Lulu’s first swim

For one reason or another, we hadn’t been able to take Lulu for a swim – pools are chlorinated, lakes are often too cold and the midday sun too strong.
So we were delighted when we got to Thermopolis, Wyoming, which advertises itself as the ‘World’s Largest Hot Spring”.
Our RV park, the Fountain of Youth, had its own pools – three of them, each progressively hotter, with the last one ending in a orange glowing mini volcano-like mound (the spring). These pools were in fact larger than the town’s own facilities, two of which had slides and spas, with the third one offering a free 20-minute soak. This was because the chiefs of the Arapaho and Shoshone tribes sold the land including Thermopolis to the US government under the provision that baths would continue to be available free of charge to the public.
So, back to Fountain of Youth.
It was a freezing cold Saturday night, and we arrived just before complete darkness fell. We debated whether to jump straight into the pools, or to have a beer and snacks. Swimming won.
Lulu loved it – the first pool was at almost the same temperature as her (most) nightly bath, and once she adjusted, she was able to move to the second one. She kicked and cooed and smiled, possibly remembering the joys of the womb…albeit a sulfur-scented one.
We hung out with other RV park residents – some of whom drank light beer from insulated can holders - chatting through the steam rising up from the water about places of origin and also the oncoming snowstorm.
At home among strangers, we rejoiced as the full moon, Jupiter and a gigantic Big Dipper made themselves known in the clear Autumn sky. Then, relaxing further, we listened as the camp’s owner, Ron Foote, sang and strummed his evening songs.

So, we remained in Thermopolis for three days and three nights, waiting out the cold front before crossing the Rockies. Day and night, we ran shivering in the snow and sleet between electric heater in the Airstream towards the embrace of the hot pools. Not bad.

Devils Tower

Having spent the night in the rather unwelcoming town of Sundance in northeastern Wyoming – although, it has to be pointed out that our motel room-cum-kitchenette had an oven, meaning we were finally able to use up our pizza ingredients – we made the drive towards Devils Tower and figured out that the correct jumping off town is Hulett, not Sundance.
The national monument was a bit of a detour, so we were glad to see a shock of rock shooting out from the horizon, assuring us that a stop was merited.
Although there are several theories as to how Devils Tower came about, scientists agree that it is an igneous intrusion, meaning that it’s basically magma that formed below Earth’s surface, later becoming exposed when softer surrounding rock eroded. Hope that’s right.
Devils Tower will continue appear to grow in height, but only because the ground around it will erode further.

The Native American explanation for the formation, which they call Bear’s Lodge, is a bit more fun. There are lots of variations to the story, but the crux of it is that a bear chased a group of young people up a big tree, which then transformed into a rock rising higher and higher out of the earth, enabling their escape. The bear’s effort was futile but left deep claw marks. The young people then rose up to the skies, where they now make up the Big Dipper, which is known as Mato Tipi La Paha

For everyone else, it’s a really big rock (1,267 feet tall) composed of hundreds if not thousands of column-like structures.

There’s an easy, mile-long paved trail around the Tower, allowing visitors to see it from all angles, while appreciating the Ponderosa pine forest as well as the massive boulders that have crumbled off through the millennia. It’s also a great opportunity to watch birds, chipmunks and the kamikaze climbers mounting the tower.

One month on the road

Having departed New York on September 2, we’ve now been on the road a full month. We’ve added some 4500 miles to our odometer, getting about 18-19 miles to the gallon when not towing the Airstream and 13-14 when we are.

So far, so good – apart from our $80 daily budget, which we have spectacularly exceeded on many an occasion. It’s not that we’ve been extravagant, but the odd motel and cheapish restaurant meal do add up.

The majority of our overspending, though, has been merited. A trailer is a home after all, so it needs to be stocked with food, kitchenware, eating utensils, bedding, towels, and the like. And vehicles need to be serviced to ensure safety.

