September 28, Sunday – Relatives

The drive down Idaho’s Lochsa and Clearwater Rivers from Lolo Pass was the best river canyon driving I’ve done on this trip. There is constant weaving in and out requiring a focus on speed and cornering backed by superb views of the river. Because the 178 miles takes about 3 and half hours from Lolo to Lewiston, I took two days to do it. In the future I would do this trip the same: going from east to west because it is all a downhill run which Snee-Oosh appreciated.
Upon reaching the combined cities of Lewiston and Clarkston (Idaho and Washington) I was amazed at the very steep long climb out of the L-C Valley onto the Palouse Plateau and into a totally world – a world of wheat.
A sweep in all directions to the rolling horizon took in recently harvested wheat acreage and fields in fallow. Thirty minutes of driving took me through two small towns before entering Pullman, home of Washington State University, friends and relatives. Pat Cruver, my thirty six year friend, let me setup moorage on the street in front of his house. From Pat’s house I went to my cousin Mac’s house to meet my other cousin, Jon, who I last saw fifty-five years ago at an Indiana reunion. It was catch-up time. I don’t have much contact with relatives outside of my immediate family so talking with Jon about family memories was rewarding.

September 27, Saturday – Up and Over

Yesterday was spent all day on my computer catching up on my blog and working on keeping up with the bills. Then we all gathered at Beccah’s house in front of the television set for the presidential candidates’ debate. I think folks know where I stand on the choices so I’ll not spend time waving a placard.
I decided that on Saturday it was time to look west again even though Missoula felt like home. With sadness I bid goodbye to my friends. While they started their day, I pulled old Snee-Oosh’s anchor to continue adding mileage onto the already 14,832 miles traveled on the RV’s odometer. This does not include the 6,005 miles put on the VW which would make 20,837 for a total run. Okay, okay, you want to know what the fuel costs are. I’ll check. If there are no more entries in Ron’s Circle Tour, it’s because I past out from shock. $6,500…………………oh… my…god……………
But wait. My cell phone rang after just 10 blocks of driving in downtown Missoula. Archie wanted to know if I wanted to go to the farmers’ market with him. So I dropped anchor again on the busiest street in the city and spent the next three hours strolling with Archie past the vendors and talking to folks. A grand time with a good friend. It was so nice again to have the flexibility to stop and change direction.
At noon I was back in the big rig heading for Lolo Pass on the Lewis and Clark Trail – Highway #12. It is just a short climb to the 5,235 foot pass from the Bitterroot River but when you top out and enter the Lochsa River drainage and start the drive down, the descent goes on for over 170 miles with no power lines; no cell phone connections to tell you that you have past from the Mountain Time to Pacific Time. After driving three hours in a new time zone, my cell phone still was on Denver time.
Pullman was on my next stop but I collapsed for the night on the Clearwater at a tiny Forest Service campground called Wild Goose near the outpost called Lowell, Idaho just downstream from the confluence with the Selway River. The stern of my land boat was almost on the bank of this amazing river. Idaho, my 34th state on my trip.

September 25, Thursday – Assimilation

Luck had it that Beccah had the day off so we took her grand dog Rufus for a morning walk along the Clark Fork that cuts Missoula in half. The city is filled with youth because of the university and the river walk draws people to meet and greet each other. At the same time Beccah gave me a tour of the downtown, which I had always skipped. It is an extremely comfortable city. In the early afternoon we teamed up with Scott and Sarah and hiked up the grassy ridge that drops down into the town for a view of the Missoula Basin. High up on the valley walls are the remnants of the abandon shoreline of the glacial Lake Missoula of 10,000 years ago.
Afterwards Beccah and I spent time in her front yard transplanting shrubs and roses. I thoroughly enjoyed the one-on-one time I had with her and also love putting in local time in the places that I visit. It deepens the sense of connecting.

