tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62340571130058643012024-03-13T16:57:59.608-07:00Ophie Jane's American TourPatrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-2739247069174227602009-12-23T20:13:00.001-08:002009-12-23T20:14:51.538-08:00The Importance of Egg Sandwiches<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlR7AKD0SRQzLwwxu4yEDwYRnpGL-6CfOSoz5aVMzqwUIn1pAFW4ITM7B2a5d6wGOq7-29Nq_NOPjK-JVgaFMnETFQrAWZ7H4QOKg3zYmC1weBAkSj-O4TAStYD6joi0JWvX14EAHVEv4/s1600-h/IMG_6923.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlR7AKD0SRQzLwwxu4yEDwYRnpGL-6CfOSoz5aVMzqwUIn1pAFW4ITM7B2a5d6wGOq7-29Nq_NOPjK-JVgaFMnETFQrAWZ7H4QOKg3zYmC1weBAkSj-O4TAStYD6joi0JWvX14EAHVEv4/s400/IMG_6923.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418651311997066626" border="0" /></a><br />The South West desert seems unpredictable in late November. In some ecosystems, scarlet leaves cling to life while others' only color comes from green yucca plants and black lava flows. Warm, 70-degree days fade into windy, 25-degree nights as soon as the sun sets behind the mountains, whose colors change from clay to rose to gold, depending on the light.<br /><br />We spend the coldest night of the trip camping in Grand Canyon. We're layered in multiple pairs of socks, long underwear, jeans, fleece and winter coasts. We're trying to sleep, me in a 15-degree bag and Patrick in a 20-degree bag. But they're both unzipped so Ophie can climb in and won't freeze overnight. It's a long night, and in the morning, we can't feel our toes.<br /><br />Sometime after the sun rises, I climb out of the tent to walk Ophie. We ran out of coffee yesterday (I didn't realize a small can of instant coffee makes 30 cups. I poured the entire contents into the press.) and we've only got cold cereal. As I walk the dog, who's oblivious to any discomfort, I look at the other campers spending their Thanksgiving week in the national park. They're bundled in beanies and gloves, eating warm breakfasts and drinking coffee, and they all look warm and happy. By the time I get back to the tent, I'm crying.<br /><br />I wake Patrick up. "See that couple next to us? They're everything we're not," I say between sobs. "They're happy. They're warm. They have coffee. And they have egg sandwiches."<br /><br />Patrick starts laughing, which makes me cry harder. "That couple?" he asks, pointing to the two sitting apart from each other at a picnic table. They're hardly kissing passionately while surrounded by steaming pots of coffee and breakfast sandwiches.<br /><br />"We're OK," he says. "We're cold, but we're happy."<br /><br />"No. I will never be happy again without coffee and egg sandwiches. Go to the market and bring back coffee and egg sandwiches."<br /><br />Patrick points out that we're camping, in the high desert, and we don't know if there's a market in the park.<br /><br />"Let's go sit in the truck and defrost our feet," he says. "Then I'll make you cup o' noodles and swiss mocha instant coffee."<br /><br />Our relationship—and life in general—seems more optimistic after my toes have thawed. And after Patrick promises egg sandwiches and coffee tomorrow morning, instant noodles and dehydrated peas never tasted so good.Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-55855341115911791032009-11-03T18:19:00.000-08:002009-11-07T06:15:47.619-08:00Pretty as a Postcard<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlQ6Zz4rcAGpFm2bNAtTOJpUEFQB8HwMBzuzSecumV_lZ9nqFp_7TLaNXRczjZbaLYD3Vag9ujczW5OAqGFh8ItJ2NGGe7AQa5AX4ZjeQrWnwKqwfPK_qSvcXBYrpleJKHuSG6oWdlklA/s1600-h/IMG_4296.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE2NOKKPSomS1RGqLiYCPzHP99VLWFT-1QN5huYKxFFqPL0ieXiofQouR6SCp9HYys2HBqqKB9Tqae8iCPtq5wOWjZCMN-SsTRjgD-qBoKeJ1bi7B_WE-L1xQtFOxRAQfGjJrJqqkho-w/s1600-h/IMG_4483.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE2NOKKPSomS1RGqLiYCPzHP99VLWFT-1QN5huYKxFFqPL0ieXiofQouR6SCp9HYys2HBqqKB9Tqae8iCPtq5wOWjZCMN-SsTRjgD-qBoKeJ1bi7B_WE-L1xQtFOxRAQfGjJrJqqkho-w/s400/IMG_4483.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400069887351039138" border="0" /></a>Mahone Bay, a charming, postcard-perfect fishing town in Nova Scotia is our eastern-most destination. It's also my birthday present from Patrick: two nights in a bed and breakfast, which seems oh-so Nova Scotia and storybook to me.