In addition to the basics, a few added comforts make trailer life all the more enjoyable (and bearable). So on our last shopping trip, which encompassed a Super Wal-mart and a Big Kmart in Gillette, Wyoming, we bought an electric heater – which works if we sleep at a campground with electrical hook-up; a dish drainer – which makes washing dishes a far less expletive-peppered event; a foldable travel highchair for Lulu – feeding a baby without a highchair is a literal pain in the neck; and a fuschia, white and turquoise Huffy bike for Sophia – who finally has a pair of wheels of her own to ride around campsites.

Now – apart from an inability to get a decent night’s sleep in the trailer - we feel fully prepared. And following a serious reorganization of how we store our belongings in the car and trailer, we finally feel at home.

Two and a half hours in Yellowstone

Any guidebook will tell you to allow a couple of days to visit Yellowstone National Park, an area measuring 3472 square miles and lying across the states of Wyoming, Idaho and Montana.

We left the prosperous and friendly town of Cody – named for William “Buffalo Bill” Cody – which is the eastern jumping off point for the park, on a cool, partly sunny Thursday afternoon.

Timing our 50-mile drive to avoid road closures within the park and poor weather forecasted for the week ahead, we set off about 3pm, having stocked up on groceries, warm clothes and drinking water to arm ourselves against expected overnight lows of 21 degrees Fahrenheit. We have an extremely rare original Airstream furnace, but unfortunately it does not work.

Taking the Buffalo Bill Scenic Byway, which former US president Teddy Roosevelt dubbed the most beautiful 50 miles in the country, we saw a surprising number of landscapes all right next to each other: the gleaming blue Buffalo Bill Reservoir, those relentless grasslands that dominate the Great Plains, the pebbly Shoshone River, volcanic canyons, and of course, the towering, snowy Rocky Mountains.

Having commented on the reservoir’s waves, which rose into choppy white peaks, we watched the temperature (one of the nifty features of our GMC truck is the thermometer on the rearview mirror, which also has a compass!) drop every couple of minutes – 47, 45, 42, 37, 34 – as we climbed up and up. The rain soon mixed with snowflakes, which eventually took over completely.

Daniel and I both noticed that we were the only car going up, while vehicles going the other way passed at somewhat regular intervals. Most, but not all, of the lodges and campgrounds lining the road were closed for the winter, so we made mental notes of where to stop if we had to turn around.

We saw signs warning drivers of the dangers of grizzly bears, reminding me of the woman who that morning said that increasing populations of white pine trees had led to a relative explosion of bears in the park.

Having heard about forest fires in the area, we saw another sign indicating that fire danger was set to ‘high’. Then, we saw an actual fire, which burned, defying the snow and freezing temperatures.

When we finally reached Yellowstone’s East Entrance, we were greeted by a park ranger who explained which roads were closed and when they would reopen. She said that snow tires were recommended, but that we’d be fine. We should go straightaway to the visitor center to sort out our lodging, since some of the campgrounds were closed, she added.

So on we pressed. The first oncoming traffic we passed was a lone, male buffalo, loping down the middle of the winding road. Later, five or so cars passed by, on their way out of the park.

Then came the ice, which suddenly filled the entire narrow road.

Having reassured each other that everything was fine for most of the drive, Daniel and I simultaneously decided that we had to turn around.

And then the car skidded. We realized that we couldn’t go forward, and that we couldn’t turn around either.

Daniel got out to flag down a passing car. And then our car started slipping slowly backwards down the hill. I screamed, and Daniel came running, slamming the emergency brake as far as it would go. With Sophia now crying, I feigned calm.

Daniel was worried about the truck and trailer slipping into the ditch on one side of the road, but I was much more concerned about him falling down the precipice on the other.

Daniel took charge, marshalling woman and children out of the car and into that of a kind couple who had stopped to help.
Another car, a large van, stopped to see what was going on. I begged the driver not to let Daniel drive the car. He said that he and his family had been praying the whole way down the hill.