September 24, Wednesday – Missoula

Wednesday afternoon brought me to another reunion. I have past through Missoula many times before so the countryside wasn’t what drew me to drop anchor in the town.
I have three families. My soul is based on the love and joy of my true daughters, Caitlin and Hannah. My first family was in Birdsview, Washington in the upper Skagit when Ann of Fergus Falls and I were together. Her young daughters, Rebeccah and Sarah were my introduction to parenting. My last family is of Patsy’s children, Thomas, Roslynn and Marcus of Shelter Bay. They complete my tie to this earth
The bond that was formed with Beccah and Sarah is a lasting one. Plus Archie, their father, and I have also become fast friends. Coming to Missoula in many ways is like coming home. When I arrived, Archie had prepared supper for Beccah, now 44, Sarah, 42 and her wonderful husband, Scott, Marisa, the girls’ niece and me. Cheryl, Archie’s wife joined us later. And the stories flowed. Archie, Beccah and Caleb had just completed a seven day, 215 mile peak to peak mountain bike trip from Telluride, Colorado to Moab, Utah. No easy task with an age spread of 28, 44, and 66 - soon to be 67. Thanks Archie for representing our generation. And thanks for the welcome home.

September 23, Tuesday – Prayer Cloths

Before sunrise I was up with camera and tripod in hand. Again the internal battle welled up inside me. Am I of this place? Or am I of the camera and its lens? I hate this battle. It has been twisting my presence during this entire journey. Who am I? What do I want to take away from this place of senses? Can I have both? Will one suffer over the other? Questions that I didn’t want to deal with as I looked upon this unusual place of beauty.
Maybe I could take a clue from the First People at their Pow Wows. “There are to be no photographing or audio equipment during the Grand Entry. This is a sacred time.”
So I found a location of a pleasing sight and setup my camera and then stood with eyes fixed on the morning ceremony called sunrise.
The spinning earth caused the first rays of light to fall on the top of this monolith 1267 feet above my old friend the Belle Fourche River. As the light moved down the face my reverence changed to that of photographer.
I left the flatland around the base and drove up to the rock field and the trail system. I wanted to experience this place before people arrived, but as I pulled into the parking lot three climbers left their cars with ropes and climbing hardware surrounding their hips like an iron miniskirt. I slowly read the information boards and was impressed with the presentation of the connection of the First People to this mass of igneous rock column. Many tribes have the beacon of rock as a sacred place and the root of many oral stories of its creation. Climbers are asked not to climb the tower in their ceremonial month of June. There are signs asking people not to disturb the prayer cloths or bundles affixed to the trees. And there were many.
I wandered the path along the base constantly looking up the face. I understood why people of all cultures were drawn to this isolated place in the high plains.

September 22, Monday – Bear Lodge

I tell people that on this trip that I know what I’m doing today; an idea of what I’m doing tomorrow and just faint hint of what might take place the day after. I’m high susceptible to whims and suggestions. This was one of those days. Traveling north on Interstate 25 I saw if I cut north on Highway 59 to I-90 that I would come close to Devils Tower near the Wyoming/North Dakota state line. That’s where I headed.
I was scared. I don’t do night driving due to the number of animals out roaming around. Road kills are everywhere; deer are everywhere; antelope are everywhere. But I found myself after dark driving a winding rural highway with my nose plastered against the windshield, eyes sweeping back and forth trying to pick up an eye shine or a movement. And I found it. A deer moved suddenly out of the dark and into my headlights. Brake hard. When I spot a herd animal, as soon as I know that I’m going to miss it, I immediately switch to the spot from which they came from looking for other animals that might follow it. Big mammals tend to make big messes and trash out your set of wheels.
I safely made it to the National Monument without getting blood on the road. During the last few miles I was haunted by a massive silhouette projecting into the star light sky. I was in a holy place.

September 21, Sunday – Quick Stop? No

After hanging out with brother Phil and Shelby for four days, it was time to take up my travels again. I realized that my Circle Tour had undergone a major focus shift. It started with seeing Ann in Fergus Falls. I was now seeking out friends and not places. From geography to social goals. Nephew Ross had asked that I stop in at his house in Fort Collins as I swung back up to pick up my circumnavigation route along the northern tier.
I pulled into Fort Collins only after a short time of drive time and was eager to get some serious road distance to the north so was only planning a cameo appearance to see Kate and the two boys, Topher and Will. I left twenty four hours later.
When our visit time settled down, Kate mentioned that she wanted to go to the ninth annual Sustainable Living Fair in town. I had heard the fair being advertising on the radio while I was in Denver; I asked if I could go with them. And again the flexibility and the spontaneity of this marvelous circle tour came into play. We spent five hours talking with folks and checking out the vendors. The fair was sponsored by New Belgium Brewery (Fat Tire Ale). They started the fair when their employee/owners voted to make their Ft. Collins brewery entirely depended on wind power and wanted to share their knowledge. They’re cool - so drink their beer. And so are my nephew’s family. To watch this family live and love together gives me great hope for the future.

