIBz5EVZ5fsGYjeAxZmg21Pj2y4Sal_S6vMmrQqMNDe8e7R60Q63lZPzm_as29fXHu0Mv94DhoXTI-xY1RVDbB5YoO3oFdUF4LJGpCkFbnSA-ErJbAzTFw5AvGrtYy8p9Zodt/s1600/IMG_4616.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515160400441219618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl6P3l8yfeIBz5EVZ5fsGYjeAxZmg21Pj2y4Sal_S6vMmrQqMNDe8e7R60Q63lZPzm_as29fXHu0Mv94DhoXTI-xY1RVDbB5YoO3oFdUF4LJGpCkFbnSA-ErJbAzTFw5AvGrtYy8p9Zodt/s320/IMG_4616.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10
1257px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>Instead we wandered over and took a picture of Katherine beside Catherine the T-Rex.  Catherine the T-Rex is the dinosaur they found dinosaur tissue within a few years ago.  This is what the Christians who now run the dinosaur sculptures in California use as proof man rode dinosaurs 6000 years ago.<br /><br />After this show was snapped, we went and took a picture of me standing beside Big Mike, the T-Rex.<br /><br />If only Catherine were spelled with a K, then it would have been perfect.  But we'll take what we can get.<br /><br />Three and a half hour later we finally made our way out of the museum, and back to our car &#8211; arms loaded with items purchased at the gift shop.  Finally I had seen some dinosaurs in Montana.<br /><br />Now if you'll excuse me, I need to shower and wash my hair.  After all this camping, it's been a while.
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1306<a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2010/09/bannack-montana-ghost-town.html'>Bannack, Montana: Ghost Town</a>
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1310<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiSIITUmUBVJaYPmSgkYbSiD2F6o50h3cIw5kI0iZ3Dqua2zjkI9jycDjSVdW_QhG8eDVDyB1Ash_bybyDxUK4Cyhelck_dlRKKegn5guWixn6Z7OLScwNyFS_uJDGZpbD4RP-N9GenWLM/s1600/IMG_4464.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515157776676400450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiSIITUmUBVJaYPmSgkYbSiD2F6o50h3cIw5kI0iZ3Dqua2zjkI9jycDjSVdW_QhG8eDVDyB1Ash_bybyDxUK4Cyhelck_dlRKKegn5guWixn6Z7OLScwNyFS_uJDGZpbD4RP-N9GenWLM/s320/IMG_4464.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>I don't want to remember waking up today every again.  Cold.  So very cold.<br /><br />This was the first day Katherine got up before me.  She, who loves warm blankets more than I &#8211; I usually despise them &#8211; was greeting the day while I complained and attempted to snuggle up and tie myself within the sleeping cocoon.  But this was not to be.  As is usual for us these days, we had far too much distance to cover, with not all that much time to do it in.<br /><br />We broke down our tents, and left the campsite behind us.<br /><br />I had hoped the skies would have cleared, and that we could re-drive the going to the sun road in Glacier National Park once more...  but this was not to be.  Montana was still a depressing state of grey.  Rather than going back, we pressed forward, looking to explore the Many Glacier Area.<br /><br />There were not many glaciers here &#8211; but there were some lovely mountains.  It always strikes me how these photographic pull offs are always in areas lined with trees, blocking vision, while just down the road there are perfect places to 
1310snap away from &#8211; these, of course, with no place at all to safely pull to the side.<br /><br />Much like yesterday, however, all was not lost.  No.  While there was no Grizzly bear (I'm not saying I'm upset by this) nor was there another goat, there was a moose.<br /><br />A moose full of juice on the loose? <br /><br />Sadly not.  This moose was contenting itself by eating the plants beneath the surface of the lake. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpvpj3Q_oWSH6iS4IcTIJgQorgKd3cPrDgUFbGKAoJVDEXvN30AdbnVoUiAA3S-QRHxK5pCzbHXMO5UdJCmHDtjv74_zbFLakPtG4y7NpCRxDPnsDuxNeaNzYhjmyXkK5_MAQTkAEkyjeY/s1600/IMG_4428.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515157739587915954" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpvpj3Q_oWSH6iS4IcTIJgQorgKd3cPrDgUFbGKAoJVDEXvN30AdbnVoUiAA3S-QRHxK5pCzbHXMO5UdJCmHDtjv74_zbFLakPtG4y7NpCRxDPnsDuxNeaNzYhjmyXkK5_MAQTkAEkyjeY/s320/IMG_4428.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>A large crowd of people had gathered to watch the moose wade through the waters and go about his business feeding.  We all worked on running our memory cards to full snapping away, and taking video of the animal.  Sure it was darkish, and the light wasn't right &#8211; but it was a moose, and damned if that isn't an exciting thing to see.<br /><br />Eventually a ranger came by and warned us all to stay back (this was advice I was already following.)  He went on to explain how dangerous moose can be.  They're unpredictable and can kill people with ease.  A calf had been spotted near by the day before, and this would only make things more dangerous.  For a while people listened to the sound advice.  Until he left.<br /><br />Then people got closer again.<br /><br />By the time the ranger pulled up a second time, we were already driving off.  Back out of the park, and into the vast state of Montana once more.  Where we drove.<br /><br />And drove.<br /><br />And drove.<br /><br />Until we reached the town of Choteau.  Here we stopped in at John Henry's Family Dining.  It was time for lunch.  Time for a third pound of beef, served with a side of fries, at a very reasonable price.  $6.50, and with no sales tax in Montana, that was all one needed to pay.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPO_QkAIj7p42YizHK1Dr-5t7xLWUeYM5KwGd0udhGwfdBUtnrF7PkdJX7JRCv_oUQ486ometZ6XaeZHBMyJTUXVhC9LDRRMgwyatvGaKaclJbaD0vlMPPFigE6GTmCr5IJk9SiVhaFfz0/s1600/IMG_4417.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515157726608006930" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPO_QkAIj7p42YizHK1Dr-5t7xLWUeYM5KwGd0udhGwfdBUtnrF7PkdJX7JRCv_oUQ486ometZ6XaeZHBMyJTUXVhC9LDRRMgwyatvGaKaclJbaD0vlMPPFigE6GTmCr5IJk9SiVhaFfz0/s320/IMG_4417.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>After winning a dime on the video poker machines there, it was as if I only had to pay $6.40!  Ohh!<br /><br />Now the burger?  A little burned, but when dipped in the plentiful ranch sauce, all was forgiven.  The fries on the other hand?  I had never imagined such flavour as these.  I don't know how they were made.  I can only describe how I assume they were made.  First &#8211; you take the most delicious waffle fries the town could get their hands on (which, I guess would be good being so close to Idaho and Washington.)  Then you deep fry them.  In butter.  Not oil.  Butter.  That locks in the sweet butter flavour right in the cooking process.  Next you dunk them in spices which is fifty percent powdered cheese.  Then &#8211; piping hot, you serve.<br /><br />These are the most disgusting &#8211; most delicious &#8211; fries I had ever had in my life.  McDonald's be damned &#8211; one of these fries will clog your arteries worse than a Big Mac, and I had a whole plate of them in front of me.  It was spectacular.<br /><br />As we ate different people from town would walk in, find a place to eat, and then hop from table to table.  This was the town where everyone knew everyone.  The best way to describe the place is to say when Katherine asked if they had an ATM the reply was, &#8220;I think we got one back here &#8211; but don't ask me how to use it.&#8221;<br /><br />It was a regular ATM.  Nothing strange.  Nothing different.  But here in Choteau it was like an alien invention.  Most of the banking in this town happens at the local branch, where everyone still lines up to deal with the teller behind the counter.  There are no electronics here.<br /><br />This is the type of town when the bill came reading 6.50 + 6.50 = 12.00 you don't just take advantage and skimp.  No you bring it up:<br /><br />&#8220;You charged to little.&#8221;<br />&#8220;Did I?  Let me see the bill.&#8221;<br />&#8220;No I didn't.&#8221;<br />&#8220;...yes you did?&#8221;<br />&#8220;No?&#8221;<br />&#8220;You charged us twelve.  It should be thirteen.&#8221;<br />&#8220;
