smiles of a summer night

San Francisco, CA - A warm and sunny afternoon at Cafe Trieste.

Ingmar Bergman (July 14, 1918 - July 30, 2007)

first there is a mountain

San Francisco, CA – An overcast and mild morning on 10th Avenue, although the sun pokes through every once in a while

Being home is wonderful, and a little bizarre. In the last day, a calm has come over me that I haven’t felt in a long time and I seem to be grinning often. My mind is awash with memories from all of the places I’ve seen. Its going to take some time to sort all this out, but lets look back to Oregon, and the last leg of my big loop.

Back in Portland, it was a warm and sunny morning. I had a heavy grogginess that made packing the car a very gradual and slow process. I checked out, gave that leaky tire a refill, and then took one last drive around the neighborhood before heading south again on I-5. I was thrilled that I’d back in California by the days end.

The drive down I-5 through Oregon was pretty uneventful. The landscape was very uniform along this stretch, made of dry grassy hillsides with big patches of forestation, like spots on a dalmation, spread about. The heat wave was still going strong and again the white wonder’s AC was struggling to maintain.

At Grants Pass I got onto 199, which takes a southwestern diagonal route to the California coast. Like Redwood City, Grants Pass greets you with an overhanging sign that boasts the town’s excellent climate. In the mid-nineties, the climate didn’t seem all that spectacular to me. I stopped briefly for a super-sized fountain drink and then pushed on. As I neared the stateline in the Illinois Valley, I noticed that the forest had become denser, which helped cool the car off a little.

When I spotted the Welcome to California sign I hooted and hollered for a little while and noticed that the terrain had shifted again. The road had become twistier and the trees were getting larger with each minute. I was entering the land of giant redwood trees and I flashed back to April, when I had seen General Sherman and the other giant sequoias.

As I drove into Crescent City, I realized that cold air was actually coming from the AC. Suspicious, I rolled down the window and felt a chill, it was somewhere around 60 degrees or so. A coastal fog was holding on tight. I knew San Francisco would be the same way. Without a specific campground in mind, I went to a Redwood NP visitor center to pick one out. I was surprised to find that all but one campground was already full. It was 4pm on a Tuesday. At any other park I would have had the pick of the litter on a Tuesday afternoon.

Not wanting to waste any time, I drove directly to Del Norte Coast Redwoods SP and snatched campsite 79. Soon after, the campground was full. Redwood NP is situated along the northern-most stretch of the California coast. The greater Redwood park system is comprised of both national and state parks. Filled with trees of unusual size, I was reminded of the Ewok (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ewok) village from Star Wars.

There was clam chowder and green beans for dinner that night. I watched the last of my firewood burn and thought of all the places I’d seen and people I’d stayed with. I went to sleep in a smiley nostalgic mood.

In the morning I overslept by an hour or so. Anxious to hit the road, I broke down and packed up the campsite in record time. After some coffee and a shower, I left the park around 9:30. Spanning perhaps 75 miles or so of California coastline, Redwoods NP was cold and foggy. At several points you couldn’t even see the ocean, which was at only a stone’s throw distance.

After passing Eureka though, 101 turned inland into Humbolt County, and the heat was back. Traveling along this particular stretch of 101 takes a little patience, as it’s a combination of freeway and local roads. I was all out of patience by this point, so I became frustrated every time the highway funneled into the center of towns like Willits and Ukiah.

By 3:30 or so I got off 101 at Santa Rosa and made one final stop in Glen Ellen to visit my friend Marti. Marti and I were co-workers for several years in Redwood City and became friends over many a conversation about baseball. I also had the opportunity to meet Marti’s sister, Kay, for the first time. After a refreshment and some catching up, I returned to 101 and reached the Golden Gate Bridge in quick fashion. San Francisco was overcast and gloomy looking. It was beautiful. You couldn’t have wiped the smile from my face.

Originally, I had planned on shooting pictures from atop the Marin Headlands before crossing the bridge. But, with the clouds and fog, I figured it would be better to wait on that. Besides, I was too eager anyway delay my homecoming any further. I crossed the bridge and immediately hung a right into the Presidio. As though it were a victory lap, I drove along my favorite route through the park and came out the other side in Presidio Heights. A few minutes later I parked the Integra outside my place and shut off the ignition.

We did it Integra. We made it all the way around. I recorded the final odometer reading: 217,523. We’d driven 12,400 miles in the span of eleven weeks. I was proud, damn proud of the white wonder.