So back towards the entrance went Sophia, Lulu and I, taken in by the very accommodating man and woman from South Dakota. By the time we got there, a sign reading ‘Snow tires or chains REQUIRED’ was displayed. A park ranger, not the one we had originally met, spent 10 minutes telling me off for not having adequate tires – also pausing to ask the first ranger whether she had informed us of tire requirements (yes, lied her colleague) - before radioing for help. Hearing back, she said that the wait would be a couple of hours.

Panicking, I asked the good samaritans who had taken the girls and me in if they could please take us back up the hill to check on Daniel.


Here’s the account of Daniel, from what we later found out was Yellowstone’s treacherous Sylvan Pass:

“The worst part was when I ran back to the rolling car and slammed on the brakes - both car and trailer had started to slide, the girls screaming as we skidded slowly towards the side of the road until we were about two feet from the edge, now we were really in trouble, the gradient was about 9% with a four-foot ditch on the inside and intermittent barrier on the precipice side, but the whole road was a sheet of ice for the next 2 or 3 miles ahead.
Then John stopped. This was the man who turned out to be our saviour. [It was one of life’s unforgettable moments] Can you help?’ Yes, I’m a professional driver experienced in towing’…’I can help, do you want’…Yes please!!!
We decided, after a brief survey, that the only thing was to go forward to where the ice was covered with a thin layer of dry snow as this would give some grip, straighten up and then reverse down until the vehicles were off the ice, maybe forty feet back.
There really was only going to be one chance at going forward and
John offered, knowing how to put the Yukon into low ratio four wheel drive he skillfully pulled forward and to the left side whilst oncoming vehicles kept coming slowly down the mountain, unable to stop, their wheels locking up - as they appeared, skidding towards us, I watched their horrified expressions as they slid by, each one carefully and uniquely negotiating around our car house and home like some nightmarish dance.
John reversed down and off the ice, from where I was able to turn and drive down the mountain and find the girls.
It really was down to his help and experience that we didn’t end up off the road at 9000 ft altitude off the road, in an icy ditch, or worse.”


Thanks very much to our rescuers, who are pictured above. We will always remember your goodwill.

So back down to Cody we went, the weather increasingly clearing up as we descended. We were welcomed back into the town by a calm sunset and glassy reservoir, like nothing had ever happened.

Lest we need say it, we’ve decided to give Yellowstone a miss this time.

The buffalo do roam

One of the things I didn’t know about the West is that the men there really do wear cowboy hats. In fact, as soon as we traversed the Missouri River in South Dakota, we started seeing them on big men, sometimes with flowing handlebar mustaches, who looked solitary, wistful and strong.

And people here also really say “howdy”!

During my time living abroad, I’ve heard America derided as a land with no culture, or at the very best, one with a homogenous culture. This couldn’t be further from the truth. As an East Coast native, I feel like a complete foreigner out here.

First of all, I am nowhere near as tough and self-reliant as the women, especially those of Wyoming. They drive monster trucks, ride horses, work in construction…and have the most amazing legs.

One lady we met, Mikel, told us that for a living she drives a team of horses, teaches horse riding, runs a business showing Conestoga wagons and hosting chuckwagon dinners, while also having time to provide life counseling using horse psychology. Not to mention that since last January, she has been living – alone - in a 23-foot trailer. She said she’s much happier since she lightened up on possessions, and that if she travels, she just parks in a truck stop and uses a candle for light AND heat.

It was Mikel who saved us when our GMC Yukon’s engine started smoking and making increasingly more distressing h-r-r-r-m sounds as we attempted to make our first climb, along a 7-mile stretch of road at a 10% gradient, into the Big Horn Mountains. Stopping to see why we had pulled over, she joined Daniel in having a look under the car’s hood (bonnet) and said we were fine, that all we needed to do was shift into third gear (duh). A nice lesson in automatic transmission.

Thanks, Mikel, for saving us a trip to the mechanic – and probably a lot of money. She was to be the first of our Wyoming guardian angels, who fell kindly from the sky.

