Yellowstone National Park

Despite my eagerness for the upcoming week of national park loitering, I couldn't help but cling to my hotel bed when I woke up in a hotel. Clean sheets. Air conditioning. My back wasn't sticking to a wrestling mat that has been serving as padding in the back of my car. I don't have open my car door to spit out my toothpaste. I'm not just going to crawl over and into the front seats, slip on my shoes, start up the car and go. Loving traveling like this doesn't have to also mean I don't appreciate a good night's sleep. This was the first full sized bed I'd had to myself in what felt like weeks and I was in no rush to leave it. I wasn't crammed in a infant sized cot or fighting for sheets with a drunk friend, or wrestling the night in the oppressive heat in the back of my car, sleeping on the slightest incline, which is just enough to keep me awake. Those nights of trying anything to fall asleep were anything but rare. Melatonin, Nyquil, wandering up and down the aisles of a 24 hour Wal-Mart hoping to either find something I forgot I needed. No, this was a bed and it was all mine, in all its bleached and sterile glory. And if it wasn't for mediocre but free breakfast awaiting me downstairs, perhaps I never would have left. But I did.

After stuffing my face with as much complimentary and tasteless bacon, cereal and coffee as possible (in a dining room that looked something like a senior center Bingo arena) I loaded into my car, wishing I could stay another day.

Driving through Big Horn Park and Shoshone it was on to Yellowstone for two days of exploration.





Upon arriving at Yellowstone, I wanted to be nervous about the thought of being mauled by wildlife, but this windown ornament prevented that from happening. And I was confused by the fact that this was supposed to be hung from my rearview mirror, as I'm uncertain as to what that would accomplish.




He didn't gore anyone. He just sat there.


For hours I drove around the park, camera in hand, snapping photo after photo. Hundreds of blurred, dull, and crooked pictures. And while they vast majority are impressively unimpressive, what I do have is a collection of pictorial moments that I can flip through to piece together the time I spent here. And that has been a struggle every step of the way these last few weeks: how can I experience this in a way that I remember it. How can I hold on to this? There's no picture that can capture the fog that swept into Yellowstone the afternoon that I got there. Or the stillness of the whole place upon waking there the following morning. There are no words that will convey the freedom of driving around for countless hours with no point other than seeing things I've never seen before. And in typical me-fasion, I drove around all day, exploring, hiking, and snapping photos putting off dealing with where I would sleep that night. So when sunset came and there was nothing to be seen, I pulled into the oasis at the center of Yellowstone - a semi-LOST community of posh hotels, white tablecloth restaurants, and bars occupied by khakis-clad babyboomers, all framed by freshly mowed, green grass.

Parking in front of the most expensive hotel I could find, I went into the lobby and, after making my way past various Judge Smails types, inquired about nightly rates at the front counter. The fact that a cabin with no bathroom fetched $90 didn't even matter as there were no units available. I was informed that all of Yellowstone was booked up.

Walking out to the hotel, I worked over some numbers in my head, knowing the nearest Wal-Mart was 50 miles away and over the mountains, not to mention in the wrong direction. Getting to the parking lot, I couldn't help but notice how perfectly my car matched the rest of the parking lot. So, I got in, slipped of my shoes, crawled in the back, and went to sleep.

roadside shower & devil's tower

I have successfully continued to fall behind in the logging of my travels, and it has proved to be an interesting exercise in adjusting to this newfound freedom. As another good friend recently informed me, it seems as though my inner New Yorker has found some form of work and responsibility with which I have burdened myself. I have many times before brought my camera with me to parties, events, and the like and focused on capturing moments rather than being a part of them. I refuse to fall subject to that these days and will continue to write when I can.

ANYWAY... I have discovered a benefit to all this corn out here (and it's not malnourished chickens and cows being overfed). Every gas station I've encountered over the last few days offers 10% ethanol super unleaded fuel at a lower cost than regular unleaded gas. This means that I'm A) saving money and B) saving the environment. Well, maybe not saving it, but at least doing less damage than I would be doing otherwise.

And speaking of gas stations, I was in the midst of my fourth consecutive day without a shower when I pulled in a for a fill-up and saw this:


Immediately I parked my car, went inside and paid for one tank of gas and one shower, a combination I had never previously imagined ordering. I would have otherwise thought $5.00 is a ridiculous amount to charge for a shower. In this case, I found it to be 100% worth it and was grateful to have the opportunity at all. It looked like this
and was impossibly immaculate, smelled intensely of bleach, and was stocked with soap, shampoo, and clean towels. Still, my distrust and paranoia runs deep, so I brought my own supplies.

(The inherent irony in using a Marriot Beach Resort towel in this situation still makes me smile.)