I was greeted with warm embraces from Zack and Diane, and a BBQ held in my honor. It was an emotional night. I resumed my post at the little Weber and grilled up steaks and chops. The All-Star game was on, and I was pleased to see that Beckett and Papelbon had given up no runs. (However, Leyland should have saved Papelbon for the ninth inning, if you ask me.) The AL squeaked by in the ninth and won their eleventh strait All-Star game. For a minute, it was as though I’d never left. I decided that night that eleven weeks is too long a time to be away from home. What a joy it was to sleep in my own bed that night.

On the following day, I slept in fairly late, made lots of coffee, and unpacked the car. I did laundry and ran errands. It didn’t take too long to feel re-settled in SF. The sky cleared in the afternoon and I drove back over to Marin to get pictures. That more or less brings us to the present. This afternoon, I will visit the movie palace that started all this, the Castro Theatre, to see Charlie Chaplin’s masterpiece “City Lights.” I’ll likely be there for the rest of the weekend too, as my favorite film event of the year is about to start, the SF Silent Film Festival. (http://www.thecastrotheatre.com/p-list.html)

Its blissful to be home. After some rest, I’ll get started on my next adventure, whatever that may be.

More soon.

Andy

For pictures from the last leg of the loop:

http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=8AcMnLVq3aN2Li

waiting for the tide to turn

Portland, OR – A clear, warm, and breezy evening in the second Portland I’ve visited, I don’t have much left in the tank now

Hello all you wonderful readers. I’ve had a nice little taste of the northwest in the past few days. In the midst of this heat wave, the temperature in Seattle and Portland has been more or less ideal. Despite the scenic surroundings though, I can’t seem to find much enthusiasm for exploration. The Integra's suspension is worsening each day. It has creaked, groaned, and thumped its way across Washington into Oregon and, like me, just needs to bring this adventure to a close. We’re ready.

But for now, back to Idaho.

With a fairly long drive ahead of me, I got the car packed up quickly in the morning and drove out of Sandpoint on Route 95. Already by 10am, the temperature had reached above 90 and I knew it would be a long hot drive. I was surprised to find that the eastern side of Washington was every bit as arid as anything I’d seen in the midwest. For some reason, I’d expected to encounter dense forestation and snow-capped mountains as soon as I crossed the Idaho border. It would take another few hours of driving past dry prairies and canyons before I reached that kind of scenery.

In total, it took me about six hours to reach Seattle. The drive overall was relaxed and quick-paced. Seattle was the first city, on this westbound trip, that I actually knew my way around somewhat. A couple years ago, I took a weekend trip to Seattle to see the Sox play the Mariners. Although the greater Seattle area is fairly large, its downtown is relatively compact. It was with no difficulty at all that I found my hotel in the Belltown district. I stayed at the Radisson, which was the nicest hotel I’ve stayed in during this trip. After checking in, I listened to the Sox get creamed by Detroit.

The way I see it, after three games against Tampa Bay (essentially a triple-A team), the Sox were a little rusty. Anyway, I took a shower and went for a walk along 1st Avenue down to the Queen Anne district to catch a movie. With a little time before the show, I got dinner at a Mexican place next door to the theater. That night, I saw “Paris, Je T’aime.” I had seen a trailer for the film the night before at the Panida and was interested with the premise. Basically, “Paris, Je T’Aime” is a collage, a medley. The film consists of 18 five-minute shorts about people falling in love in Paris. Each segment was written and directed by different people. Directors include: Walter Salles, Gus Van Sant, Wes Craven, and the Coen brothers (whose episode was probably my favorite), among many others. The film has an impressive collection of American, French, and English actors, including: Natalie Portman, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Steve Buscemi, Elijah Wood, Nick Nolte, and many others I’d never seen before. It was fun watch the collaborative effort of so many good directors and actors towards one end, but the film was too all-over-the-place to be cohesive at all. Regardless, I had a good time watching it. (B)

Oh, and the film was played at the Uptown, which is a four-screen outfit run by AMC. After the lovely experience I’d had at the Panida, it was downright irritating to watch fifteen minutes of commercials before even getting to the trailers. Ah well. Having selected inappropriate footwear (again), I hobbled somewhat back to my hotel and fell asleep with the tv on.

I slept in longer than expected the next morning. The bed was the most comfortable I’d had yet on this trip, and my body responded by sleeping past 10am. With only a very short drive to Portland, however, I wasn’t really in any hurry anyway. I walked over to Cyclops (a bar/restaurant I’d been to before) and had a wonderful omelet with lots of coffee.