<div><br /></div><div>We arrive at the <a href="http://www.fairmonthouse.com/">Fairmont House</a> soggy and sniffly after camping in the rain at Fundy National Park, looking forward to a roof, warm bed and a jet tub. (The home-made chutneys and quiche will be an added perk.) </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlQ6Zz4rcAGpFm2bNAtTOJpUEFQB8HwMBzuzSecumV_lZ9nqFp_7TLaNXRczjZbaLYD3Vag9ujczW5OAqGFh8ItJ2NGGe7AQa5AX4ZjeQrWnwKqwfPK_qSvcXBYrpleJKHuSG6oWdlklA/s400/IMG_4296.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400072100186916066" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" /></span></div><div>Our room overlooks the harbor, a gritty, industrial shipyard that's endearing for it's metal and usefulness and purpose in an otherwise fairy tale place. We clean up, continuously dissuade Ophie from claiming the king-size bed (it gets worse when we try to sleep. She figures she can wait us out and then overtake the giant mattress.), and then head across the street to the pub for a dinner of seafood chowder. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's cold and misty outside and I bundle up in a sweater, scarf, hat and furry coat. This prompts the first of many entertaining moments for the Canadian innkeeper and guests, who seem to never tire or mocking the poor, cold California girl and wonder out loud what she would do should she visit in the winter when down coats and wool hats are actually needed. Patrick likes this game, too. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpE6OkVqtJngvongSGWPhz2v7JxGvOfIW-rqm9EAPyJzolYmi7ScAuxulUM2XtAZfEJLptqpVp6PKIR8C28rUmoY47DQDkCiROO9-CVCl3peL8NPxYbhF_MAIcNWsXS1SXkSQd2G0RELM/s400/IMG_4301.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400074868011956210" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" /></span></div><div>The seafood stew—and any mussels, clams, fresh fish—tastes hot, fresh and amazing. The IPAs, on the other hand, taste like Pilsners, something we've noticed throughout Canada and inspires our next potential business venture: Canadian IPA brewers. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-64695189004315352802009-11-03T16:43:00.000-08:002009-11-03T18:18:05.368-08:00The Great Scarecrow Festival<div><div style="text-align: center; "><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig4U-zOUrSwHekFhJ_ZFvWge8XVjMgDVhMrteKtbiaWPwoN7VzsJDI-Hl8qMlob_0PvwcONGHI-V37XoGqVat8dwl2Bajr9n9fgWtiFsDvY36Q1s2lbhiU6aEC2qzyTX9tVvWRw3Rq0Sk/s400/IMG_4480.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399647657106824434" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " />Every year, around the beginning of October, strange visitors flock to <a href="http://www.mahonebay.com/index.html">Mahone Bay</a>, Novia Scotia. They are pirates and bellydancers, mermaids, queens and musicians. Michael Jackson, Harry Potter, Sarah Palin and Barack Obama are popular guests among the not-quite-human crowd.<div><br /></div><div>The <a href="http://www.mahonebay.com/visitor_calendar_scarecrow_festival.html">Great Scarecrow Festival</a> has come to town, and with it comes an old fashioned pie-baking contest, a magical pumpkin path, car show and antique fair.</div><div><br /></div><div>This year, two road trippers from Santa Cruz and one pampered pup named Ophie Jane join the hundreds of scarecrows for a few days of treats and tricks, fish stories and fishing boats and a romantic waterfront bed and breakfast. But before those stories, the scarecrows: decorated by locals, they stand in front of nearly every home and business along the main street, and one pirate scarecrow even has his own boat in the bay. Some are spooky, others clever, all a festive way to welcome the fall.</div><div><br /></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">Bellydancing scarecrows?! Where's my coin belt?</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6a-MKwvNp9PdHxvbkGCVBvqzGw7SaCPLxji8nrtjjhX_LcdAXhH-8bjxIZZEAFMA2nzQ4xQN2qjQ9pfuacwPfr2633YekkznAyt0eWxhk8m-iCk9J-bMfIg508S8zNe2Xf0R-C9IAyQ/s1600-h/IMG_4486.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6a-MKwvNp9PdHxvbkGCVBvqzGw7SaCPLxji8nrtjjhX_LcdAXhH-8bjxIZZEAFMA2nzQ4xQN2qjQ9pfuacwPfr2633YekkznAyt0eWxhk8m-iCk9J-bMfIg508S8zNe2Xf0R-C9IAyQ/s400/IMG_4486.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400054961845093106" /></a><br /><div><div style="text-align: center;">As expected, the King of Pop was popular in Mahone Bay this year. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFN-eds7qPNR7FTCPit9q2eqyP8y_Lf4ZxbaE2L5_QpD-umz9frTYcBIUIjeAhxHP17sO13fsU5-bar8LJv4lKM80IW3q5x5xkgm71SZQiTn3Ppph-X7SJvKdUMGYAEEfpHGDQ4m135Z4/s1600-h/IMG_4487.