1310Oh!  I knew it was thirteen.  I don't know why I wrote twelve.&#8221;<br /><br />Uh huh &#8211; sure.  Knew all along.  But the point isn't the lack of Math skills.  Few people like math, and we all make mistakes.  The point is I, who sees every dollar as a potential value menu meal, could not simply walk away.  There was a friendly atmosphere which permeated the whole place. <br /><br />Now I don't know if I could ever live in a place like Choteau, but I can't say I don't wish a little bit of Choteau wouldn't rub off on my neighbourhood.<br /><br />Once we left, as could be predicted, we spent hours more on the road.  I tried to find some dinosaur museums, this being Montana and all, but one was closed, and the other?  The one that would actually take you out to dig sites?  That one required registration a few days in advance.  No time.  They did have a 10 day program that I may keep tabs on for later years, though.<br /><br />After that, the only thing of interest this time being the billboard reading &#8220;Before Meth I had a daughter.  Now I have a prostitute.&#8221;  While this isn't the same painful ironic humour as the sign outside of Thunder Bay, Ontario which reads &#8220;Spousal Abuse is a Crime,&#8221; or the sign which read, &#8220;It's Never OK to Shake a Baby&#8221; - there was a little bit of WTFness in the fact that the sign seemed to imply that the father was now engaging in acts of deviancy with his daughter.  And, that she was charging him.  Meth &#8211; no good.<br /><br />Anti-meth ads were lined up along the highway.  One citizen painted a spot sign with the word METH in it on his barn, along with the words, &#8220;not even once,&#8221; on the other side.  Clearly this is a problem here. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB1eLsNNXvRnHpH8NlCGPrCc011YFua48SXATpPjCryQg1TLGEeY1o3iX75vbiGPHvDm5EPAbaR5IdlncebaHWn2QsOLwXqvTj-xw-xPgtyXQhmW83V3zl_XuPP-EkmMYyh0xsXVJEwrSJ/s1600/IMG_4450.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515157753042462018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB1eLsNNXvRnHpH8NlCGPrCc011YFua48SXATpPjCryQg1TLGEeY1o3iX75vbiGPHvDm5EPAbaR5IdlncebaHWn2QsOLwXqvTj-xw-xPgtyXQhmW83V3zl_XuPP-EkmMYyh0xsXVJEwrSJ/s320/IMG_4450.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>And then we reached the town of Bannack.  This was the Ghost Town which I had managed to keep secret from Katherine, and when we pulled up she was overjoyed.  Very excited.  This was the thing she had wanted to see most &#8211; old abandoned building.  A sliver of history, seemingly untouched.  There was history here, life here, and also the touch of the ghosts which once made their way through the town.<br /><br />Bannack is a one road town.  It is a main street, and everything was situated along it.  It was just how you would expect a town from an old western (or in my frame of reference, Back to the Future III) to look.  It was like Pioneertown, in California, except even more like the movies.  This town also had the benefit of being &#8211; real.<br /><br />Part of a Montana State Park we paid our fifteen dollars entrance, for both of us.  This fee also included space to set up our tent for the night.  Not wanting to waste time getting the tent up, just yet, we headed into town.  All but a small few of the buildings were unlocked, and open for exploration.  Those which were not available for our wanderings were the ones used as storage, or for the preservation of artefact's.  Out of thirty or forty major buildings, all but five were accessible.  And the dozen more on the periphery?  They didn't have anything close to a lock in the first place.<br /><br />The story of Bannack is an interesting one.  Founded in the 1880s, it was a gold mining town.  But when the gold boom ended, not everyone left.  In fact, it wasn't until one hundred years later that the last citizen finally moved out. <br /><br />One hundred years of history laid within these homes, wallpaper now peeling, doors doing their best to stay shut &#8211; the warped floors helping hold strong against each and every offending push.<br /><br />Inside the houses linoleum floors extend past rooms with nothing but dirt underfoot.  A history can be read in the wallpaper, figuratively most often, but literally at times as well.  Five layers of paper lie atop one another.  Each covering offering a different floral pattern, not all that different to the passive observer.  In some cases the layers strip away to reveal the original covering &#8211; newsprint.  Stories of soldiers thought lost, now returned, can be read in bits and pieces of the history which seemed so unimportant at the time, and yet priceless now.<br /><br />White graffiti now covers many walls, named scratched into the paint, there is an eerie feeling that some of these houses have not been permanently abandoned.  Shelves, cabinets, and tables remain.  The rooms are simply empty, seeking new ownership.  These are houses lost to time, and &#8211; lost.  The sense of occupancy strangely removed is what makes me want, quite badly, to visit Chernobyl.  But here, in this small town USA, a similar feeling can be felt.  Perhaps it is more eerie, as no sudden accident caused this town to empty.  People just left &#8211; one after the other, after the other.<br /><br />From the old Saloon, to the multi storey hotel, with room upon room, one wonders what life these places held.  Where did the bandits meet with the bar girls?  Where did law triumph over corruption &#8211; and where did the opposite occur?<br /><br />In a town with but one street, the world must have seemed a very small place indeed.   What is amazing is that it popped up at all, but even more so that it lasted for one hundred years, turning ghost just before my birth.<br /><br />Katherine, all the while, snapped madly.  This was, after all, one of the places she'd wanted to see most.  Painfully, ironically, it is because of this that her camera stopped working. <br /><br />&#8220;What's wrong with it?&#8221; she asked me.  In a moment I could tell.  Her memory card was full.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUy0udt5oaSze7Jlv8M-vz9vBzcoei7mIcHeL1wyniuAjEYX-_mMSoKZ4Iv2E8qn0LPTAelVb0dZvDXhZgKz_AV0G3Z7UHP6UbtkEHJDRxfDYpUdWG2cPQWPCAUIj_RtcTewtFAYvSmEQ8/s1600/IMG_4504.JPG" onblur
1310="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515157787804638450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUy0udt5oaSze7Jlv8M-vz9vBzcoei7mIcHeL1wyniuAjEYX-_mMSoKZ4Iv2E8qn0LPTAelVb0dZvDXhZgKz_AV0G3Z7UHP6UbtkEHJDRxfDYpUdWG2cPQWPCAUIj_RtcTewtFAYvSmEQ8/s320/IMG_4504.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>It would seem foolish for myself to assume an eight gig card could last the whole trip &#8211; but for her, she'd never needed anything else in her life.  An truth be told, she did stretch it out to last for two months.<br /><br />On the fly I had to delete some of her doubled up shots to free up room &#8211; and when we finally left this town, I'd rush into the nearby town of Dillon to help her grab another card, a 2 gig MircoSD with adapter &#8211; the only thing for sale in the town, found at a video rental shop that also dealt in cell phones.  With this, she'd be able to shoot the city tomorrow morning.<br /><br />
1310Of Bannack, not much remains now, even though the sites still stand as proudly as they once did.  Here there be only ghosts, ones with stories &#8211; and if I am not to know them, then I will simply make them up.  The cemetery gives inspiration for all kinds of tales:<br /><br />Michael Whitney Jacobs: Died in nineteen oh ought.<br />Born a rich man, died a poor man, loved the ladies a lot.<br />From the talk of the town, to never concerned, the people's feelings ranged.<br />But all who knew him will surely say that for him the Fortunes changed.<br /><br />The days he would spend with a pan in the stream,<br />searching for gold in the black;<br />Through the nights he would scream, never needing to dream,<br />with the new girls on their back.<br /><br />From riches to rags, he never did care,<br />though to all he seemed out of luck.<br />Dancers called him by name when he would strike fame;<br />Every penny from him they would suck.<br /><br />From mansion on main, to a small little shack,<br />he lived happy on bachelors row.<br />For now, he'd not walk the long dusty street;<br />the saloon was but a stone's throw.<br /><br />On the day he died, folks looked away, ashamed of the self-made poor,<br />Yet he never complained from the time of first pain, til the knocking at Death's door.<br /><br />Six feat under he rots now, away from the world<br />his body devoured by ants.<br />Still, he'd never speak ill of his times on the hill<br />When he gave every new girl a chance.