After a shower, I packed up the Integra and re-inflated its ailing rear left tire. Thankfully, I have a mini-air compressor in my car so I can keep the tire going until I get back to the bay area. With only around 11,000 miles on the tire, I figure America’s Tire Company in Redwood City owes me a new one. I had bought the tires new, just before the trip, in order to avoid problems like this, dammit! (fist shaking in the air)

Ahem. After my short maintenance job, I walked over to the Space Needle (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Space_Needle) for photos and general gawking. It was somewhere in the mid-seventies with a slight ocean breeze. Seagulls were making themselves heard overhead. Satisfied, I next walked downtown a bit to the Public Market to get a look at the bay before skipping town. The Public Market is to Seattle what Fisherman’s Wharf is to San Francisco. You can spend hours exploring the Public Market. However, my visit was brief, and soon I was walking back to the Integra to get out of town.

The drive to Portland was quick. Before I knew it, I was crossing the Columbia River again and looking for my lodgings in the southeast corner of town. I considered catching another movie for the third night in a row, but didn’t feel like I had it in me. Instead, I found a nearby internet café called the Fireside Coffee Lodge for dinner and a little photo management.

This morning I got up around 9:30 and felt no urge to even leave my room. Lethargic, I watched the Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan formula picture “You’ve Got Mail” (C-) and the surprisingly good “Rumor Has It” (B) on HBO. In the early afternnon, I set out to explore the corner of Portland I was staying in. My first stop was Hawthorne St (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hawthorne%2C_Portland%2C_Oregon), which seemed to me a very cool and somewhat hippie stretch of town. It reminded me a little of SF’s Haight St., but without all the panhandling rabble. On yet another perfect sunny day, I stopped at Powell’s Books (at the recommendation of Zack & Diane) and picked up Willie Nelson’s “The Tao of Willie.” My stomach growling, I walked across the street to the Bridgeport Ale House for a very tasty pale ale (A) and their cottage pie (A-). Smiling as I read Willie’s opus, I was feeling a lot better. The book sparked my imagination somewhat, and I started thinking about my entire trip, and what it all meant. I figured that, at the very least, I’d done pretty well for myself by Willie’s standards. I’d done what made me happy while visiting all my friends. Willie would be proud.

Enlivened a bit, I took the Acura next to Mt. Taber Park, which is at the eastern edge of the Hawthorne district. On the small side, Mt. Taber park was lovely this afternoon. After entering, you can drive along a spiral road that takes you to near to the top of the “mountain.” At the top of the park, you can look westward towards Portland’s skyline. Being a sunny Sunday afternoon, there were lots of people, and many dogs, doing just that. Walking about, I also spotted a statue of Harvey W. Scott, a Portland pioneer and major contributor to the Oregonian (http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=8AcMnLVq3aN2LR). I sat in the shade and read my new book for an hour or so before heading back to the motel. Back in my room, I felt wiped again. I napped for a while before remembering that I wanted to get a post out today. After a quick dip in the pool and a shower, I drove back to the Fireside and, well, here I am.

What does it all mean, Willie? I have some rough ideas, but I think its going to be a while before I can really wrap my hands around it. More on that later. For now, I’m satisfied with the knowledge that there are only 700 miles left on this trip of mine. Tomorrow will be a fairly long drive to the California border. I’ll check out a few redwood trees at the national park there and then take the 101 to San Francisco, with a quick stop in Glen Ellen to say hi to my friend Marti. I’ve never looked more forward to seeing the Golden Gate Bridge.

More soon.

Andy

For Seattle and Portland pics:
http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=8AcMnLVq3aN2LR

sunlight in her hair

Sandpoint, ID – A warm and gentle night in Idaho, this is a nice little town to spend an evening, I’m glad I’m here

After being nearly ready to throw in the towel after Yellowstone, I feel I’ve rebounded a great deal from my stay in Glacier NP. Looking back, it seems the stars were really in alignment during my three days there. The icing on the cake has been this little stop in Sandpoint. The town is charming, and they have a wonderful little movie palace. But lets not get ahead here. Lets instead go back to Missoula.

After hitting the “publish” button on blogger.com for the last time, I strolled down to the hotel pool for a little swim. Still buzzing a little from writing (and a couple Mountain Dews) the swim was just what I needed to get tired. I really slept well. I sleep pretty well with the air mattress camping, but its no substitute for a real bed.

With only a short drive ahead of me, I spent hours in the morning watching Star Wars, Episode 3. Its cool to watch Hayden Christensen succumb to the dark side and become James Earl Jones. I next drove over to the nearby Albertson’s and replenished the campfood pantry. I was definitely dragging that morning, and the heat was already inching past ninety. Finally around 12:30pm I drove out of Missoula, up Route 93, with an extra cup of coffee to prod things along.