September 20, Saturday – Tourist Town

Before returning to Denver we drove up to the ski resort town of Breckenridge. To those of you who have been reading my blog you know I’m highly critical of town designs. Breckenridge won over my heart. I was overly impressed with the restoration of the historic buildings and the compatible new construction designs. The children’s playground was especially well done using mining themes of the town’s original purpose as a basis of their equipment. No plastic slides and beauty bark for the play area. The playground was melded perfectly into the river walk that paralleled main street. Walkers and cycles had two enjoyment choices: the shops on the main street sidewalk or the meandering path along the river. And of course the huge ski area on the mountainside as a town backdrop. Job well done, Breckenridge.

September 19, Friday – UP

After a day of doing chores, we packed up Snee Oosh and drove west into the front range on Interstate 70. This was the first time that the RV was put to the test of sustained mountain climbing. Mile after mile of going up at the speed of 40 mph. I kept an eye on the water temp and was very please to see it hovering around 202. I’m sure this was due to the cool weather. While crossing the small mountain ranges in California, it ran about 209. We finally spotted the twin tunnel entries going under Loveland Pass. The tunnel is at 11,185 while the old over-the-pass highway is 800 feet higher. We were rewarded after the two-mile tunnel with the long downhill run to Dillon Lake. 12,000 foot ridges dusted with snow reminded me that winter was knocking of the door.
We drove all around the huge lake trying to find a campground that was open since it was after the season. We set up camp at Heaton Bay by lowering the awning and bringing out the lounge chairs. Nice camp!!

September 17, Wednesday – Mile High

I arrived at my brother’s Lakewood (Denver) house to a warm welcome late Tuesday afternoon and settled in. Phil had already planned out our next day together. This morning found us standing at the grounds of the Denver Botanic Gardens. His son, Ross, is a horticulturalist on the staff there and is responsible for certain areas in the huge garden complex. Wednesdays is volunteer day so Phil and I were shepherd by Ross to a popular garden walk that had rows and rows of plantings along the side. We were given assignments along with about a dozen other volunteers. I quickly became aware that this was a group of people who had worked many hours and days together. They were a great group of folks. My job was to deadhead butterfly plants along with my partner, Ginny. We chatted and worked the whole morning side-by-side. Ross was working right along with the group. So when someone asked him about leaving a group of plants or to take them out, he replied “If they aren’t bouncin’ and behavin’, take them out.” Translation: if the plant is lying down or not up to snuff, trim it out. So his comment became my mantra for the day.

September 15, Monday – Climbing

From flatlands of the Dakotas I entered the Black Hills, sacred country to the Lakota. I left the beaten path and headed up Spearfish Canyon as it knifed into the heart of the uplifted country. I had the narrow twisting canyon road to myself in the early morning light. At 9 o’clock I topped out at 6,785 feet at O’Neill Pass. It was a different world up here on the high plains plateau country. This land is so exposed to the whims of weather. At Newcastle, Wyoming there were signs saying if the highway lights were flashing, stay in town. Why? Because there was nothing for the next 81 miles except grass, cattle, antelope and snow fences. Being out on that stretch of highway in a blizzard would be the end.
I took a detour off my set course to see a historical sight. Fort Laramie. This fort was the place of distinction in the history of the west. It was front stage, center. It provided protection and supplies for the Oregon Trail; it was a military base for the Indian Wars.
After many months of absence, I am back in the west where so many conflicts between our peoples seem to be at every curve in the road.