With a clean start to my day, I purchased a cup of coffee and drove onward to Devil's Tower, in the midst of a swarm of bikers still in the midst of the Sturgis Bike Rally Week. Much like the Badlands, Devil's Tower breathed an extra large aura of wickedness due to the immense number of steel riding cowboys flocking there. Despite the sweltering heat, I've been unable to locate iced coffee, and so hot coffee has been the routine. What I have noticed is this: it is not just that I am addicted to coffee or that I enjoy the taste so much as it is the one thing that I have every day that reminds me of home. I don't have a favorite coffee nor do I know enough about any particular kinds to be fussy. A hot coffee with the right amount of milk reminds me of waking up and living life back in the east coast. And that is a comfort that can't be replaced these days. I have established that I can miss elements of home life without wanting them back right now. I miss home, my friends, and my family, but by no means am I ready to go back.

So, Devil's Tower...



Arriving at the park, I exit my car and encounter a nice little old couple and their granddaughter who is begging them to ask me where in MA I'm from. Overhearing her, I volunteer my info and the peppy little 10 year old volunteers a world of information about her visit to these national parks from eastern MA. I continue to make small talk with the group until our separation at the visitor's center, all the time appreciating their company but also looking forward to seeing the Tower alone.

I spent an hour or two wandering around the Tower, trying to recall if this is in fact what Richard Dreyfus and Steven Spielberg were trying to build out of mash potatoes 30 something years ago. Apparently it is still a place held sacred by many Native Americans, as their prayer feathers and beads and other artifacts are regularly added to the natural scenery. I can't help but feel a modicum of sadness about the fact that their sacred ground is simply a tour stop and playground for an overwhelming amount of tourists such as me. And as I walk and look up at the impressive structure before me, I see tiny moving objects coming from midway up the Tower. Climbers, only one at first and then many, appear and I tell myself that while I do love rock climbing, I'm both A) way too inexperienced to even think about it, and B) not too interested in such a feat in the first place. A little too crazy for me. I'll save that for my midlife crisis so that I still have something to look forward to.

On the drive out, a field of prairie dogs begs anyone and everyone to pullover to take pictures. And who am I to blow against the wind?


A few miles down the road, I see this and need to pull over, realizing that I am hungry and in need of more interaction.


This group of old timers was cooking up buffalo burgers and beans and I was pleasantly surprised with the quality of my meal. With a little prodding and questioning, they opened right up into conversation and we discussed:
- They are a group that restores wagons like the one pictured above. They're building a shed (which they later disclosed to be a museum) dedicated to said wagons. I didn't get into how drastically different a shed is from a wagon and let them go on with their enthusiasm.
- How much different it would be to drive cross country if instead of a car, I had to take one of these wagons with some food and blankets. I confessed that if that was the case, I probably would have stayed at home.
- The group of convicts that had recently escaped prison and resorted to national parks (I was about to visit) for refuge. We all joked about how the odds were in my favor and if I was in fact murdered, it would be a result of some really poor odds and very bad luck.

I stayed with them for a good 45 minutes before extending my thanks and saying good bye. They were more than happy to smile (although pose in no other way) for a photo.



As I got back in my car with my sights on Yellowstone, I felt overwhelmed, excited, satiated, and a little tired. Over the course of the next few hours, I drove through the most empty and expansive land I have ever seen on 14 en route to I-90. With this kind of cloud formation and lighting, I wondered how someone could have lived 26 years without seeing anything like it before.


Reaching Sheridan, Wyoming I felt the loneliness that is Wyoming. All this land, all this beauty and natural majesty and so few people to enjoy it. I gave in for the first time since I left and started calling hotels. I wanted to have the second half of my day to relax, refuel, and get some thoughts written down before the moment could escape me. I was thrilled when my AAA discount applied.


There is a very specific emotion related to a treat that truly feels deserved. More than once in the past I have tricked myself into believing I deserve something. I then buy it and don't feel bad. After so many days on the road, so many days sleeping in a car, so many days of driving on to see more and more and more, I truly felt deserving of spending a half a day (and a few bucks) on a nice hotel. Internet, clean sheets, a shower of my own (I guess I didn't NEED that one this morning), and of course, complimentary breakfast. I had a Pizza Hut pizza delivered to my room and spent the remainder of my day in Sheridan, Wyoming, reflecting, typing, and relaxing. In a word: rewarding.

Roadside Wi-Fi, Tha Police, and Mt. Rushmore

Despite my best efforts, I can't seem to organize today's thoughts and events in a linear manner. Stories seem to jumble up into a mess of funny incidents and odd people. What a day...

At the onset of this trip, I didn't really have much of a plan as to how I would access the internet. I was hoping to luckily find access whenever I needed it. I planned to keep notes, record thoughts into my recorder, and coupled with the photos, review my days and write out my findings. So when I started driving through states like Iowa and saw signs for "Rest Area - Free Wi-fi" I was pleasantly surprised and excited to take a break from driving to enjoy a coffee and some time reflecting on what I'd seen and done thus far. A stationary place with air conditioning where I could regroup my thoughts and process the recent days past.