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFN-eds7qPNR7FTCPit9q2eqyP8y_Lf4ZxbaE2L5_QpD-umz9frTYcBIUIjeAhxHP17sO13fsU5-bar8LJv4lKM80IW3q5x5xkgm71SZQiTn3Ppph-X7SJvKdUMGYAEEfpHGDQ4m135Z4/s400/IMG_4487.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400054604928146658" /></a><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Patrick bowing to the Queen outside of our B&B.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvqEHdERX39jqPCbRdXl_aqskmSRl03-0i0DT2rQoKzz76NWrDME1EZqix1_hG9kPfGkTC8zdXR1skNCmcy00Jod03RXlyuMXakwGzC6G66ZBWQuXi7zquAOO2i5NAe3DZ0O79SlhZyPk/s1600-h/IMG_4496.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvqEHdERX39jqPCbRdXl_aqskmSRl03-0i0DT2rQoKzz76NWrDME1EZqix1_hG9kPfGkTC8zdXR1skNCmcy00Jod03RXlyuMXakwGzC6G66ZBWQuXi7zquAOO2i5NAe3DZ0O79SlhZyPk/s400/IMG_4496.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400054193753106754" /></a><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">More Michael. Can you tell the scarecrow from the tourist?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1fyEYERr5um2qNsrQBMplduNUvc2cbclm1J0yWcihiueyr3ynC2ajkIPNqAjS9cKYTpdAXSx8QRhdTvryUzVBjged0o0IehukpsBEN1AicaHO3FQE5BW-c_PmZeIKzQybpU4N9bY4HZQ/s1600-h/IMG_4499.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1fyEYERr5um2qNsrQBMplduNUvc2cbclm1J0yWcihiueyr3ynC2ajkIPNqAjS9cKYTpdAXSx8QRhdTvryUzVBjged0o0IehukpsBEN1AicaHO3FQE5BW-c_PmZeIKzQybpU4N9bY4HZQ/s400/IMG_4499.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400053669667664370" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">A Real Maverick.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi45HQ689Dgy-aVoiuj6UyejR3ubGMyynU8IK3_lm0P4GhLSCv3VuOlR3gG53PPtea54rYEUvWR7BcDKhsbojHXrBof6TiGA1cx-QdqWRAfadLM2lk5Io07CDvAkwGu8v6g-YMQ6h4lRz8/s1600-h/IMG_4501.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi45HQ689Dgy-aVoiuj6UyejR3ubGMyynU8IK3_lm0P4GhLSCv3VuOlR3gG53PPtea54rYEUvWR7BcDKhsbojHXrBof6TiGA1cx-QdqWRAfadLM2lk5Io07CDvAkwGu8v6g-YMQ6h4lRz8/s400/IMG_4501.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400052928326978018" /></a><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">This proves it. Ophie's a yellow dog Democrat.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiJlG5UwIA1S4I26bYO7OIEtuPDlFUMJ57TexWlNS0TP7uLasQweT3Vi05Z9qP34zOl1zyzK_X5XVZVClnkKgPwQwacs-Pp-o0sFHfOjN2I-CBLSP2Qd4tF3ozZWdcpKfkiXnIvYGFn34/s1600-h/IMG_4502.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiJlG5UwIA1S4I26bYO7OIEtuPDlFUMJ57TexWlNS0TP7uLasQweT3Vi05Z9qP34zOl1zyzK_X5XVZVClnkKgPwQwacs-Pp-o0sFHfOjN2I-CBLSP2Qd4tF3ozZWdcpKfkiXnIvYGFn34/s400/IMG_4502.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400052587982922034" /></a><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Two Geniuses. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL8z6spQNxMSbLQ4VZ7-tZHaMl085-MunLYRB0KGwFCBRC_nfhFidjOx45k5LVNRwOS5TsXY6hIRzPhT9sRK4juRSk4MPySWPI7oa16OaFOCnBKH4P6D2XsXFHfFtMSoMvY1rBZ3RLBUk/s1600-h/IMG_4505.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL8z6spQNxMSbLQ4VZ7-tZHaMl085-MunLYRB0KGwFCBRC_nfhFidjOx45k5LVNRwOS5TsXY6hIRzPhT9sRK4juRSk4MPySWPI7oa16OaFOCnBKH4P6D2XsXFHfFtMSoMvY1rBZ3RLBUk/s400/IMG_4505.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400052266195370274" /></a><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Harry Potter and the Hogwarts Gang.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5bkcvo2W970URPJiy6lkQdX1MM1mxU1GHwkzBef2qINXeiYErRVb24a9vMQZepWE78RaQ2pBC7X1YQq8c91daW-LaAn4MDOe9JEwShaE7IYNjWrajVjYsYI_FO8defrG0DbbGXHblS6Q/s1600-h/IMG_4508.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5bkcvo2W970URPJiy6lkQdX1MM1mxU1GHwkzBef2qINXeiYErRVb24a9vMQZepWE78RaQ2pBC7X1YQq8c91daW-LaAn4MDOe9JEwShaE7IYNjWrajVjYsYI_FO8defrG0DbbGXHblS6Q/s400/IMG_4508.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400051825482952130" /></a><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFE5kBHruDdUUwlJ5t-y7xX7KqJpsADpLnRoKdocE-nYggVusVemwu7UL0q197k4JxxFHfbng3ExyEW_CrM-GspOpb6fWSPF45-CZkiylzr8ErtByrejYrjmOEOWQdqBIEEK0bjwq3qxQ/s400/IMG_4510.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400050179695188594" /><div style="text-align: center;">The Rolling Stones.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17UA2QpoE27vXmvXVfktknPJA4ReZbsFY38kXVpR_dKt7fj10Gsgo-c_Q-8J-V1AHlM2zKhtQ2EahsJxjABsvbicdMEhUQFA1FuBSQu0WN8nF-5A8CNKHTKyeNDQHzV_ukI6SDgi0LII/s1600-h/IMG_4511.JPG"></a></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17UA2QpoE27vXmvXVfktknPJA4ReZbsFY38kXVpR_dKt7fj10Gsgo-c_Q-8J-V1AHlM2zKhtQ2EahsJxjABsvbicdMEhUQFA1FuBSQu0WN8nF-5A8CNKHTKyeNDQHzV_ukI6SDgi0LII/s1600-h/IMG_4511.