September 14, Sunday – Weathervane Swing

I kept plowing west when the countryside changed with no warning; from grasslands to stark bare rock and water carved draws. I had just fallen into the west North Dakota badlands. I headed over to the South Unit of Theodore Roosevelt National Park and spent a couple of hours before moving on down the line.
At this stage I left the main highway system and made a hard turn so now the weathervane pointed due south. I was taking a side trip to Denver to see my brother.
My night in South Dakota was spent in a small town called Belle Fourche – beautiful fork; two rivers coming together. They had just completed a mile long “river walk” which I took while enjoying the full moon rising. Moon River.

September 13, Saturday – More Changes

I had already started my weigh anchor routine when Ann came out and asked I would go with her back to the lake cottage. Her son, Caleb, and his friend, Kristina, had gotten to the cottage late last night. She really wanted me to meet her youngest who was born after we were no longer together. She said that she had told him so much about me. The current hadn’t caught the land boat yet, so I stopped what I was doing and headed to the cottage on the lake with her. I’m glad I did.
I immediately fell in love with Caleb. What a wonderful young man! She has every right to be proud of him. I could have spent an entire day hanging out with them all but by noon I was back behind the wheel heading west once again. I am sure I will see Caleb down the line. He has a standing invitation to my place on Puget Sound.

From Fergus Falls I left the potholes and enter prairie country. North Dakota landscape varied very little. My highlight of the day came when in the middle of absolutely nowhere here sat an oven with the door lying on the ground. A small spray painted sign was leaning up against it. It said, “Open Range.” Cowboy humor.

September 11, Thursday –

Feeling very melancholy.

September 10, Wednesday – The Toilet

Houses and lakes have a hard time coexisting. What to do with the sewer system so it doesn’t pollute the lake water? Ann, after much work, finally got approval for her composting toilet – the first in the county. After six years, it needed a new electric fan unit and it so happened that Ann had the replacement sitting in the bathroom waiting to be installed. So Ann read the instructions and I pulled wire connections off the back of the large unit. We worked a while, took a break, worked a while and took a break. As we took our lake breaks we reminisced and caught up on our lives. She had been a pivotal person in my life. I had left a teaching career Seattle and was on a seek. She was a beacon. She had two young daughters who became my daughters. I learned family from her. As we talked I realized how much I missed my own daughters. How a wave of homesickness washed over me.
However the highlight of the day was when the switch was thrown and the fans came on and the heating coil light and the stirring motor groaned.

September 9, Tuesday – Touchstone

My route along the western tier of the states in our nation took me past an old friend’s house on the western border of Minnesota. Ann and I had been partners in the upper Skagit Valley in the 1970’s. She and I and a strange conglomeration of individuals belonged to an organization called SCANP Skagitonians Concerned About Nuclear Plants.
As I wrote about earlier Puget Power was going to construct two massive power plants in the upper valley and as one of their officials said in a meeting Spokane, “we’re going to build the plants in a rural area. They won’t know what hit them.” SCANP was made up of crop farmers, dairy farmers, fishermen, chemical corporation officers, Native Americans, retail business people, hippies, environmentalists, teachers, welders. And in the end this small-dedicated group of individuals they did what no other group in the United States had ever done: stopped a utility company from building their generating plants based on hard geological facts and legal ramifications. There were no broken windows or spray painted slogans; no obstructive demonstrations or attacks. It was won through pure tenacity. And Ann and I were the tools.
Thirty years later we met in Fergus Falls. She was my touchstone to my past.
Ann was from this place. In 1850 her ancestors emigrated from northern Norway to the land of the lakes and farmed. Her family had a cottage on one of the many lakes near the town and after a long greeting we drove to the lake. As in all old cottage lake settings parking was not high on the list of concerns. It took me twenty-five minutes to back the 29 foot RV down a slopping narrow gravel road and wedge it in near the cabin, the cabin on the lake.