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1359<a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2010/09/and-then-we-saw-goat.html'>...And Then We Saw A Goat</a>
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1363<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyN4gYBc02z_tlZewjdJQ5rNxG9i06FWHOpODMwEJuItmd0HSNRzCUe4cRnC4XdSvwVqG6AOEbuKcHwBs5P3rLR4xGlfOVZoRdZCE4t6YIdrZOensf5-tNxDew_nnrSG_AXyuSoW-U9wDM/s1600/IMG_4391.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515154011385143554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyN4gYBc02z_tlZewjdJQ5rNxG9i06FWHOpODMwEJuItmd0HSNRzCUe4cRnC4XdSvwVqG6AOEbuKcHwBs5P3rLR4xGlfOVZoRdZCE4t6YIdrZOensf5-tNxDew_nnrSG_AXyuSoW-U9wDM/s320/IMG_4391.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>We got up, grabbed breakfast &#8211; and in our change?  The New Jersey quarter!  Yes!  The elusive New Jersey quarter!  Sure we still needed Iowa, but now New Jersey could no longer cause us any further harm, other than the terrible memories of having, you know, gone through Jersey. <br /><br />And then we drove.<br /><br />And we drove.<br /><br />And we drove.<br /><br />Then we saw a goat.<br /><br />The end.  That's the whole day.  There it is.  from the quarter getting excitement, to a goat.<br /><br />But I can't just leave it like that.  No &#8211; I must flesh all this out.  Perhaps as I write something will come to me &#8211; some other purpose, some reason, something which seemed like nothing at the time but has value, in retrospect.<br /><br />But all I can see is grey sky, and rain.  Rain and grey sky.<br /><br />Well &#8211; we woke up, got or quarter, and then hit the road with hours to drive ahead of us.  Leaving Washington behind us, we entered into Idaho.  There was a visitors centre that I hoped to pop into, grab a map or something from, and then head on again.  Of course, being past labour day, visitor centres were closed.  This wouldn't be too troublesome (us only needing to spend an hour or so driving straight on through the state) if it wasn't for the fact that this was also the Montana visitor's centre.<br /><br />Then we were out of Iowa and into Montana.  Big Sky country.  That's where we were.  And looking around, you could see the mountains.  You could really imagine what this place must look like when not covered with a blanket of grey.<br /><br />
1363Gazing towards the horizon, mountains were all that could be seen in each and every direction.  If this was capped with a roof of brilliant blue, well then I don't think there'd be any other place that could possibly compare to Montana.  However there was no blue today.  The yellows in the fields were not wondrous contrasts.  No, they were dulled out fields of depression and despair. <br /><br />We drove on.  And on.  And on.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAkkWTy0P2tOOnk7WbFm-W1e8pwOnk-vVqFc4dkRM68Q-2zZOK2XgGaHMerYvi2DBJSVUI2hNkR-l9wTcnZLHoIbng9FOCxSq0jNQGpHcZnuZDfe9MEtPj2p4sbzH4VDcfVOPcl5grtro/s1600/IMG_4339.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515153975088926338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAkkWTy0P2tOOnk7WbFm-W1e8pwOnk-vVqFc4dkRM68Q-2zZOK2XgGaHMerYvi2DBJSVUI2hNkR-l9wTcnZLHoIbng9FOCxSq0jNQGpHcZnuZDfe9MEtPj2p4sbzH4VDcfVOPcl5grtro/s320/IMG_4339.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>Finally we came across another tourist information centre, where I grabbed a map, and some pamphlets &#8211; secreting them away so that Katherine could not see what I was planning to take her to as we made our way through this state.<br /><br />We had skipped some ghost towns in Idaho in order to visit Olympic park, and our soon to be reached Glacier park.  While I had felt bad about this &#8211; we both agreed it was the right call.  Imagine my surprise when I noticed there was another ghost town directly on our path from Glacier as we would be making our way to Yellowstone.<br /><br />Maps would soon be consulted, plans made, and secrets kept.<br /><br />Back in the car.<br /><br />We drove, and drove, and drove. <br /><br />Then we pulled into Glacier National Park.  This was said to be the crown jewel of the continent.  And &#8211; you know &#8211; under blue skies, I bet it really is.  Given the right conditions, I'm sure this is a very lovely place.  It's just, it wasn't blue skies, and it wasn't all that lovely.  It was dank.  And damp.  And a little depressing.<br /><br />Still &#8211; we would make the best of our time here, and drive the Going to the Sun road.  So we got back in our car, and drove.  And drove.  And drove.<br /><br />The going to the sun road takes you through the mountains, passing all sorts of lovely, you know &#8211; this and that.  There's a stream which in the early months can be seen carrying tree trunks and boulders (this would be amazing to witness!) now though, it was a mostly dry bed with boulders and trees resting on the bottom.<br /><br />Then there was the glaciers.  I don't want to sound jaded.  But I will.  The glaciers?  They're just patches of snow in the mountains.  In the winter, when the snow falls, they'd be camouflaged better than Harry Potter with his magic robe (how his dad ended up with one of the most powerful magical items in all creation... never mind.)<br /><br />These glaciers were just snow at a distance.  You couldn't walk on them, or touch them &#8211; even Crater Lake had snow you could touch -  you just saw them.  I'm from Canada.  I've seen snow before.  Excuse me if I don't take one hundred pictures.  Five or six did quite nicely.<br /><br />There were two key moments as we drove along this road (before we get to the goat) and they were this &#8211; a game I invented, called get back on the road before the other slow people do.  I would drive at reasonable speeds, while others &#8211; who had terrible classical sounding new-age music screaming from their speakers whenever they opened the doors to take pictures &#8211; moved at a snails pace.  I'm all for enjoying, but when there's nothing to see...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_UxlNKfY2LNAKKBQuZ3N7UTuGAqmeetXKU_WUI7JxdYlgJTQ6eM3NlAN_O_2jwJEx_fSXCl8ykexKa0zuwbWyb-VqTNCfuhMQq3lkj7zA0tFbXiPEEOovIXm6AcaolzcNlkE1GvcxPLX9/s1600/IMG_4331.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}">
1363<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515153964584757362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_UxlNKfY2LNAKKBQuZ3N7UTuGAqmeetXKU_WUI7JxdYlgJTQ6eM3NlAN_O_2jwJEx_fSXCl8ykexKa0zuwbWyb-VqTNCfuhMQq3lkj7zA0tFbXiPEEOovIXm6AcaolzcNlkE1GvcxPLX9/s320/IMG_4331.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>So I would get out to take pictures, but as soon as I saw them heading back to their cars, Katherine and I would rush to ours, jam the keys in the ignition, and tear onto the road before they could get ahead of us.  One less obnoxious person down.<br /><br />The other came when taking more pictures of the snow on the mountains.  Here a van of forty to fifty year olds clambered out, not looking unlike freshmen in University.  They stumbled.  They were giggling.  One had a bald spot on his head, with flaming orange hair dyed all around it and spiked like a children's drawing of a sunburst.<br /><br />The reason for their behavious was all too clear when they came close.  They reeked of booze.  Not good booze &#8211; but terrible freshman booze.  They whispered, almost yelling, to each other about their drinking.  When their driver said, &#8220;I think I'm going to go add some beer to my coffee!