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17UA2QpoE27vXmvXVfktknPJA4ReZbsFY38kXVpR_dKt7fj10Gsgo-c_Q-8J-V1AHlM2zKhtQ2EahsJxjABsvbicdMEhUQFA1FuBSQu0WN8nF-5A8CNKHTKyeNDQHzV_ukI6SDgi0LII/s400/IMG_4511.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400049162024527346" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">We quickly realize many Nova Scotians don't realize that they aren't British. </div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJfXwm-JXcgX0MMcrpj4jkje-3bQamEkNTiRznAcqaSH3tFKiPoR-m9vYauqYODBobmWF8-_-5pYR27Kc3mKvvTHxZ6jgIOtqlsZ3WvnQo6z3Oq8UIfq5J5wUX8eBAyiHT-j8GPriuOY4/s1600-h/IMG_4513.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJfXwm-JXcgX0MMcrpj4jkje-3bQamEkNTiRznAcqaSH3tFKiPoR-m9vYauqYODBobmWF8-_-5pYR27Kc3mKvvTHxZ6jgIOtqlsZ3WvnQo6z3Oq8UIfq5J5wUX8eBAyiHT-j8GPriuOY4/s400/IMG_4513.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399665444764941490" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Walk the Plank!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdY-cwRqApszUyaCYFX5m4bLcaBi1fwLXLVrWj5AkCgZKwmdM5hSZyfqHOV3RFdmDL9C2uEqUpGl8MIIXD3-WRFCatehDXQAr-OXrVKsR74XUc9jtyFUaXPLWPDQLLQnczHPSKP1xH9pE/s1600-h/IMG_4518.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdY-cwRqApszUyaCYFX5m4bLcaBi1fwLXLVrWj5AkCgZKwmdM5hSZyfqHOV3RFdmDL9C2uEqUpGl8MIIXD3-WRFCatehDXQAr-OXrVKsR74XUc9jtyFUaXPLWPDQLLQnczHPSKP1xH9pE/s400/IMG_4518.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399663426049318994" /></a><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Founding Families of Mahone Bay.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUu2wnnH8D8MbIVRm51S9flxdYMWsL11d3Oc6ZhZCWQ4wiDhA0u-R5vFL6qVFbKwyULKUT74eVbYAvskJeMspePaM-qVXLUTeO9uzsTaMewKqDu8Qjdw-sKdREOkHTnkGNG4eRorOig8o/s1600-h/IMG_4520.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUu2wnnH8D8MbIVRm51S9flxdYMWsL11d3Oc6ZhZCWQ4wiDhA0u-R5vFL6qVFbKwyULKUT74eVbYAvskJeMspePaM-qVXLUTeO9uzsTaMewKqDu8Qjdw-sKdREOkHTnkGNG4eRorOig8o/s400/IMG_4520.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399662274832882290" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Viva la Scarecrow Festival!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOcv_TFTL1kO7NmLeOWFz7Rnfll8VtgkZkaLynpXusYSeTmi9RBiOBlhUGMuEDGrBWQFJ26Wd1jEQA0cHXheETIuyksRiLjtqaB5qE7VQdmJz0k536PbEzVurbYR3plEHj-E_6gQZS-Ok/s1600-h/IMG_4521.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOcv_TFTL1kO7NmLeOWFz7Rnfll8VtgkZkaLynpXusYSeTmi9RBiOBlhUGMuEDGrBWQFJ26Wd1jEQA0cHXheETIuyksRiLjtqaB5qE7VQdmJz0k536PbEzVurbYR3plEHj-E_6gQZS-Ok/s400/IMG_4521.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399661075715952706" /></a></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-38009241212932572192009-11-02T14:50:00.000-08:002009-11-02T15:03:09.420-08:00High Tide or Low Tide<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOicy__ZTugcsrDyl-T1laOxvnEzdmCOPFzeMJKs4gDnWfyoyZJ0XKHXTrrtVquJU2wZtBuP2YWRoZhhlRRG_775jjRcFt9GfCDK8ev2AQ1ZX0MqdQLKo6Ko_WEJi6QDaEexvcOljd1xE/s1600-h/From+Mich.+ON+270.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399636040399405026" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOicy__ZTugcsrDyl-T1laOxvnEzdmCOPFzeMJKs4gDnWfyoyZJ0XKHXTrrtVquJU2wZtBuP2YWRoZhhlRRG_775jjRcFt9GfCDK8ev2AQ1ZX0MqdQLKo6Ko_WEJi6QDaEexvcOljd1xE/s400/From+Mich.+ON+270.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://www.pc.gc.ca/eng/pn-np/nb/fundy/index.aspx">Fundy National Park </a>of Canada encompasses some of the last remaining wilderness in southern New Brunswick. Here, the conifer-dominated Caledonia Highlands roll down to meet the fog-generating Bay of Fundy, with the highest tidal fluctuation in the world. At its most extreme, the tide rises and falls more than 70 feet!<br /><div><br /><div><br /><br /><div>Our longest driving adventure of the trip so far had us pulling into the Chignecto North Campground just before 2am. To our surprise two rangers were still manning the check-in/information booth. They told us they were just about to leave for the night (morning?), but before their own national budget crisis, park rangers were available 24/7. Interesting in comparison to our own park service where, after peak-season, rangers are rarely around after 5pm. </div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>We awoke to what would turn out to be our warmest day in Canada, with bright blue skies and a relatively empty p<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrzANAHmUQZGsp06701WOujfrf1LR_ODQ4xO_WuPi_zhhlZUgTB6uGAO1Zkc1IEYvwJLqMzQj9vhqrWK9EipSI3rx2FvfGLfgFBmUTif8VRBFob2EuYv2ieGzv8X-SYs6XTF_QqVaZImE/s1600-h/From+Mich.