Although there were a number of hills to climb along the way, the drive was very nice. The traffic was light. About halfway to Glacier, I drove past Flathead Lake, which is above 30 miles long. There were a number of attractive little neighborhoods attached to the lake. After reaching Kalispell, I hung a right on Route 2 towards Glacier. The white wonder soared over gads of streams which criss-crossed Hungry Horse and Columbia Falls. After some more climbing I reached the west gate of the park. It was bright, sunny, and noticeably cooler than I’d felt back in Missoula. Learning from my Yellowstone experience, I picked a campground that was only five miles or so from the park entrance.

Fish Creek lies along the southwestern corner of Lake McDonald. I wasn’t able to snag a site by the water, but the campsite I did select was pretty nice, nonetheless. It was tucked away in the corner, with no immediate neighbors, and had a stream whooshing away beyond its perimeter. Glacier NP has the most expensive campsites I’ve seen, at $23 a night. Still, FAR cheaper than any motel room.

Once I had the tent set up, I grabbed my collapsible chair and walked over to the lake. There was something about it that reminded me of camping on Moosehead Lake in Maine as a child. Back as a pre-teen, my dad and I would camp with my dad’s friend and his son, Andy. We’d take a boat and camp on Farm Island in the center of Moosehead, “roughing it” for days. The view from the side of Lake McDonald reminded me of camping on Farm Island.

The water in Lake McDonald wasn’t ice cold, but one would definitely need to just jump in all at once if they wanted to swim there. I sat by the lake taking pictures and reading a book Diane had leant me, “Desert Solitude”. The book is an autobiography of a park ranger’s season working in solitude at Arches NP in Utah back in late sixties. Chad and I had visited Arches NP years ago, and so the book resonates with me somewhat now.

Around 8pm I walked over to the Fish Creek amphitheater to listen in on a lecture given by a park ranger in training (an R.I.T.) On that night, the topic was Glacier NP’s fish population. The RIT spoke about how the park had populated its lakes with various foreign species of trout, salmon, and shrimp in an attempt to boost visitation from fishing enthusiasts. For a while it worked really well. The lakes enjoyed an explosion of cutthroat salmon, which caused the bald eagle population of the park to spike as well. However, the park faltered when it added a specific breed of shrimp in an effort to increase the size of the fish. What happened instead was an all-out collapse of the salmon food chain. The cutthroat salmon population all but disappeared, and so did the eagle population. The take-home message was that ecosystems are usually more complicated than we imagine.

I returned to the lake to watch the sun set and was baffled by the length of day. Sunlight was still visible until past 10:30. I loved it. I walked back to the campsite and lit a small fire, determined to burn every last bit of that Arizona firewood. As of right now, I still have enough firewood for one more night. I expect to use it at Redwood NP in northern California, the night before I return to San Francisco.

I felt rejuvenated somewhat that night. Glacier NP cast a spell on me. With the stream gushing nearby, I slept well that night too.

I awoke in the morning to bright sunshine, although my campsite was very well shaded by the dense forest surrounding it. I percolated some coffee and walked down to the lake with the chair again to sip it for a while. Breakfast that morning was oatmeal, fried spam, and a banana.

Around noon I drove first to the Apgar Village for lunch and general lollygagging. From there, I got on the Going To The Sun Road, which by itself is a registered national landmark. The road first winds along Lake McDonald before making its way up the mountains towards Avalanche Lake and Logan Pass. Along the way, the Sun Road offers many spots where you can pull off and take in the scenery. As you climb higher and higher, the views become increasingly fantastic. Like Yosemite, the mountains of Glacier NP have been shaped by millions of years of ice age glaciers streaming past them.

As you near the summit at Logan Pass, you see snow all about. At the Weeping Wall, melted-snow runoff falls directly on the road. The Integra got a brief carwash from the weeping mountainside driving back to Fish Creek. Continuing up, I spotted a mountain goat meandering ten feet or so from the Sun Road. They have these big white fluffy coats helping them to blend into the snowy scene.

Logan Pass sits atop the continental divide (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Continental_divide) and is surrounded by gorgeous snowcapped mountains in all directions. You feel like you’re on top of the world up there. Words fail me somewhat in describing it. Its likely one of the most beautiful spots on this planet, I’m sure of it. After a brief stop in the visitor center, I discovered a trail which proceeds strait up the nearby mountain. It seemed to be the thing to do and I marched up the trail. At first, the trail is only half-covered with snow and is easy to navigate. At this level you see large fields of green with loads of little yellow flowers aimed downward. Set against the snow and mountains, it was a vision.