September 8, Monday – The Grand Marsh

Whenever you look at a road atlas of the state of Minnesota, they clip off the northeast corner of the state and stick it above the state. It is an appendage that doesn’t easily fit into the square box image that so many of our states exhibit. Grand Marais ( French for the “Grand Marsh”) is the only large city is this clipped off floating pie shaped section of the state. And that’s where I headed. After returning to the big lake, I journeyed north for an hour along sparely populated shoreline passing prime agate beaches when suddenly the city appeared behind a small harbor protected by breakwaters. It was a very quiet unassuming settlement, which dwells right on the water with the lowlands slowly slopping upwards to a ridge. This place was as remote a place as Ely was on the interior. I sat soaking up the sun on the open spacious waterfront that the town had created for all to enjoy. The summer crowds were gone and there was an air of getting ready for winter emanating from the locals. That feeling finally struck me and I got into my Jetta and hauled back down south along the coast to where I had left Snee-Oosh. With the units united I made for Duluth.
My layout in the cab has become a familiar arrangement for me: the small laundry basket, which holds my camera and extra map, is screwed down to the tabletop resting on top of the passenger seat. On a screwed down board on the lip of the laundry basket is a small tray that holds my sunglasses, sunscreen and energy bars. Resting on top of the engine compartment is my plywood base that holds my road atlas on a clipboard style setup with a potato chip bag clip holding the pages in place. The road atlas is there for constant referral. As I flew down the highway I hit a rough section in the road and the clipboard, road atlas and all went flying off the engine compartment and into the door well on the passenger’s side. A voice inside my head said in a drone tone, “Hey, Ron, I think your GPS just crashed.”
When I reached the city at the head of the lake, there was a hint of sadness for I was making a very decisive turn to the west and leaving my water world. I first greeted the waters of the east in Galveston six long months ago and water had always been on my starboard side. Oceans and lakes had been my constant companions and now as I left Duluth there was to be no more water until I hit the Pacific Ocean. A silent ceremony of thanks went through my mind as I departed the massive Lake Superior. Bye for now waters of the world.

September 7, Sunday – Inland

I had heard about the canoeing Mecca of the continent was located near Ely in the state of 10,000 lakes so decided to take a detour from the big lake and scope out the interior. For an hour and a half I drove a narrow winding road through low pine/birch forests with no one to keep me company on the road. However there were signs that a type of life existed here in the arrowhead region of Minnesota. ATV’s and snowmobile trails were laid out everywhere. The trails even had their own signage.
Ely was like an oasis, an outpost, in the middle of a forest. And true to form every fourth vehicle had a canoe strapped on top of it and signs greeting you to BWCA – Boundary Waters Canoe Area.
The Forest Service Visitor Center drew me like mosquito to a warm body. Superior National Forest is the managing agency for BWCA and has a pretty rigid permit system that lake paddlers have to conform to. On the Canadian side of the Minnesota border is a counterpart partner in the form of Quetico Provincial Park. When combined with BWCA an infinite number of voyager routes are created through the amazing chains and web systems of lakes. The Forest Service just completed a first class campground at a popular put-in point plus a new 12 million dollar visitor center. The counterman said that Superior National Forest/BWCA is to the Forest Service what Yellowstone is the Park Service. This region was the service’s crown jewel.
After talking to the candid Forest Service officer, I stumbled onto a mini festival downtown with artists and wares for sale. The spotlight for the festival was on the small logging show with two national champions competing in five different events. It brought back the memories of going to the Deming Log Show the first weekend in June where it played in front of hundreds of people over three days. I doubt if it is still happening due to the major drop in the timber industry in my corner of the world.

September 6, Saturday – Up the North Shore

With a light rain falling I slipped the lines and moved out of the speedway and onto the road next to the airport runway, then out onto the highway through town. Every city dreads the decision of ships on waterway. It’s either a drawbridge or a high bridge. Superior and Duluth elected to have high bridges because they are the busiest freshwater port in the world. As Snee-Oosh pulled up the long grade to reach the high bridge, I saw what supported this head of the lake. Ore docks and storage silos lined the waterfront. These were mill towns.
On the radio when they would talk about the weather, they would always for the: Duluth weather, “the range” weather – the iron ore mountain range west of Lake Superior and the weather for “the big lake”.
I took the beautiful scenic route up the north shore (To me it is a coastline due to the massiveness of the body of water) and settled next to a river in at a state forest campground. Even though it was a weekend, it was almost empty. Labor Day had come and gone. My traveling buddies had returned to their homesteads and from now on in my circle tour finding a camping spot should not be difficult.