+ON+296.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399520373597481202" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrzANAHmUQZGsp06701WOujfrf1LR_ODQ4xO_WuPi_zhhlZUgTB6uGAO1Zkc1IEYvwJLqMzQj9vhqrWK9EipSI3rx2FvfGLfgFBmUTif8VRBFob2EuYv2ieGzv8X-SYs6XTF_QqVaZImE/s400/From+Mich.+ON+296.JPG" border="0" /></a>ark. We fell back into our camping routine and studied the map over our morning coffee. We discovered that Fundy is a very bike-friendly park much like Yellowstone and Grand Teton, and decided on a 10-mile ride that would take us north along the coast to Goose River Beach. Within the first 100 yards, the trail showed us its teeth! A long and very steep 1.5 or so mile climb greeted us. We had expected more of a leisure ride based on the park terrain we had seen already, but we were up for the challenge. The rest of the ride continued in the same pattern; five major uphill battles followed by a fast and technical desent. Everywhere along the trail were huge deposits of moose poo. These guys can take some serious dumps! We managed to keep Ophie from rolling in them and unfortunately never saw one. Actually I'm going to stray for a second and once again say we must have seen 300 Moose X-ing/danger signs in Canada and didn't see squawt!! Seriously, did they all head to Florida for the winter?? If anyone has a picture of a moose in Canada, I'd love to see it!! </div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmOSv4bRlN5HWxuUoPyCxoJ23SbvjdmBpkq3S067OPGFSFWu5o5n1WxEWRo9w5TerFVMrX6t0WQDW52-Tl5UtCr8C72DVjbUdg2HLUy0cbR98kSk8tIO_vSde3eVEECqt4c0Q3FP0SmI/s1600-h/From+Mich.+ON+333.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399531681103159362" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 301px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmOSv4bRlN5HWxuUoPyCxoJ23SbvjdmBpkq3S067OPGFSFWu5o5n1WxEWRo9w5TerFVMrX6t0WQDW52-Tl5UtCr8C72DVjbUdg2HLUy0cbR98kSk8tIO_vSde3eVEECqt4c0Q3FP0SmI/s400/From+Mich.+ON+333.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>OK, back on track now, after a few creek crossings we came upon several bands of hikers. They were prep school teens from Prince Edward Island participating in what is Canada's equivilent to Boy/Girl Scouts. Although there were slight differences, it was open to all students and they also included skills such as firearm training. At the beach many of their classmates were still camping on great ocean over looks, one for boys and one for girls. We talked with the boys for a while after Ophie invited herself into their camp. They were so full of that funny teenage spirit it was a welcome encounter at the end of a hard ride. I think some had a little crush on Jessica, they couldn't believe a girl road a mountain bike all the that way!<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPwyRY8HHVPP576R5BnsmM4Rbca2cMbA8g7ce21t7ZDf0VTY_ResS_HgokwTjplAc37wWLCrgMP2ei2rL2NSXNLnhQz6Quhe5eZ-K_5LC9zlR2-FTIGGTUH3G4M3WlyoxwUFdY0dW4C3k/s1600-h/From+Mich.+ON+341.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399633207729616850" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 304px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPwyRY8HHVPP576R5BnsmM4Rbca2cMbA8g7ce21t7ZDf0VTY_ResS_HgokwTjplAc37wWLCrgMP2ei2rL2NSXNLnhQz6Quhe5eZ-K_5LC9zlR2-FTIGGTUH3G4M3WlyoxwUFdY0dW4C3k/s400/From+Mich.+ON+341.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />The beach was great and it was very evident to see where the high extended up to. We threw some sticks for Ophie into the river that was running into the ocean, took some photos, did some rock collecting, and each enjoyed an IPA that we had packed out with. We made the long ride back and made a yummy dinner. That night we had a few drinks around the fire and laughed at some roudy neighbors who pulled in late and proceeded to blare Bon Jovi and Guns n Roses even later! We almost went to join them but a storm pulled in and we were both fighting a cold so we decided to close the book on that chapter for the night.<br /><br /></div><div></div></div></div></div></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-32421283220809274642009-10-17T20:53:00.002-07:002009-11-01T08:31:20.151-08:00Farewell Freedom Fries<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlKM39V0gn-YnshwOqja4EUacb0EDrDy0xupUxexdW0mDUjPCLB7fkywq0dMMJAngurllaBV3J_ap0YoE6CHUkp1LQ54H6eO3iv2upPm4VG5zWQCs_gCihFkjImG35W-HGlqbZiKF6xMY/s1600-h/IMG_4085.