After another ten minutes of walking though, the entire mountainside was covered with several feet of snow. After another five minutes of slogging upward, I had to turn around due to my inappropriate footwear. Donning only my broken-down sandals, my feet got covered in snow constantly. With my feet already soggy, I’d get a running start and skid down portions of the hill. By the time I returned to the trail base my toes were numb. It was a nice change after all that heat in Badlands and Yellowstone. I took off the snow-packed sandals and warmed my feet by the sunlight.

I drove back down the Sun road with a big smile on my face. In no particular rush, I didn’t mind the numerous traffic snags. If you’re stuck in traffic up there, all you need to do is look around and it suddenly things don’t seem so bad.

Later at the campsite I did a little photo management with the laptop and listened to the Red Sox beat Tampa Bay 4-1. For dinner I made a strange concoction of couscous, black beans, and steamed vegetables. It didn’t really taste the way I had thought it would, but it was a good meal nonetheless. After some campfire time, I went to bed before the sun even fully set.

On Wednesday I awoke earlier than usual, drank lots of coffee, called my folks, and listened to the Red Sox beat up on Tampa again on a Fenway Fourth of July. I found that by noontime the campground was virtually empty. During the seventh inning stretch, Fenway had a lady sing “God Bless America” and I turned up my speakers as loud as they would go. It was the Fourth of July, after all. I doubt anyone heard it though. With the game over, I took the car over to the Apgar Village again and hopped on a park shuttle. The shuttle would have taken me all the way to Logan Pass, but I got off around the halfway point at Avalanche Creek. During the drive, I chatted with the bus driver about my trip and her Native American upbringing.

She explained how, in her grandparents’ days, people would go foraging for berries right alongside the bears, with no problems at all. Her grandmother explained “Its because the bears were our brothers and sisters.” The driver told me she didn’t believe in all that animal spirit-fraternity business. She planned to steer clear of all bears, don’t you know. Despite a Native American upbringing, she had a definite midwestern dialect, with plenty of “doonchaknows” and “oh you betchas” mixed in.

Once at the creek, I hiked first along the Trail of the Cedars, which is a 0.7 mile loop around Avalanche Creek. On the other end of the loop, I connected to the Avalanche Lake trail which is, one way, two miles long with a 500’ rise. During the first portion of the hike, I was treated to a series of short waterfalls through giant red and grey boulders which had been polished smooth by countless years of rushing water. I was sweating by the time I reached the lake. Avalanche Lake looks like a giant amphitheater of sorts. Steep mountain faces surround its rear portion, dumping water into it via six or seven separate waterfalls. I’d never seen anything quite like it.

At the lake I read my book for a while and took pictures of a chipmunk that was waiting for me to give it some of my trail mix. At one point it ran right between my legs to recover a raisin I’d accidentally dropped. Whoops. Nearly every park ranger you meet will go on about the danger of feeding the wildlife. Ah well, I had a feeling the Chipmunk had already learned a trick or two well before I ever came along. After about an hour by the lake, I hiked, shuttled, and drove my way right back campsite A30 and made dinner, which was chili and potato salad, and a tasty beer I’d picked up at the village earlier in the day, Scapegoat Pale Ale, by the Big Sky Brewing Co. (http://www.bigskybrew.com/).

After dinner, I walked back over to the amphitheater to hear a lecture about the endangered species of Glacier NP. The girl giving the speech, although she said she was from New York, had kind of a “Chicago-an” kind of dialect. It was clearest every time she said “habitaat”, which was often. I thought of the “Bill Swersky’s Super Fans” sketch on SNL:

“I’m gonna order da polish sausage ‘dere Bob. As I am in the habitaat of a certain town, that begins with C…”

Later I burned a bundle and a half of firewood and listened to a bunch of albums on the iPod. I was visited by the campground host who reminded me to discard my waste in the appropriate containers and put out my fire completely before going to bed. “Yeah yeah yeah, I know already. Sheesh!!” I thought to myself. Then, sleep.

This morning I woke up to yet another picture perfect day. As soon as the coffee was ready though, I was fast at work breaking down the tent and packing stuff into the Integra. I’ve done this routine so many times now that my mind will wander away while I’m doing it. I was a sad to be leaving. Glacier NP is a wonder. I’ve decided that, if I ever marry, I would want my honeymoon to be at Glacier in the summer. In my mind, its just a little more impressive than Yosemite or Zion. Just a little though.

Once packed up, I left the park around 9:30 and headed west on the 2. The day heated up quickly outside of the park. By noon, the temperature was around 95 degrees, and I was gleaming with sweat in the car. The AC just can’t cut it in that kind of heat. It was around that time that I crossed into Idaho, and back into pacific standard time. Idaho’s panhandle is in the pacific time zone while the rest of the state is in the mountain time zone. I reached the motel at about 2pm, which had just become 1pm. With the temperature still in the mid-nineties, I prayed that the receptionist would let me check in early. Thankfully, she did.