September 5, Friday – The Gathering

I wanted to see the lay of the land so I headed for the Wisconsin Point Light. The huge sand bar off the Superior Bay represents is the largest bar in the world that was formed in a body of freshwater. The lighthouse on the point was part of a complex made up of the lighthouse and several buildings back from the lakeshore. The houses were empty but were used by the University of Wisconsin/Superior. A far away vision came to me about staying in one of the houses as a caretaker. The buildings needed my touch; broken windows to start with.
Things at the fairgrounds/speedway had changed since I had left. Before leaving for Wisconsin Point, I had moved my RV from the main parking lot to a side lot next to the horse corral. RV’s had descended on the area. Snee-Oosh now had many neighbors who all seem to know each other. Cars had filled up the parking lot and hundreds of common folk were milling around. The racing community is a culture and a cult. Everyone was hanging out with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. All engaged in friendly chatter.
Ron had said that things started happening around 7 p.m. but since it had rained in the afternoon, things were questionable. Around 7:30 I heard noise coming from the dirt track so I headed over. I found an area you could be close to the track without going through the grandstands. I joined four other observers watching the action. Instead of cars racing around the track, there were 15 or so pickup trucks plus a monster tractor were going around and around the track. They were trying to pack down the track and it showed it. Red mud coated every vehicle out there. About 45 minutes later a deputy sheriff joined us with the remark about seeing things for free. No one reacted and he spent the next 15 minutes just hanging out and talking with us. Before he left he said that we would probably be asked to leave when they came around to check for wristbands. Soon stock cars started replacing the pickup trucks out on the track. They went through noisy warmed up and then were replaced by the sprint cars. I was wishing that I had brought my ear plugs and was getting into the scene when a couple of guys came walking by and asked to see our wristbands, which of course none of us had. A local said he didn’t want to pay $25 and then have the event rained out because they don’t refund your money. I wander back to Snee-Oosh where the interior light up in from the airport beacon next door and the refinery torch cast an eerie red glow. Fifteen minutes later the skies opened. The track was quiet all night long.

September 4, Thursday – Big Change

What to do now? I wanted to see Duluth as my first experience of Minnesota. Where to stay as a base? As I drove across the Upper Peninsula (the locals call themselves “Oopers”) I noticed that RV’s were in the small fairgrounds so when I saw in one of the Wisconsin publications that the city of Superior fairground let RV’s stay there, that’s where I headed. The “Head of the Lake Fairgrounds” already had RV’s in the parking lot so I knew that I was in the right place. I went to the fairground office to check in. Jackie said that it was $17 a night for power and free if I just wanted to park. Cool; put me down for one night with power and two nights without power. A guy told me to go down the far end of power pedestals and he would come and unlock the power box. As I walked back to the parking lot I went over to the grandstands to take a peek. Instead of a ballpark or an infield, there was a banked dirt track. Hmm….
The guy said that the nationals were coming tomorrow. Tell me more. He said that the place would really change on Friday. The Northern Nationals always attracted big crowds especially this weekend because this was the last race of the season for this speedway. Speedway??? The fairgrounds was also the home of the Superior Speedway. Stocks, super stocks, sprints, classics. Now what I know about the speedway world you could hold in the bottle cap from a cold Budweiser.
After I plugged into the grid, I threw in with Ron in is golf cart. He gave me a quick course in Dirt Track Racing 101. I was looking at a large 3/8 mile banked track which made it really fast. His favor races were the sprint cars with their big air foils. He said that they have no starter so that a pickup truck has to push it until the engine catches. And since they burn alcohol, it takes a long push for the engine to fire off. Also once they start, that’s it. There is a lever that disconnects the drive shaft from engine and when pulled, you are done. There is no putting it back “in gear”. You have to shut everything down and the engage it and get another push start.
The brakes can be adjusted so that either the front or back have more grip. The airfoils can be adjusted, too. The outside back tire is big while the inside back is small to get more bank out of the track. They roar around the track at over 100 mph with their front wheels off the ground from the over power from their $65,000 engines. Ron, who has been doing the race circuit for 30 years, loves the sprints because they are so fast and they are constantly changing positions; they flip a lot.
So I decided to have a new experience.