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlKM39V0gn-YnshwOqja4EUacb0EDrDy0xupUxexdW0mDUjPCLB7fkywq0dMMJAngurllaBV3J_ap0YoE6CHUkp1LQ54H6eO3iv2upPm4VG5zWQCs_gCihFkjImG35W-HGlqbZiKF6xMY/s320/IMG_4085.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398894502212156114" /></a>Late-night arrival in Montreal, Sept. 30. The lights from the bridges and buildings glow against the dark sky, and it's scarf-and-hat-wearing temperatures now in eastern Canada. The city feels more European than North American; sounds of foreign tongues on the streets that are still full of life at 11pm on a Thursday night, packed with faces that fill the spectrum from eggshell to espresso. <div><br /></div><div>Our hotel, <a href="http://www.hotel-saint-malo.com/">Le Saint-Malo</a>, is European-style, too: boutique with tiny-rooms (luckily, the economy rooms are booked so we stay in a standard, which barely contains the bed, our bags, two bikes and Ophie). It smells like cigarette smoke and cobwebs, but it is cheap, with free morning muffins, and pet-friendly, allowing "little-dogs." The hotel staff doesn't see Ophie until we leave the next day.</div><div><br /></div><div>No trouble finding a place that is open and still serving food at this hour. The toughest decision is choosing just one restaurant from the many. We have been warned against speaking French by a friend who used to live in Montreal: "They jab you with cigarettes and stiletto heels if you even think of disrespecting their precious Quebecois." We can't say anything other than <i>fromage, le chat, tres jolie</i>, so we're safe.</div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYd7ThjZt3PHMrrETH-6fL0qB6fqwgjgDkPeFYOUqv3VWPOMt4p35JTqbFzoVDFqw461k2h9GD9QGPn8XomS5Bcf0UeD2vkfAqNAW1qWfqXKlAGW_vFfHwT7OGDmvwBj2vYR4EHh1Kgn8/s320/IMG_4105.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399165778829125346" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span><div>In the morning we explore and spend most of the afternoon at <a href="http://www.montreal.com/parks/mtroyal.html">Mount Royal Park</a>, a 101-hectare park in the middle of the city landscaped by Frederick Law Olmsted, who famously designed New York's Central Park. We walk up hills, through the forest and sculpture garden, around a lake, enjoying the leaves beginning to change from green to orange. Ophie enjoys chasing squirrels and playing with pocket-size puppies, the only type we see during our visit. (This may explain why grown men in Montreal jump off the sidewalk and run to the other side of the street when they see Ophie. There seems to be a cultural oddity/bias against dogs that weigh more than 50 pounds in this part of Canada.)<br /><div><br /></div><div>In addition to the park's natural beauty, it's got a great playground, and because it's a school day, we don't need to kick any children off of it.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieH6_p7U8sr1Xts9_7Tm_eQd8raORuuoviZ3H5RuZJBytfkcwF3ZFNLliuSKpkaAdAyg4TWyITLaB6KhI8nPKW63txe68b4u7zVxhmpadlOhl1FkfZk0zVIWGm3-p4W_lmR9DeeHN9_FU/s400/IMG_4139.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399170559611016482" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>Mount Royal Park also includes the highest spot in the city. It's a crisp, clear day and the views of Montreal are spectacular.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW2B_PMtsSglsl9KdZrpSkufRTbf7k5-3e7XdK28CAS4V5USQpndntvdaoLcPCkQmB3onWvsHDvftZM5PsE3UXr6yhY1SNfXWUMMf0VJbszpIn0acKR-2k1-pJBgekZntngApav7hlzqE/s400/IMG_4191.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399172000757114322" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Trés jolie!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG3eEtdn6rqxspdo4t5WKyxqLqXZKUSsBPkJa3AJExXnykqBzTRKhhH_JyO5ld8MYRP1elwfWEA6E55-BGtyvbnB4Q9Xp-VE2YX9HZl5j5Ccxmn2xohyPa2tX5PK8QpMyUtdju4ttF12Q/s400/IMG_4204.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399172709635191602" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-41651921736402501742009-10-17T20:52:00.001-07:002009-10-22T08:47:03.476-07:00The Sherpas of Toronto<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfoZmyn4XLr9qAWXcGxH8ei7ofP5Dvt3N_R8CGZ4aoYB9rWm6zTtMOVWOj3rTZyJLkPZqZ1nf6am0T6UTOtY5H8jz3cnPdFLIRhNmH8fM3CC4QQbRhgGv1ecSNcU2IfheONrqBnHMk6L0/s1600-h/From+Mich.+ON+125.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395444365876308450" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfoZmyn4XLr9qAWXcGxH8ei7ofP5Dvt3N_R8CGZ4aoYB9rWm6zTtMOVWOj3rTZyJLkPZqZ1nf6am0T6UTOtY5H8jz3cnPdFLIRhNmH8fM3CC4QQbRhgGv1ecSNcU2IfheONrqBnHMk6L0/s400/From+Mich.