I swear, sometimes an air conditioner and a shower can do wonders for a man.

With an extra hour, the afternoon was spent watching Wimbledon on the tube and uploading a TON of pictures. I really had gone camera-crazy at Glacier, and so it took hours just to get the pictures loaded and described. Around 6pm I drove to downtown Sandpoint for dinner and movie.

Downtown Sandpoint is a very pretty spot in Idaho. With Lake Pend Oreille bordering it, 1st Avenue is comprised of various shops, restaurants, bars, and one very cool little movie palace. I got there around 6:30 and it was still king-hell hot outside. I ducked into a vaguely irish-themed microbrew tavern and ordered a steak and salad, as well as their IPA. Light and almost sweet tasting, it was the perfect beer considering the weather. The steak I’d ordered was smothered in blue cheese. Yum.

After dinner, I had just enough time to scoot a block over to the Panida Theater. (http://www.panida.org/) The Panida was originally built in 1927, around the same time that movie palaces all over the country were springing up. From what I gathered, the theater had nearly deteriorated from disuse and neglect for many years before a Sandpoint committee organized to restore it to its previous glory in 1985.

The outside of the theater seemed understated, although I really liked the art deco style theater sign. The theater has a small entranceway, containing the ticket booth, leading to a fairly small but ornate snack bar area. From there you can access the ladies or gentleman’s “parlors”, take two sets of stairs to the balcony, or enter the screening room’s floor seating. I did my painstaking routine of shooting the theater’s interior in mostly very low lighting. I takes a steady hand and usually something solid to hold the camera against.

The auditorium from the floor level seemed to have all the familiar dimensions to it, although noticeably smaller. The screen was adorned with balconies to either side and ceiling was painted, with beautiful light fixtures setting off a dark red color. There was one glaring omission though, in my opinion. The theater needed a pipe organ, of some kind. Surely they could have installed a scaled down organ for a scaled down theater?

The balcony surprised me. It was the shallowest balcony I’d ever seen. Only four rows deep, the balcony offers plush red velvet single seats or loveseats. The chairs looked inviting, but the viewing angle didn’t look so hot. I found a good spot in the center of the floor seats and a nice lady came out to introduce the film trailers we were about to see. She also thanked the gentleman who had repaired the theater’s air conditioning unit only an hour and a half before the film. The crowd applauded.

The film was Waitress. Keri Russell did a great job with her leading role, but unfortunately the remainder of the characters were poorly portrayed. A notable exception was Andy Griffith with a supporting role, who I thought was great. Overall, the film is pretty charming, if nothing else. The story is too sickly sweet for me, although it should be noted that every woman in the crowd could be heard uttering “aaawWWw” on a regular basis, so perhaps the film speaks more to the feminine experience. It IS about a woman having her first baby, after all. I’ve noticed a trend lately in movies of this type: “Knocked Up”, “After the Wedding”, and “Waitress” all involve unwanted (or at least unexpected) pregnancy. (B)

I emerged from The Panida to a cooled-off late sunset sky. The air was just right and I had a pleasant walk back to the Integra, picking apart the movie I’d just seen. I rolled back the sunroof and drove back to the motel with bright stars visible overhead.

That pretty much brings us to now. I’ve had just the best time here in Montana and Idaho. I’m pretty excited to finish the westbound portion of this trip tomorrow in Seattle. I’ll spend one night in the heart of Seattle’s downtown area before going to Portland, OR for two nights. Then, I’ll spend one night in Redwood NP. Then, home.

Oh home. How I’ve missed you.

More soon.

Andy

For a barrage of Glacier and Idaho pictures:

http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=8AcMnLVq3aN2K3

dreadlock rasta

Missoula, MT – A warm summer evening in Montana, my hotel is not as hot as I was led to believe

The last few day have brought yet more other-worldy sightings. Yellowstone reminded me of the kind of planets Calvin & Hobbes would visit, with steam and bubbling ooze erupting all over the place. The days are getting longer and longer as I continue north. Last night, sunlight could still be spotted over the horizon at 10pm. I’m growing a bit weary again from all the driving and camping. I plan to mostly relax at Glacier NP. But I digress.

After checking out from the Motel 6 in Buffalo, I climbed in my car and noticed mountains in the distance. I was heading strait for them. From this point on, the Integra would be challenged a bit more. In the past, high elevations have a way of cramping the Integra’s style. We were ready.