&#8221; we rushed back to our car and tore off.  These are not the folks you want on your tail.<br /><br />Look &#8211; I get it, this is America.  Drinking and driving isn't that big a deal (we've past signs reading Don't Text and Drive, and Don't Drug and Drive &#8211; but I think they accept drunks will always be on the roads.)  That's not what bothers me &#8211; though, as a Canadian, the idea of drinking and driving is as terrifying as the need for a laser sighted shotgun for home defense.  No what really scared me &#8211; the type of person I really didn't want behind me &#8211; was one who thought adding beer (beer!) to coffee was a good idea.<br /><br />Whiskey?  Sure.  Rum? Why not.  But beer.<br /><br />For that there is no excuse.<br /><br />The worst thing?  None of his friends thought this was a terrible idea.<br /><br />Certainly I would choose tight twisty roads through the mountains to do my drinking and driving &#8211; what could possibly go wrong, right?<br /><br />After some water falls, and waits for construction, we found a pull off where a number of people seemed to be clumping together.  The reason for this?  There was a mountain goat with its young. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ZAlPRwLBQLPz24OyILoadsfBni0nVPCNy2Of9C_R6LS_kptwk073Qjy6oKzY-OSliMF2gWTQl1TMYOs81_JxySQY01DeunhwaGd47Pl04C_r1ld3Hp-zlvWhYM4Gys89idu-HmJsGtbU/s1600/IMG_4362.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515153999590278002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ZAlPRwLBQLPz24OyILoadsfBni0nVPCNy2Of9C_R6LS_kptwk073Qjy6oKzY-OSliMF2gWTQl1TMYOs81_JxySQY01DeunhwaGd47Pl04C_r1ld3Hp-zlvWhYM4Gys89idu-HmJsGtbU/s320/IMG_4362.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>Grazing before us the two kept getting closer and closer.  Fearing and respecting the wild animals, I gave my distance.  Others crowded.  This was looking like a terrible idea, until it ran onto the path and tried to get away.  When this happened others came within a foot of the animal.  One foot &#8211; snapping away.  I wanted so badly for them to get rammed, and set over the edge (not of the cliff, just a one foot tall walkway) but sadly this goat was used to people, and made no moves against them.<br /><br />Despite this upset, we did see a goat, and that was all sorts of interesting.<br /><br />Back on the road, we reached the end, grabbed a camp site, set up our tent, and played Chez Geek through he entire deck.<br /><br />And then Katherine read some more Traveller.  I'm ready to pass judgment on this text.  It's a terrible book.  I don't care that it was a best seller.  It's terrible.  Most best sellers are.  De Vinci code, anyone?  But this &#8211; this is worse.  It's a work of fantasy realization.  Within the first few pages it's obvious the author sees himself as the character Gabriel.  He wants to have a girlfriend like the character Maya.  If he can't do it in real life well then he'll do it in a trilogy of books (tr
1363ilogy?!  How could that happen?)<br /><br />Nothing makes sense in the text.  The authors bio is JOHN TWELVE HAWKS lives off the grid.<br /><br />The author hates &#8220;the grid.&#8221;  He wants to damn the man.  He has never been seen in reai life, and his publisher doesn't know who he is, despite scrambled phone calls.  I know this because I researched him.  After reading a line which wrote how Gabriel never uses his real last name, I knew Twelve Hawks was not his. <br /><br />The more I read, the more wacky we became.  He writes his name JXIIH.  Come on.<br /><br />And as the book progresses, you realize that while he hate &#8220;the man&#8221; he has no idea how &#8220;the man&#8221; works.  He writes about these super smart secret elements... but... well &#8211; let me break it down for you, alright?<br /><br />Basically there is a group of people called Travellers who can go to another plain of existence, or something.  Then there are Harlequins who are sworn to protect them.  Lastly there is a group of men called Tabula who want to kill all the Travellers.  They own most of the world, and want control.<br /><br />So we have the plot of every person who calls into Coast to Coast AM. <br /><br />But it doesn't make sense.  There are only two Travellers left.  They live in America.  Most of the Harlequins are dead too &#8211; let us say there are maybe seven left?  Only one &#8211; the stupidest of all &#8211; is in America.  If you're sworn to protect these people, and there are only two left, don't you think you should all be in America?  Also &#8211; the Harlequins lost track of the two Travellers.  They have one job!  One job that they train their whole life for, and they've screwed it up.<br /><br />But don't worry &#8211; the Travellers don't yet know they're travellers.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuVTDqOmhrfbJAKKWKC1zUr9ab9l3gYYq1nroMo9SlLG3OrIP4i95RBjLQWjx4rAtU-n6cxPKNWoJHcqZiNczM0qfze1NUeugloNzpOl72tKnwTpwnpER7NF__1HA7qdtbuVD1-R2Crzgg/s1600/IMG_4350.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515153992561507666" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuVTDqOmhrfbJAKKWKC1zUr9ab9l3gYYq1nroMo9SlLG3OrIP4i95RBjLQWjx4rAtU-n6cxPKNWoJHcqZiNczM0qfze1NUeugloNzpOl72tKnwTpwnpER7NF__1HA7qdtbuVD1-R2Crzgg/s320/IMG_4350.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>Then you have the Tabula &#8211; don't think they're not stupid too.  For the three groups that keep the world in motion, I'm surprised anything gets done at all.  The Tabula decide to kill Maya's (She's a Harlequin) father.  Maya was happy not being a Harlequin &#8211; but now decides it's time to get back in the game.  Her father was killed for no real reason than petty revenge.  You'd think if this group had exterminated all but two people, they'd work on killing those two before the revenge kick, but no.<br /><br />Now Maya is off to America to find the two boys, tell them who they are, and probably &#8211; after three books &#8211; save them (well just Gabriel, because he's JXIIH after all.  His weirdly, kinda-sorta-incestuous brother Michael will probably die is a supposedly heart wrenching scene which is more comical than emotional.)<br /><br />And then there's the fact that this is a book with white hats and black hats &#8211; thee is no grey... I could go on and on about why this is terrible, and how terrible it is.  But, we're still reading it.  It's kinda an interesting idea.  I'm not saying it's Twilight bad.  I wouldn't go that far.  But it's just painful to know the author is a certified conspiracy theory nut job.<br /><br />Oh &#8211; my final point, Maya has to get fake silicon finger prints and shoot steroids into her face to get her appearance and identity to match her fake passport so she can reach American soil.  Sure she could use a fake American passport, but they have RFID tags in them, and thus the man could track her down &#8211; never mind you can buy a wallet to nullify this chip for about ten bucks, or just smash the chip with a hammer.<br /><br />But the real question is &#8211; if she needed to get into America, and she didn't want to be printed, or scanned &#8211; and, as we are to assume, she's super smart and up and up on all this spy stuff (she did get fake finger prints and knew how to shoot her face full of drugs to change how it looks) &#8211; if she really did want quick access into America, why not just get a fake Canadian passport?!<br /><br />That's all I'm saying.<br /><br />Sorry JXIIH &#8211; your world?  It just does not hold up.