+ON+125.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div>Our itinerary had us heading for the Adirondacks and the Lake Placid area today but instead we found ourselves turning to an old friend, our Super 8 Hotels directory, on the way into Toronto. Pet-friendly and cheap have been words dear to our vocab along the road. Luckily the Canadian city had one. Unluckily for us it was smack dab on top of a generic, super cheesy, all-Chinese, four-story mall in the heart of Chinatown, and the underground parking garage clearance, stated as 6 feet, actually more like 5 feet10 inches, and our truck with the bikes is about 9 feet 6 inches, with the cargo box and no bikes 7 feet 7 inches, with just the bike racks and no cargo box 6 feet 2 inches, with just the bars just enough to make it! : ) The area around the hotel was busy and a bit ghetto so parking on the street wasn't an option. We had to formulate a plan of action and act we did. We pulled into a dead-end street that resembled the projects, oh wait it was the projects. We figured that Jessica could ride one bike at a time ov<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG8Ng8BJeVKThjZLpKg_HLFS9aXbiXTJZxj2h0QjgfnrUPQC2fdBxVsjeNxoHiRNYSxcLvVFxBOYmcvlIur30tiF1g1yaqff5EICfmLdgwheo1KnsYez8DGrdWO0w8RCmSfw3jn9bP7fg/s1600-h/From+Mich.+ON+128.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395444659727124498" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG8Ng8BJeVKThjZLpKg_HLFS9aXbiXTJZxj2h0QjgfnrUPQC2fdBxVsjeNxoHiRNYSxcLvVFxBOYmcvlIur30tiF1g1yaqff5EICfmLdgwheo1KnsYez8DGrdWO0w8RCmSfw3jn9bP7fg/s400/From+Mich.+ON+128.JPG" border="0" /></a>er to the hotel and check in while I rearranged the truck to somehow make everything fit. That meant pulling off the cargo box and the bike racks, moving everything from the back into the cab without crushing Ophie, putting the cargo box upside down and hanging out of the back and driving it thru the busy streets of Toronto with no visibility and praying the box didn't fall out of the back on the hills. Success! Now part two of the plan, carry all of our loose and valuable stuff (including our cargo box and dog) from the third underground level to the third floor of the hotel including our cargo box. After about six or seven trips from the parking garage thru the Chinese mall into the elevator past all the people in the hotel lobby and finally into our room. People had never seen anything like it and it was truly a unique experience.</div><div></div><div>Oh and by the way we had a nice dinner at a great Indian spot, caught the end of the Avett Brothers show at the legendary Horseshoe Bar, and got some shopping in the next morning after we did the whole sherpa thing all over again just in reverse order. One hell of a 24 hour period! </div></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-36155515196440277282009-10-17T20:51:00.004-07:002009-12-20T11:47:16.368-08:00Border Jumpers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0xF2arFRpsBke9yEq_Khmtpcr6-G3wZkUMF6japuaIxpsi3E4BpPCv5RR7KMJZqaSzcPMmD1xRpVwMiGoMUttj2dQ5WMsNNJJrNF-LXpl7qCvM6PAVD4iPlV63VYE6w4ndPt4f90SiBo/s1600-h/IMG_4072.JPG"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRnEJR2x9acwBXrjBlXfQByRDaLQgRBw6rsMojfilSDrMNz2O2hdwbrnhoLMQ_k5yUY3p8onCKW89LXz1gjwg-o_uKVrWPygkjioF8kTXcW_ijnMe8cy0VjgX2PlIYbN5YxS0f5rYzRNM/s1600-h/IMG_4034.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRnEJR2x9acwBXrjBlXfQByRDaLQgRBw6rsMojfilSDrMNz2O2hdwbrnhoLMQ_k5yUY3p8onCKW89LXz1gjwg-o_uKVrWPygkjioF8kTXcW_ijnMe8cy0VjgX2PlIYbN5YxS0f5rYzRNM/s400/IMG_4034.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395176655850068178" border="0" /></a><br />The power of Niagara Falls is evident long before the mighty river comes into view. Mist rises like white smoke high above the trees, miles before we see the thundering falls. Also evident before the sacred place: wedding chapels, high-rise hotels, duty-free gift shops and casinos.<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWM1nV5g7F8NuqQTvsP52bHNRunkKbSLaEfJcI5JUgj1y12y1zXRpxwnj-B7QQXVEHnCcvpxQaC-Td9eQrUg6GCYkhCHhZuDzQby7pO74fZIyZnm-wb4Am_svxkOfmrIPWak_hOoijyKg/s200/IMG_4036.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395177573957016690" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" border="0" /></span><div> <div>We want to see Niagara Falls from the Canadian side so we park the truck in New York, walk across the bridge that looks way, way down on the Niagara River, coffee mugs in hand.