I took Route 16, which zig-zags a bit across western Wyoming towards Yellowstone. There were dramatic canyon walls lining the steep inclines and declines. There were switchbacks and twisty-turny sloped curves. It was pretty fun to drive, I must say, and the car handled it all really well. I often to reved the engine much higher than usual. I would take third and fourth gears to 5000 rpm before shifting, and that seemed to do the trick. Every once in a while, I’d get slowed down by tractor trailer trucks, or monster RVs. The RVs sometimes had a car in tow, which made them pretty much useless on the steep hills. I’d get irritated behind them. Once the Integra is slowed to below 45 mph or so on those hills, it takes a long time to get it back up to speed.

Anyway, along the way I passed through a few towns along the way, including Ten Sleeps, Greybull, and Cody. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cody%2C_WY) In Ten Sleeps, I stopped at “PerCup Espresso” and picked up a big cup of coffee. The Motel 6 had only provided tiny cups of joe earlier. A bit more awake, I drove for another couple hours before reaching the Yellowstone outer limits.

Yellowstone NP is gigantic. Its area is larger than Rhode Island and Delaware combined. Earlier on, I had decided to camp at the Mammoth Hot Springs area, which is in the upper left-hand corner of the park. Having entered the park’s east gate, I still had another hour and a half of driving ahead of me to get to my campsite. At first glance, Yellowstone reminded me of Yosemite, a beautifully adorned and preserved natural wonderland. With the $25 entrance fee waived, I had officially made back my money back on the annual pass.

As soon as I entered, I hit some bad traffic. The park was improving a seventeen mile stretch of road. As a result, I waited for a half-hour or so for my line to move. I was part of a fifty car procession which was lead by a special truck along the windy, now single-laned, street. It became clear that Yellowstone had suffered from some kind of forest fire years ago. The hills were covered with downed trees, and some still standing, charred beyond recognition. Amongst all the wreckage, there were thousands and thousands of five-foot-tall pine trees. I found out later that there had been a huge forest fire back in 1988. The forest fire had triggered the older trees to release their seeds, bringing about the newer generation of pines. (Thank you Mary Ann Melton)

Driving along, I next hit Yellowstone Lake, which was breath-taking. Seeming perfectly still, the lake took me twenty minutes or so to pass. There were hot springs and buffalo all over the place. The halfway past the lake, a strong smell of sulfur filled the car, and I turned the air-handler to “inside circulation.” It hadn't made much difference. Yellowstone is the world’s first national park. It was designated as a park not to preserve the wildlife, but instead to protect the area’s unique geology. Yellowstone sits atop a “hot spot.” A mere three miles above hot magma, the park resembles a pot of boiling water in places. Geysers are everywhere, shooting steaming water all about. Hot springs with funky colors and pungent smells attract a lot of attention from the park’s visitors.

However, the park’s most popular attraction is its abundance of apparent wildlife. As you drive along the roads, you see buffalo and elk lurking about. Often, they are only a few feet from the road. This causes the entire line of traffic to stop as everyone has to get out and take pictures. This was very annoying to me. It delayed my trip to Mammoth Hot Spring even further.

Now, to be fair, this wasn’t the first time I’d seen an American Bison. Golden Gate Park in San Francisco has a spot set aside for a dozen or so buffalo to roam about. I would often run past them, and wave. If I’d never seen a buffalo before, I very well might have stopped for some pictures as well. The traffic buildup did allow me to get some pictures of the buffalo anyway. I’d wave at them and get good shots. A little later, at yet another photo-moment-induced jam, I saw it. I saw my first bear. It was a black bear (I figured out later) and wasn’t as big as I thought it’d be.

I reached the campgrounds at Mammoth Hot Springs around 6pm and set up camp. After a seven-hour trek, I was exhausted. I could barely keep my eyelids open to watch the sun set and my firewood burn awhile. I ate broccoli and canned pasta and passed out just after the sun fully set, around 10pm.

In the morning, I awoke to an overcast sky and made a pot of coffee. I was still tired. I couldn’t shake it after two cups of coffee and spent the morning and early afternoon reading. I was in no mood to explore. After the clouds burned off, I eventually get off my keister and drove a quarter-mile to the Mammoth Hot Springs Center to run errands and get lunch. It was similar to Yosemite’s Village Center, although arranged differently. All the park buildings were lined up like in a military base. It reminded me a little of SF’s Presidio marching grounds, but smaller. There was a general store, a hotel, a restaurant, a visitor center, a museum, and countless administrative buildings. Not to mention all the elk. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elk) On that day, there were elk under every tree. Sometimes on hot days, the elk will take over this center area, stealing nearly every bit of shade from the visitors. Yellowstone has harsh rules concerning approaching the wildlife. And so, the elk would go undisturbed, napping the afternoon away. Keeping their distance, groups of thirty people, or so, would line the grassy lawns and take pictures.