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1392<a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/search/label/glacier%20national%20park' rel='tag'>glacier national park</a>,
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1412<h2 class='date-header'><span>Tuesday, September 7, 2010</span></h2>
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1420<a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2010/09/from-olympic-national-park-to-whever-i.html'>From Olympic National Park to Whever I Am Now</a>
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1424<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm5JIDgBSaHDC8PkaskwJ2ktdIk9oOuNRGRx3g8PLqI0ceDN53AmUl3HdspgyNX2FPBTS4Zh-XQCXsmQOkLBEhqXjPuhpHGb642ri2QDv6RZW5H0e7nmEiADudOeqk1VK7GAyqW09od1bD/s1600/IMG_4234.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514094163407132178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm5JIDgBSaHDC8PkaskwJ2ktdIk9oOuNRGRx3g8PLqI0ceDN53AmUl3HdspgyNX2FPBTS4Zh-XQCXsmQOkLBEhqXjPuhpHGb642ri2QDv6RZW5H0e7nmEiADudOeqk1VK7GAyqW09od1bD/s320/IMG_4234.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>Somehow the rain during the middle of the night had failed to make our morning in Olympic National Park any warmer.<br /><br />Waking up, we took own the tent with practiced ease, tossed it into the trunk, and threw the rest of our gear in the back seat.  Today we would not be going far &#8211; just one hundred miles around the bend to the western  entrance of the park.<br /><br />The morning was grey, dismal, and nearly depressing.  If not for The Traveller (the current book we're reading) the drive would have been a terrible tragedy.  With the book it was slightly less terrible.  I have a hard time grabbing this text; I think the author might be a little nutty.<br /><br />We pulled up to Rialto Beach jumping out into the world, only to be met with more rain, and cold.  Cold that was not getting any better.  I cursed my decision to leave all long sleeves in Florida, where my woolen hats also lay peacefully.  Had I either of these two things, I would be fine.  To be honest, were it not raining I'd be fine.  If we want to get to the heart of the matter, if I would have just stopped being lazy, grabbed my rain coat out of my pack, and put it on all would have been right in the world.<br /><br />But with the grey fog turning sea stacks into ghostly images of ships lost in the treacherous waters, the cold fit the mood.  Sea gulls fluttered in and out of frame adding depth to the haze on the horizon.  Asian tourists jumped for pictures, and flashed signs of victory.  Further down the beach a shirtless man tossed flat stones, skipping over the ocean's edge.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmukREGBLSw3Y4zlfrHuD4wlQIf80MwqHQ_Yy_3cmaV-La_s3JDdIJWai5vixZ9I1YXOhCQHf0lLOV-coOHpKBlnFPgHn6pUnbcGG-ZSD2uHrfPusdHNtP4HHtHPYSFt5URsmVIXzCtKV/s1600/IMG_4210.JPG" onblur
1424="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514094152227173314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmukREGBLSw3Y4zlfrHuD4wlQIf80MwqHQ_Yy_3cmaV-La_s3JDdIJWai5vixZ9I1YXOhCQHf0lLOV-coOHpKBlnFPgHn6pUnbcGG-ZSD2uHrfPusdHNtP4HHtHPYSFt5URsmVIXzCtKV/s320/IMG_4210.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>Once more, I could picture Olympic Park as it might have been.  Truly spectacular and beautiful &#8211; and while I enjoyed the moody atmosphere captured in my camera's unfeeling single frames, I would have rathered the sun on my face, while in the moment.  I could talk about the smooth stone beach, as if made from rocks freshly tumbled in decades old machines &#8211; but at the time, I just wanted to get back in the car.  For the first time we turned on, not the air conditioner, but the heat.<br /><br />Leaving the beach we made our way for the third and final landscape of the park.  The temperate rain forest of the Pacific North West.<br /><br />This time I did put on my jacket, wanting to enjoy the short hike more than I otherwise would have. <br /><br />It was now, with the day barely half over, that I realized we would not need to sleep another night in this park.  For that reason we did only one hike through the forest &#8211; but after seeing so many trees, all holding their own value, as of late &#8211; it was hardly a loss.  After all, we still did hike through rain forest today.<br /><br />And the forest lived up to its name.  The rain poured down.  Were I not desperately trying to take pictures, it wouldn't have bothered me one bit.  As it was, I was caught in a cycle of taking one frame, wiping off the lens with whatever part of my shirt was still dry beneath my somewhat protective rain coat, snapping again, and cleaning once more.<br /><br />By the end of our hike through the rich, lush, forest some images were recorded.  Looking above, I imagined the green hue that would be cast over everything when the suns rays filtered through the emerald canopy. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-AfNUrgToIlZ9ecVlFE71np4Ha1939P7ScJqn9kl8UuGGoXnmxyOMHMDYITYrP2ZsEu03qqche80oK70dvI5hKXY0eS7RAainh4-ASlJ-or2rt07EtKt0ziL3xasynuzxW7W2hayI0C5/s1600/IMG_4261.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514094175829209442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-AfNUrgToIlZ9ecVlFE71np4Ha1939P7ScJqn9kl8UuGGoXnmxyOMHMDYITYrP2ZsEu03qqche80oK70dvI5hKXY0eS7RAainh4-ASlJ-or2rt07EtKt0ziL3xasynuzxW7W2hayI0C5/s320/IMG_4261.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>I tried to live in the moment, but it was difficult.  I'd been in forest like this before, four years ago in British Columbia, and this was all the same.  And it was rainy.  And it was chilly.  These were not good combinations.  Still, looking back on the images now I edit my memories in post production, and realize that the experience was a fantastic one.  One I loved far more than I realized at the time.  This seems to be the way with many of my travel experiences.<br /><br />And I have to wonder &#8211; what's better?  Living in the moment, or holding the memory that you did live in the moment?  One is as fleeting as a beating heart &#8211; the other, as eternal as our lives.  Where do truth and fiction blend, bend, obscure?<br /><br />Driving on the bumpy dirt roads to this section of the park we stopped as twelve classic cars drove out.  Why they were there, and how they got in was a mystery.  On our entrance and exit we worked hard to drive on ridges, trying not to bottom out where ruts had formed, now thick with mud.<br /><br />Abandoning this Washington park we plugged in our destination into the GPS.  I had assumed the drive would take nine hours.  After watching the pathing come to light, it was obvious that somewhere along the line I had miscalculated.  Fifteen hours.  Fifteen hours from Olympic National Park to Glacier National Park.  It was good that we were not staying the night.  It was good that we could get some of that journey out of the way today.<br /><br />Gassing up, and filling our bellies to make up a more agreeable couple, we hit the road &#8211; it wasn't until I saw a sign claiming the wait for the ferry was two hours that I started to suspect something was wrong.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1YxyfUECTStqP8JDh_bRcqZLNRZtWO3SK5jDZEtBLgCXoEXKlaE6bhF_3fOR7aMZhyphenhyphenx6TBssaSEtl0yBBLs5XU86DRMupiqUyrw-ow8q61d23A3kScu81HazsPnkSZsf0-gnAteeq6YN/s1600/IMG_4283.JPG" onblur