Upon pulling into my first (greatly anticipated) wi-fi equipped rest area, I found it to be the following: a muggy 10' x 20' room with one wooden bench. This would be fine (not ideal, but fine), however the restrooms bookend this one-bench room. And said restrooms have no doors. So where I write from now is a small and uncomfortable wooden bench in a sweltering, bug-infested septic tank with (shoddy) connection to the internet. I'll move onward so that I can move back into the fresh air of my car.

My next destination was Mt. Rushmore and I had to make it before sunset. Now before visiting South Dakota, I had never before been pulled over before. Therefore, when I was summoned to the side of the road in Keystone, South Dakota, I became quite uneasy. First step: panic. Second step: mentally review movie scenes in which protagonist gets pulled over and determine the best course of action. (This list includes films like Terminator 2, Wayne's World 2's reference to Terminator 2, Super Troopers, Dumb and Dumber, Fargo, etc.) And maybe it's a product of my neuroses, but suddenly I feel like a criminal. Am I trafficking drugs? Are there bodies in my trunk? Am I a fugitive from the law? Gladly I realize that none of these have yes answers. Still, I panic.

But what happened was nothing like television has taught me. (And I can't say I agree in the least with N.W.A.) Maybe I got lucky or maybe that's how they do it in South Dakota, but these were the nicest police officers I could have ever imagined. Here's the process:

1) Lights behind me start flashing. I say a bunch of bad words to myself out loud and pull over.
2) Remove bandana or other articles of decor that may make me look deserving of a ticket.
3) Cop (Officer Kinney in one case, Officer ____ in another) comes to window to tell me I was speeding/running red light/not using signals/etc while I desperately search for license and registration
4) Cop invites me to get out of my car and join him in his.
5) Cop proceeds to make small talk with me ("What do you for a living in Massachusetts? How long have you lived out there? What's been your favorite part of the trip so far?") while filling out his little report.
6) I act like a nervous wreck while doing my best to sound like an upstanding citizen
7) Drug dog in the backseat freaks out any time I try and answer a question
8) I ask if the drug dog is barking because of me. Officer casually responds that he just doesn't like people, all the while still filling out his form. I do math in my head as to how much I think the ticket will be for.
9) He lets me off with a warning. I consider asking him for a picture for my blog and then decide against it.
10) I drive 5 mph under the speed limit for the next hour or so until I can be sure he's not still following me.

As I waited outside the entrance to Mt. Rushmore, I met a pack of bikers who took a break from the Sturgis Bike Rally to come see these four faces etched into the mountainside. I join in on their conversation as two of the older fellas are complaining about the fact that their disable veterans card no longer gets them free access to this national monument.

As we all stood there running our mouths, a third party shows up from Alberta, Canada with an accent that would put Terrence and Philip to shame.

Talking very enthusiastically about his 1980's Suzuki motorcycle, his broken speedometer and the mental math he does to guess his speed based on RPMs, I interrupted him for a photo, explaining that I was traveling and documenting everything. That's when the oldest of the group (it would be a shame if his name wasn't Poppa Bear) spoke up and said, "You want a picture of something good. Come take a look at this."

And so I took a picutre, having no idea what I was supposed to be impressed by. And I admitted that. That's when I got this story:
"We build these bikes custom in our garage back home. We've built six and our seventh will be finished in the fall. But this one here was my daddy's favorite. And when he was around, he said 'When I die, I want to ride this bike forever.' So when he passed away last year, we cremated him and the doctors gave me this steel rod from his leg. So now he's always riding with me on his favorite bike. We didn't clean it or anything. They took it right out of him and there it is."

The pack of us waited an hour for a Mt. Rushmore lightshow that never happened before going our separate ways. I stopped through Sturgis just long enough to be pulled over again, only to repeat the same experience from three hours prior. (Pull over. "Sir that light you ran was most certainly red." "Yes it was. You are absolutely right.") Get out of my car and into Officer ______'s car. Polite and awkward small talk. Paperwork. Nervousness. Warning. Catch and release.

Tired and a little on edge, I searched for my next Wal-Mart a good night of rest.

Other photos from the day:
Upon first setting foot in South Dakota, billboards started pushing me to visit Wall Drug Store. So I did.


Like so many other components of this trip, Wall Drug store is an experience that has no substitute in story, picture, or video. And I can not help but wonder how it has survived as long as it has. It is a:
-Weird wonderland of old photos and knicknacks (postcards, patches, pocketknives, bumper stickers, bells, whistles (literally)

-Collection of cowboy statues and mannequins (I'm noticing a strange fascination with synthetic cowboys in this state)

-Manufacturer and distributer of jackalopes, a mythical creature that is more or less a jackrabbit with antelope antlers.



A long and busy day makes nights in the Highlander a little easier.

The Bad(ass)lands

This place alone was worth the drive. Any day that starts with a robotic cowboy town, is followed by this, and ends with Mount Rushmore and the Sturgis Bike Rally is ok in my book... or blog. Note: Due to the bike rally, all of South Dakota was has been flooded with motorcyles, thus making the Badlands infinitely more bad.

Click on the images below to see them in full screen.