I turned my gaze to the crowd for a while, and realized that everyone was mostly concerned with lining up that perfect picture. Kids would pose in front of the elk. No one seemed to be just watching and enjoying the moment. I was no different, I had taken a dozen pictures or so. But, after seeing the assemblage, I got a little disenchanted with my camera.

Sometimes, you just need to put the camera down. And I did.

Having spent an hour or so at the scene, I returned to my campsite and hid from the sun. I took a four hour nap and woke up to a violet sunset sky. Groggy, I made some diner and then attended the nightly lecture at the nearby amphitheater. The lecture that night was given by a zoologist park ranger and was all about bears. Black bears (which often aren’t black in Yellowstone) and grizzly bears were discussed. Yellowstone has had an interesting history regarding its relationship with bears. By the end of the lecture I knew how to tell the difference between black and grizzly bears, and how to interpret its mannerisms if I ever came face to face with one.

Then I went strait to bed.

On Saturday, I woke up late and very groggy from a long sleep. The sky was clear this time, and the air became hot quickly. It reached the mid-nineties by the afternoon. Determined to not waste another day, I hopped in the car and drove for an hour and a half to Old Faithful. At the very least, I thought, I had to see the great geyser. Yellowstone was much more pleasant enjoyed from the viewpoint of my air-conditioned Acura. I saw buffalo after buffalo and loads of elk, again.

Old Faithful was pretty cool. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Faithful) The “viewing area” is made up of several small geysers, and one really big one. When I arrived at the geyser perimeter, Old Faithful was emitting small plumes of steam. The plume would rise to three or four feet for a minute, and then settle down to less than a foot. I had about fifty minutes to wait until it would erupt. Contrary to popular belief, Old faithful does not fire at “set-your-watch-by-it” intervals. The timing of each eruption depends upon the magnitude of the previous eruption. It roughly goes off, on average, every ninety minutes. Although, at times, it can go off after only sixty minutes. I sat and read my book in wait.

About five minutes before it eventually went off, a park ranger stood right in front of me and addressed the large crowd behind me. So that everyone could hear her, she practically screamed her lecture and left my ears ringing afterwards. She was a geologist and originally from New Jersey. She explained how Yellowstone essentially sits atop the largest volcano in the world. Were it to erupt, no part of the earth would be safe from the devastation. She explained why geysers erupt the way they do and how Yellowstone holds the bulk of the world’s geothermic activity (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geyser). She spoke for a little while about Iceland, which uses it geothermic heat as an energy source.

After that, the geyser went off. I was pleased.

I drove back to my campsite and stopped a couple times along the way to inspect some hot springs a little closer. Unlike some of the other hot springs I’ve visited, you can not bath in any of Yellowstone’s hot springs. They’re just too darned hot.

I returned to my tent and listened to the Red Sox get out-pitched by Texas. Matsuzaka just never gets and run support. Ever. I had dinner of soup and chili and went strait to sleep.

This morning I got up around 7am and packed up the campsite. The air was getting hot quickly, so I wasted no time in getting out of there. Someday, I may return to Yellowstone, and give it much more time in order to properly see everything it has to offer. Overall, I spent more time sleeping and hiding from the sun than anything else. Ah well.

The drive today to Missoula was pretty easy. Five hours passed by mostly on cruise control. The landscape was lovely. After nearly choosing the C’mon Inn, I decided to go with the Best Western across the street as the hotel clerk had told me they had laundry services. I had a bag of laundry that needed washing. However, I learned later that the “laundry service” was actually just dry cleaning pick-up and drop-off. There were no coin-operated machines as I hoped. On top of that, the wi-fi internet connection was awful. I couldn't upload one photo successfully. Luckily, there was a Starbucks across the street for blogging and photo management needs.

That pretty much brings us to the present. In general, I can feel that weariness creeping back up on me. I considered skipping Glacier NP entirely at one point, but ultimately I can’t pass up what everyone has told me is the best national park in the country. I will push on. I’ve made one change to the itinerary though. I will spent only three days in glacier NP (rather than four) and spent the extra day in Sandpoint, ID. The last movie palace on my list is there, the Panida Theatre. Looking forward to that. The rest of the schedule is the same.

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I have some mixed feelings about that, but mostly I can’t wait to get home and sleep in my own bed.

Pleasant dreams everyone.

More soon.

Andy

To see all the Yellowstone wackiness:

http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=8AcMnLVq3aN2Km