1424="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514094186801733186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1YxyfUECTStqP8JDh_bRcqZLNRZtWO3SK5jDZEtBLgCXoEXKlaE6bhF_3fOR7aMZhyphenhyphenx6TBssaSEtl0yBBLs5XU86DRMupiqUyrw-ow8q61d23A3kScu81HazsPnkSZsf0-gnAteeq6YN/s320/IMG_4283.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>I checked the route.  Curses!  I had checked &#8220;No toll roads,&#8221; and, &#8220;no dirt roads.&#8221;  Somehow No Ferries had escaped my watch.  I tried to avoid it by driving south, but another was in my way.  It would have been possible to drive three hours to get from where I was to Seattle, or I could just bite the bullet, wait thirty minutes, take the one hour ferry across, and pay my fifteen dollars.<br /><br />I was not a happy traveller.  For some reason these fifteen dollars (five of which would have been spent on extra gas &#8211; so really only a ten dollar loss) felt all important to me.  Once on board, with car turned off, and us on deck in the comfy chairs,  changed my mind.  This was relaxation.  This is what I had missed.  The art of public transportation.  I couldn't go anywhere, and I couldn't speed things up.  There was nothing to do.  There was nothing to see.  My best option, sit down, drink a hot chocolate, and read the local paper.  My mind, for the first time in ages, was truly at rest.<br /><br />Those ten dollars didn't seem so bad anymore.  Five, really, when split with Kath.<br /><br />When the Seattle sky line came into view, I felt a tinge of upset, my break was over.  But so quickly did my mind snap back into, rush-rush-rush, thinking that I hardly noticed.<br /><br />Driving through Seattle I thought what a nice place it would have been to visit.  A podcast I was listening to was commenting on the Penny Arcade Expo &#8211; PAX for short &#8211; that just finished yesterday in this very city.<br /><br />Then I was on the high way &#8211; driving, driving, getting lost in Radiolab: The Podcast.<br /><br />I wondered how the hours would be spend it DeeDub never gave me the data stick with my first few entries into the series, back in Germany.  That show has been the soundtrack to the last ten months.<br /><br />Light spilled ever so gently over the hills, reminding me of our night in Death Valley.  This time, however, the casting of the glow was not from the full moon &#8211; the one in the sky, new just now, but rather the city in the distance.<br /><br />A choice was made of how far to push on.  Every hour tonight was one less tomorrow.  Should I go to Spokane?  Should I stop short?  And if so where?  The Roomsavers showed little in the range of affordable motels.<br /><br />A sign was past, telling us we were in the nations number one potato growing county.  I would have thought that honour to Idaho.  Wrong, apparently.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp_DiW4rdXPSxnkctBsoUQKnfGNDNVz52_0WizMmv90a-mO-odyDedxk_M1oZomaBFc4k4q_T-HAIAm3q9BHl8ItRonLmI_45gjZFqEBkEGpxCPEArGTDAGUq9zSKYjg3Z2VSfe2rnarY4/s1600/IMG_4316.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514094188743388882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp_DiW4rdXPSxnkctBsoUQKnfGNDNVz52_0WizMmv90a-mO-odyDedxk_M1oZomaBFc4k4q_T-HAIAm3q9BHl8ItRonLmI_45gjZFqEBkEGpxCPEArGTDAGUq9zSKYjg3Z2VSfe2rnarY4/s320/IMG_4316.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>Just outside Moses something...  Moses Lake? we exited the highway.  I did not want to drive any further.  Ten was late enough.  Willing to pay the sixty dollars we turned in, but just off the highway a sign displayed the price for the first motel we saw &#8211; ten dollars less than what I was about to pay.  We changed destinations, recouped the losses from the ferry, and set off to sleep.<br /><br />Well Katherine set off to sleep.  As for me?  It's just past two in the morning, and I'm only now posting this entry.<br /><br />Still &#8211; with the next week, potentially spent camping, who knows when I'll have time to blog again.  Back logs are unacceptable.  And I've neglected emailing too many people for far too long.  I'll deal with the repercussions of my lack of sleep when the alarm wakes up in four and a half hours.  Gotta get up early &#8211; there's still seven hours of driving ahead of us.<br /><br />Still, I'd not trade this experience for &#8211; well it would take a lot.  (I just corrected a lot with alot before I realized what I'd done.  This being a huge pet peeve of mine, I know it's truly time for sleep.  Entry.  Over.)
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1435<a class='timestamp-link' href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2010/09/from-olympic-national-park-to-whever-i.html' rel='bookmark' title='permanent link'><abbr class='published' title='2010-09-07T04:59:00-04:00'>4:59&#8239;AM</abbr></a>
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1453<a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/search/label/moses%20lake' rel='tag'>moses lake</a>,
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1473<a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2010/09/down-in-goondocks-olympic-national-park.html'>Down in the Goondocks / Olympic National Park</a>
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1477<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghhejJYMs9ORxn0hcDTEFnimF9mOTKZfuoMd8R1fx8lp2QkdV9PaSKq65hIpkY_L21mobYD8K76nbyIsPRV0Q3TTKNWR-zbZ8O3ln1gbNnPQ2L0Yimk_niiCnl6TyVo8cfDXXOfPXvrkrs/s1600/IMG_4126.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514077130773820386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghhejJYMs9ORxn0hcDTEFnimF9mOTKZfuoMd8R1fx8lp2QkdV9PaSKq65hIpkY_L21mobYD8K76nbyIsPRV0Q3TTKNWR-zbZ8O3ln1gbNnPQ2L0Yimk_niiCnl6TyVo8cfDXXOfPXvrkrs/s320/IMG_4126.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>Today was a special day.  In fact, today was the day the t-shirt I bought way back when at Target, months ago, would finally pay off.  Why, you may ask?  What day is today?  Well good sir, or madame, I will tell you.  Today &#8211; is Goonies day!<br /><br />Today we would leave the blessed Portland behind (just when I find out I have a contact in this city... shucks.) and head off to Astoria.  Astoria, for those born in the 80s, may be better known as the Goondocks.  This is where the movie &#8220;The Goonies&#8221; was filmed.  This is where it took place.  Astoria, Oregon.  For so many people coming out here has been a right of passage.  To visit these shores is what many have dreamed of. <br /><br />Alright &#8211; that may not be entirely true, but few who know the movie can  come within one hundred miles of this city and not take make the excursion out to 38th street, and up the dirt path.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ofg5L_eryuQEJnHM9i5oIpBF01Pc5xH5YO1yTqeSRVprr2ASXBEh5_WYyzrQ72pF60yjQr6FGzU9whhRn1RjT_0cnr7afS75E0kjD0B3mCZaKIh6qM7btR6UmKJiE1jdZQIIR6Rgs-dW/s1600/IMG_4137.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514077149721432530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ofg5L_eryuQEJnHM9i5oIpBF01Pc5xH5YO1yTqeSRVprr2ASXBEh5_WYyzrQ72pF60yjQr6FGzU9whhRn1RjT_0cnr7afS75E0kjD0B3mCZaKIh6qM7btR6UmKJiE1jdZQIIR6Rgs-dW/s320/IMG_4137.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>There was a labor day festival in town, but I cared nothing for that.  I was wearing my oh so special, &#8220;Goonies Never Say Die,&#8221; t-shirt and I had to put it to good use.  There were sites to see.  Exciting things to do.  Exciting thing number one, running away from the jail, to mirror the scene from the movie.  Now sure, in the mov
1477ie the Jail sign didn't have the words, &#8220;Oregon Film Museum&#8221; over it &#8211; and in the film there wasn't a big red white and blue flag flying from the building reading, &#8220;open,&#8221; but that didn't bother me (much.)  As luck would have it they were repaving the parking lot, and while this meant getting some sticky black goo ever so slightly on my shoes, it also meant the pictures were clear of obstructions.<br /><br />Exciting thing number two: Go to the museum that the father worked at.  It's just across from the Jail, so getting there didn't take any effort.  Neither did passing the bowling alley &#8211; nothing like a drive by (photo) shooting to speed up progress. <br /><br />The final stop was the pilgrimage to 38th street.  This is where all Goonies fans eventually end up, much to the dismay, I'm sure, of the people who now occupy the two houses.<br /><br />Rumour has it that the current occupants knew nothing of the importance their houses held in the hearts and minds of people the nation over.  Well they know now.  As we pulled up, no less than six people were walking down the dirt path back to their cars.  Private property signs line the road, but any attempt of keeping said property private dried up this year when the 25th anniversary of the movie past a few months back.  Rather than trying to fight the inevitable, the occupants simply want to cull the traffic.  A sign at the bottom of the hills reads, No cars: Goonies on foot acceptable.  There are silhouettes of all the Goonies there too.  Including big ol' Sloth.<br /><br />I might should take a moment to explain just who the Goonies are.  Think Indiana Jones, but for kids &#8211; and lots of them, including Short Round from Temple of Doom.  Mix in a little Cyndi Lauper for good measure, and there you have it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXPx4pnKeN4SnraRqJmkBmhZBUUDY0oZ-AHXiyw9ZxQ855oKsWGrK2p_JEI-H84JokfYcw-tmdhwqUYrWrkDSsFC-FUVReVlDzet94uc3_GrGkb0UDomxXHAfjGGByRKOlDHBOSvxq-JSH/s1600/IMG_4130.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514077141224844322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXPx4pnKeN4SnraRqJmkBmhZBUUDY0oZ-AHXiyw9ZxQ855oKsWGrK2p_JEI-H84JokfYcw-tmdhwqUYrWrkDSsFC-FUVReVlDzet94uc3_GrGkb0UDomxXHAfjGGByRKOlDHBOSvxq-JSH/s320/IMG_4130.