[Responding to our email thanking her for her trouble, she recommended that we “Take the odd road, the road less traveled as they say and the Universe will surprise and delight you”. She also cited Cecil Beaton: "Be daring, be different, be impractical, be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary."]

Second, as a city dweller, I have no appreciation for wild animals. Notwithstanding the odd fox or raccoon, my experience with serious, large wildlife is nil.

We are now coexisting with wildlife. Camping at the Badlands, a man told us we had gotten up too late to see the coyote outside our trailer. And we thought coyotes were only in the cartoons! Then, at Mount Rushmore, we encountered longhorn sheep. And in the Black Hills, the buffalo do indeed roam, echoing the lyrics of that old song ‘Home on the Range’ – which was performed by a band playing at Custer State Park’s annual Western Art Fair. These beasts are not scared of people, and graze nonchalantly along the roads. And of course at Yellowstone, one hears warning after warning about bears – both grizzly and black.

Third, I assume that everyone thinks New York City is the Best Place Ever. Not so.
And even the handful of people we’ve met who’ve approached us expectantly – having seen our New York State license plate - have walked away in disappointment after finding out we were not from upstate.

Finally, people here are really patriotic, with each stars-and-stripes flag larger than the last. They love America, and also fight for it, as evidenced by the large number of servicemen and servicewomen we’ve met. I saw a bumper sticker proclaiming, “Freedom is not free – thank a veteran”. It’s true, we don’t appreciate this enough.

Before breaking off, I should mention that Daniel is embracing the culture of the West – sporting not only a leather hat inspired by the region, but also a flashy new pair of beige and brown stitched leather cowboy boots.

Badlands sky

We arrived at the Badlands, a range of lonely mountainous buttes rising up out of protected grasslands in western South Dakota, on a cold, windy, overcast afternoon, tired from a long drive along Interstate 90.

Cheered by the spectacle of the irregular, stripy landscape – formed by millions of years of erosion and housing an incredible collection of fossils – we were in no way prepared for one of the flashiest sunsets we’d ever seen.

Boring a small hole at the western edge of the duvet-like cloud covering, the sun snuck into the sky. It looked like a light switch had been flipped on, illuminating the peaks surrounding our very basic campsite located inside the National Park.

But that wasn’t the end of it. Soon, we saw Virga, the scientific term for rain that evaporates before hitting the ground, streaking down from the sky. And then a rainbow – Sophia’s first ever, long awaited rainbow. And then, as if that weren’t enough, the rainbow became a double – full- rainbow.

The crowd – which in this off-season numbered about ten – went nuts, pointing up into the sky, exclaiming superlative after superlative, pausing only to snap photos.

That night, we huddled with our fellow campers at the park’s amphitheater, where which offers nightly lectures. The park ranger delivered a lesson on the astronomy of the Lakota, a Great Plains Indian tribe. She explained the legends of local landmarks corresponding to what we know today as Custer State Park, Wind Cave and Devils Tower, as well as how they are seen to be mirrored in the sky as constellations.

By the end of the talk, which Sophia and Lulu had managed to sit through very patiently, the clouds had politely vanished from the night sky, leaving us a clear view of Jupiter, just near the moon. With the aid of the available telescope, Daniel, Sophia and I were all able to see four of the planet’s moons.

Something out of nothing

South Dakotans seem to be very good at making something out of nothing. Whether it’s because they have a particular knack for advertising, or because the tourists need a break from the rather monotonous Interstate 90, which runs the length of this 380-mile state, I do not know.

Either way, they manage to lure relative hordes of tourists to towns that normally wouldn’t interest anyone.
All along the interstate are billboards – often hand painted and usually weather beaten, and sometimes adorned by old vehicles – heralding the glories of kitschy attractions.

As a tourist working West towards the Badlands and Black Hills, or East towards the Midwest, you know you shouldn’t fall into the trap. But you inevitably do, having seen it advertised for the last 150 miles at least.