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>In this movie there are two main houses &#8211; the &#8220;Goonies house&#8221; and Data's house.  Trying to explain to people who Data is was a mistake.  While I stood taking photos a dozen others walked up the path &#8211; none really sure what house to take pictures of.  I explained the blue one was Data's.  Blank looks.  You know, Data &#8211; Short Round from Indiana Jones?  More blank looks.  Ohh!  Data!  From Star Trek!  ...No.  Did anyone watch this movie? <br /><br />I'll be honest &#8211; I didn't recognize the Goonies house for sure either.  Memories fade, and without the Rune Goldberg machine...  I may have done the truffle shuffle anyway.  I'm not saying I did &#8211; but it was a distinct possibility.<br /><br />The Goonies house now proudly flies the flag of Israel and The United States.  With that knowledge you can't miss it.  Data's house, when I was there anyway, comes complete with a woman cutting her husbands hair on the porch.  I wonder what she must think of all this foot traffic.  I wonder if she's watched the film?<br /><br />As I finally left, more people came up the road.  This is a constant stream.  Is there something special about today, or has this just become the norm?<br /><br />But Goonies day couldn't last forever.  Not when there were other places to see, and things to do.  We jumped in the car, travelled across the big ol' bridge, and hit Washington.  There we pulled into a McDonalds, having just missed Ronald McDonald live and in person.  His wacky Ronald Mobile was still there.<br /><br />Where had he gone to?  My best guess &#8211; the parade which had shut down the highway.  Yes, the main highway runs through a small town for three miles &#8211; but there was a parade being held there, with no thought given to through traffic.  Detour signs would have been nice, but clearly they were thought unnecessary.  Some cars waited, others drove in circles.  Using our GPS we plotted a course that took us up and over the hills, a wee bit, across a slight dirt road, and beyond the high school cheerleaders prancing proudly in their thousand dollar uniforms, marching to the beat.<br /><br />Really town?  You can do this?  Shut down the highway?  Well &#8211; it didn't hurt us, but I imagine some frustrated drivers going slightly mad with rage.<br /><br />This was the last instance of note until we reached Olympic Nationa Park a few hours later.<br /><br />Our Lonely Planet told us the visitor's centre closed at five.  It was with much relief when we showed up at five thirty, finding the hours extended until six.  We asked about tent sites, and were directed to one near by &#8211; but we should hurry.  Today being the Sunday of Labour Day Weekend, sites were filling up fast. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzmlrQ0C4qb08BoNGA4TLnBZpMugo79z7M1VDKpIUEwHF5-aAW0bwI2xkN8KDw03LNM8BSR_4MNtlBfONgkQ2FYB7qu6Tvmm7arTLb-k6z-Z4VJZzxN20sUYsOwzr7d5xX6jHSvQMDrtK0/s1600/IMG_4174.JPG" onblur
1477="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514077155251343762" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzmlrQ0C4qb08BoNGA4TLnBZpMugo79z7M1VDKpIUEwHF5-aAW0bwI2xkN8KDw03LNM8BSR_4MNtlBfONgkQ2FYB7qu6Tvmm7arTLb-k6z-Z4VJZzxN20sUYsOwzr7d5xX6jHSvQMDrtK0/s320/IMG_4174.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>There was no wasting of time.  We found a site, filled out the registration card, put twelve dollars (including many quarters) into an envelope, and dropped it into the trusting self serve deposit bin. <br /><br />Now that we had a site, and the light was still good, we hurried up to hurricane ridge to look out over the park.  This was the reason for coming in through the North entrance.<br /><br />As we climbed higher and higher we watched as the clouds became closer to us.  I remarked that soon we'd be driving right into them.  A few turns later and we were.  All was obscured.  The world was white, with a few silhouetted trees to the sides.  At one moment we hardly realized there was another car in front of us &#8211; it was white, without any lights on.<br /><br />As we crested a hill, the sun trying to cut through the white, but only enhancing its brilliance, I thought of an animation cell, with its background frame forgotten.  This was the world we seemed to be in.<br /><br />And then we broke through.  Suddenly the clouds were below us, and us on top.  Mountains all around.  My mind went, instantly, to Switzerland.  Not only did the snow capped, rocky peaks, remind me of Interlaken, but the temperature was starting to match.  There, I beleive, I may have been wearing warmer clothes, while these days I have but shorts and t-shirts, but as summer gives way to fall, it's not as warm as it once was.<br /><br />Signs were posted warning people of a cougar that had been bothering people as of late.  There was also a posting about a mountain goat who was no longer afraid of humans, and had taken to the fun sport of charging them when approached.  I thought of the two in combat.  While it's likely the cougar would take down the goat in a heart beat, I couldn't help feel that any goat willing to mess with an entire family of European tourists was one that might stand a good fighting chance.  For one of the few times in my life, I rooted for the vegetarian.  In a fictional fight.  So I don't know if that counts.<br /><br />The clouds below still obscured the land, but its beauty was possible to extract.  I pictured what this place must look like on a clear and sunny day.  Still &#8211; all was not lost, as on our way down the hill, we saw a number of people on a pull off.  They seemed to be holding their arms out for birds to eat from.  This seemed a fools idea to me &#8211; but, Katherine became very excited.  She doesn't understand the inerrant Hitchcockian evil within the beasts quite like I do.<br /><br />After watching these, in now way small, fluttering monsters land and eat, Katherine decided to give it a try.  Using popcorn left over from Portland's Saturday market she put out her arm.  &#8220;Ow it hurts!&#8221; came  her cry as the bird landed and ate.  When it flew away she asked if I'd like a go at it.<br /><br />&#8220;It doesn't hurt!&#8221; she stressed.  That's not what I had just heard.  Still I was not wanting to show fear - after all these are small birds which I could squash like Doomsday in his first appearance, if need be, not giant sting rays from the Cayman Islands &#8211; so in my hand went the popcorn, and then the birds came flying over flighting for what I had.  Their talons pinched slightly, but it was not too bad.  Still &#8211; I was not a believer in the good of these creatures.  They were testing us, and when the time was right, they would swallow our souls.<br /><br />Wild animals.  Playing with them &#8211; no matter how great it seems &#8211; is rarely a good idea.   Still, I fed a bunch, I was glad I did, it was neat &#8211; but... evil, these flying creatures.  They think they're better than us.  I'm sure of it.  And when their moment comes, not even the glass enclosures of telephone booths will provide safety!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXpX5-0Icf6EqFaeNL5MYT8TjF_IIQESyvAE2jKK6eYvdHYD0TJQILGaEjdZ2TPfbsaNv8xxRlWgCJNhCXfuYE-CWLoOg7XZjPzib60x7QAtUcvF_JGeOY4cONtm4ESJXg0KOTl4I8Si2a/s1600/IMG_4199.JPG" onblur
1477="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514077160981442498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXpX5-0Icf6EqFaeNL5MYT8TjF_IIQESyvAE2jKK6eYvdHYD0TJQILGaEjdZ2TPfbsaNv8xxRlWgCJNhCXfuYE-CWLoOg7XZjPzib60x7QAtUcvF_JGeOY4cONtm4ESJXg0KOTl4I8Si2a/s320/IMG_4199.JPG" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" /></a>The real question is, how did everyone know about this place?  Some people came specifically with food.  So many rangers preach not feeding the animals &#8211; it seems odd that that's where the information would be coming from.  But if not them, then whom?<br /><br />Back at the site we still had to set up our tent, and it was not getting warmer.  One quick game of Gloom, and then another, and it was time for bed.  We each curled into our sleeping bags.  Me, with relatively little on &#8211; so I could layer if I got cold in the night.  Katherine decided to go in fully layered, with two shirts, a sweater, and shorts, and socks.  All I'm saying is one of us slept fine, and the other did not.  At one point in the night, I gave her a pair of my thermals &#8211; this helped a bit.  There's a lesson here, which I learned from a homeless girl a decade back &#8211; put your clothes on in layers, and you can make it through the coldest of nights in relative comfort.<br /><br />Sound advice to be sure.