We were first trapped by the (World’s Only) Corn Palace at Mitchell, which has declared itself a excellent stopping point. The city, aware of the cheese factor, did not hold back, beckoning motorists of ‘a-maize-ing sights’ and ‘can’t wait til you get ear’ type signs.
When you arrive, having been guided through most streets in the municipality’s business district, you are immediately disappointed at the sight of a structure built more of manmade materials than cornhusks. However, it has to be said, that once you stand back and take a look, an enormous number of hours has been put into creating a multicolored scene out of straw, 275,000 ears of corn plus straw and other agricultural materials. Once inside, the visitor is met with a wilting snack bar (though it has to be said that their prices are really low) and a walk through a high school basketball court (featuring a corn theme).
What later becomes interesting are the photos documenting Mitchell’s annual corn palace, which started out as a way to demonstrate that South Dakota had farm worthy soil and went on to commemorate harvest season, drawing crowds in the thousands – the town’s citizens prided themselves on selecting a local artist to invent decorative themes. The themes depicted often reflect current events, such as the building of Mount Rushmore or one of the World Wars. One scene, which includes a swastika, helpfully notes that the symbol is a Native American one.

The next big attraction is in the tiny town of Murdo: the Pioneer Auto Show, a higgledy-piggledy compendium of autos of all makes and years, which Daniel enjoyed. Funnily enough, over the free breakfast at the Super 8 Motel, we overheard a conversation between founder A.J. ‘Dick’ Geisler’s daughter and another motel guest, who by chance shared a table. We learned that they were both very distressed about the Lutheran Church’s narrow vote to allow the ordination of non-celibate gay pastors, so much so that each was considering whether to leave the Church. Desperate to learn more, Daniel and I ate waffle after waffle, allowing more time for eavesdropping.
Here’s an article on the crisis threatening to split the Lutheran Church.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/09/24/AR2009092402310.html

Thirty miles down the road is 1880 Town, which is a mock-up of an old West town using actual buildings shipped in from all over the region as well as a real homestead that housed settlers desperate for a new chance in life. There, we enjoyed imagining ourselves as pioneers downing drinks at the saloon, mailing letters from the post office, working at the local newspaper, attending the one-room school, catching the train, and hopefully not getting jailed. Whipped around by the gale-force wind, we were glad not to live at that homestead – even if it did come free of charge – in South Dakota. As an aside, the state is described as the potential Saudi Arabia of wind energy.

Next up is Wall Drug, a drugstore founded in the Badlands bordering town of Wall, South Dakota in 1931. Distressed by the lack of business, owner Ted Hustead started advertising the store by offering free ice water to all customers. Inevitably, everyone was parched, having traveled through the hot, dry prairie, and many of these people ended up buying other things as well.
Today, Wall Drug brings in thousands of people in cars, tour buses and on bikes. They charge through the shop, hungrily buying up t-shirts and Wild West themed trinkets, stopping only to take photos at the allotted spots.
One day while we were camping in the Badlands, while Daniel was painting a picture of the stark, eroded mountains, Sophia, Lulu and I made the prescripted drive to Wall – because we actually needed a number of drug store items.
Wall Drug is no longer really about the drug store, so we eventually left the warren-like emporium rather disappointed. On a positive note, though, I would highly recommend the homemade ice cream – Sophia and I shared an extremely generous double scoop of strawberry.

Finally, the mother of all tourist creations: Mount Rushmore. Dreamt up by South Dakota State Historical Society head Doane Robinson in 1923 as a means to attract visitors to the fresh, green Black Hills, the monument featuring the faces of US presidents George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln and Teddy Roosevelt was carved into granite during the years of the Great Depression and eventually finished in 1941, shortly after sculptor Gutzon Borglum’s death.

Mount Rushmore is a fantastic half-day excursion, with stepped walks (don’t bring a stroller/pushchair!) around the monument, talks on its conception and construction in Borglum’s studio and views of mountain goats.
For more on the history of Mount Rushmore, see
http://www.ohranger.com/mount-rushmore/making-mount-rushmore