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1590<li>
1591<div class='item-thumbnail-only'>
1592<div class='item-title'><a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/02/about-me.html'>About Me</a></div>
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1599<a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/09/day-one-iceland.html' target='_blank'>
1600<img alt='' border='0' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpvzIhCXRQnX7995rcBWgcBs8Zxy3BQSUThyIP7dFdUr9srF4vVEflj8iIJ90LP75nauHJrk3X6rT56h86VeoqyMKFJ87nvdUQBRO-OQ2uT7nGT96sp4Mvj4asj7v_xQLmFIDZL4Q-2kk/w72-h72-p-k-no-nu/iceland.jpg'/>
1601</a>
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1603<div class='item-title'><a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/09/day-one-iceland.html'>Day One: Iceland</a></div>
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1614<div class='item-title'><a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/02/10-things-to-never-leave-home-without.html'>Top 10 Things to Always Pack</a></div>
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1625<div class='item-title'><a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/08/who-am-i.html'>Who Am I? [Michael Barltrop]</a></div>
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1639<img alt='' border='0' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNd4riA4fuUwZK47vh_JXC8vw76vIwhudPaN54FHkBPFzyRyaLd1-LeG5w6OcwZy3-37c4jgLDrXfJ-vvpLrnBW_EyVeFVJ2csb22C_vezNb83DQYBAXcL1gmJxPZU4qKdYoygCEJWaSad/w72-h72-p-k-no-nu/IMG_5298.JPG'/>
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1642<div class='item-title'><a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2010/09/mount-rushmore-wall-drug-and-badlands.html'>Mount Rushmore, Wall Drug, and The Badlands</a></div>
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1650<img alt='' border='0' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjclYigJ_ioyrkru49nPVACSjx9rHip3Q048USWzN7kEdtJCW31r4_cZKaixF3FGvrRnoeWToNRzvtttQSbmlrO8bIbF8RXjZfeTGpn5eFP-KH2pi-vUAaPzYl31zvOLLqtdjS0m3vRHVXP/w72-h72-p-k-no-nu/6.jpg'/>
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1652</div>
1653<div class='item-title'><a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/02/top-10-offbeat-experiences-in-tokyo.html'>Top 10 Offbeat Things to Do in Tokyo</a></div>
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1659<div class='item-title'><a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2010/09/all-good-things.html'>All Good Things...</a></div>
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1664<div class='item-thumbnail-only'>
1665<div class='item-thumbnail'>
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1667RbGmYpg0XYCI2t1Ez8u-jF19SWzm6gyPylI3YHljACB_52Qoan4lbIMNiblA72zuRx7geB5fBotbqtmLIUk/w72-h72-p-k-no-nu/comp.jpg'/>
1668</a>
1669</div>
1670<div class='item-title'><a href='http://www.oneyeartrip.com/2009/07/helpful-sites-for-world-trip-planning.html'>Top 10 Helpful sites for World Trip Planning</a></div>
1671</div>
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1673</li>
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1675<div class='item-thumbnail-only'>
1676<div class='item-thumbnail'>
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1678<img alt='' border='0' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsja-Xt0rMQBnuxOGLK_F4i_5aPrPa_AQdP4hAoDo2wuhGeK6AbJkNtuKkbKfqOyKeFG2Wj8UGQFLwejOjW_3MdS4jWizNDcyCeYZnl621tcSxyIDlDDMDwl8s7ZcAh8egusNym0bE3aMJ/w72-h72-p-k-no-nu/grafblend.jpg'/>
1679</a>
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1689<h2 class='title'>noteworthy reading</h2>
1690<div class='widget-content'>
1691<table>
1692<tr>
1693<td>
1694<div align="left"><a target="_new" href="http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/0756630738?ie=UTF8&tag=previouslybit-20&linkCode=as2&camp=15121&creative=390961&creativeASIN=0756630738"><img width="50" style="vertical-align: center" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/61NH-KJKy6L._SL75_.jpg" align="right"/></a>
1695<a target="_new" href="http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/0756630738?ie=UTF8&tag=previouslybit-20&linkCode=as2&camp=15121&creative=390961&creativeASIN=0756630738">Where To Go When</a> by <a target="_new" href="http://www.amazon.ca/exec/obidos/search-handle-url?%5Fencoding=UTF8&search-type=ss&index=books-ca&field-author=Joseph%20Rosendo">Joseph Rosendo</a></div>
1696</td>
1697</tr>
1698
1699<tr>
1700<td>
1701<div align="left"><a target="_new" href="http://www.amazon.ca/dp/0307394654?tag=previouslybit-20&camp=8641&creative=330649&linkCode=as1&creativeASIN=0307394654&adid=10M1NRRTFBYA0VWHHRPP&"><img width="50" style="vertical-align: center" src="http://images.amazon.com/images/P/0307394654.01._SX50_SCLZZZZZZZ_.jpg" align="right"/>
1702</a><a target="_new" href="http://www.amazon.ca/dp/0307394654?tag=previouslybit-20&camp=8641&creative=330649&linkCode=as1&creativeASIN=0307394654&adid=10M1NRRTFBYA0VWHHRPP&">Do Travel Writers go to Hell?</a> by <a target="_new" href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/search-handle-url/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?%5Fencoding=UTF8&search-type=ss&index=books&field-author=Thomas%20Kohnstamm">Thomas Kohnstamm</a></div>
1703</td>
1704</tr>
1705
1706
1707<tr>
1708<td>
1709<div align="left"><a target="_new" href="http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/1741790808?ie=UTF8&tag=previouslybit-20&linkCode=as2&camp=15121&creative=330641&creativeASIN=1741790808"><img width="50" style="vertical-align: center" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51AbOVrmirL._SL75_.jpg" align="right"/></a>
1710<a target="_new" href="http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/1741790808?ie=UTF8&tag=previouslybit-20&linkCode=as2&camp=15121&creative=330641&creativeASIN=1741790808">The Big Trip</a> by <a target="_new" href="https://www.amazon.ca/s/ref=nb_ss_?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=george+dunford&x=0&y=0">George Dunford</a></div>
1711</td>
1712</tr>
1713</table>
1714</div>
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1727All original text and photographs Copyright &#169; 2009 one.year.trip / previously.bitten | Theme Design by previously.bitten | Entries and Comments.Powered by Blogger
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