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSwKJorXBXIZZtAEgDuos6_cI_4OAZ6sPyQZxVPTgitgfELgYmaa_F6K8c2RNbyabyexjyQrL7vUTop4KKq7kOm2Y3kt8WiYc-_R6jQcrJO6-uZm_FzIPCG8mnkgrS532UfxwObO7g_W4/s400/IMG_4054.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395179325891671762" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" /></span></div><div>As we cross the Niagara, we find inspiration to take the big leap (maybe it's the free-marriage-license-with-cheap-motel-room deal)...and travel through Canada, stopping first in Toronto, on our way to Nova Scotia. It's cold and rainy and big-city living sounds more adventurous than camping through upstate New York and Vermont. </div><div><br /></div><div>Back to the U.S. side, passports and rabies vaccination certificate in hand (and paw), we drive across the border with a brief delay at the customs office. Apparently no job, no home and no cash make American visitors sound like would-be illegal immigrants. </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0xF2arFRpsBke9yEq_Khmtpcr6-G3wZkUMF6japuaIxpsi3E4BpPCv5RR7KMJZqaSzcPMmD1xRpVwMiGoMUttj2dQ5WMsNNJJrNF-LXpl7qCvM6PAVD4iPlV63VYE6w4ndPt4f90SiBo/s400/IMG_4072.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395182015979732514" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" border="0" /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Patrick did OK. He told the officer he had been laid-off from his job in the bicycle industry and this is how he has four-months off to take a road trip across the United States and Canada. Then the customs officer turned to me: "What do you do?"</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>"Nothing!" I say gleefully, with yogurt-covered pretzels falling out of my mouth. "I quit my job!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"And how much cash are you carrying?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"About $60."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Please pull over and go inside the office."</div><div><br /></div><div>Once inside, I realize that freelance journalist, Santa Cruz homeowner and $15,000 in the bank are all better answers. We convince the officers that we're not flight risks and head to Toronto.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>—Jessica</i></div></div></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-23374679746372417882009-10-17T20:50:00.001-07:002009-10-21T14:51:01.269-07:00The Wells Fargo Express to Niagara Falls<div><div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395074074408273026" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqXdW14gOMSjBT6fJqHoj7HD-EMVCknZa-LAGMSqcX9rKyl80ZiF5wnl0QXYey8zXm_LkujMoCUOd_cYO8GVE0DAg4KBNdBlsGjMkzoGDaiVy6HW0DFtymG8hrUpd6O2W4u4jwRzcyFSg/s320/From+Mich.+ON+072.JPG" border="0" />WARNING: To any and all Wells Fargo Bank customer, there are no branches east of the Ohio and Indiana areas! Yes, that is what many people know as the Eastern United States! What this means for us—we realized this on the morning we're leaving Harbor Springs for Niagara Falls—is a long detour. The problem: Niagara Falls is east, Ohio and Indiana are south, waaayyyy south of where we're trying to get to. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREChFvZFU5eg08g0uW8XwlQKci4bq8X9fyK1uw_qS1Xp26L78mRKz9Gox2j_sH863ejubxOu0RbnbJxfE34rL_RLpjZ5KePO9eVqhm0IRu1DS4SL5kA1IT_uyg3JLBFot49XA_E6DsSI/s1600-h/From+Mich.+ON+070.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395074277465373074" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREChFvZFU5eg08g0uW8XwlQKci4bq8X9fyK1uw_qS1Xp26L78mRKz9Gox2j_sH863ejubxOu0RbnbJxfE34rL_RLpjZ5KePO9eVqhm0IRu1DS4SL5kA1IT_uyg3JLBFot49XA_E6DsSI/s320/From+Mich.+ON+070.JPG" border="0" /></a>If you want to avoid a 14 or 15 hour driving day please, PLEASE make a serious note of this!<br /><br />The only upside: driving thru Buffalo at night, the city lights make it look like a charming city and the lighted bridges are beautiful.<br /><br /><div>The campground at <a href="http://nysparks.state.ny.us/parks/6/details.aspx">Four Mile Creek State Park</a> looks more like a large picnic area but it's right on the shore of Lake Erie and offers great views of Toronto. The large grassy area is perfect for playing fetch with Ophie. The<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimKuXcVJQr1s-N1uOYZS5-2do01aQH0Bxr9GYG8zPxXyGEdlgA0y6Czj9fVapizfnp9C8ZimKEydoXvwhWw5tWo_dx4XLX4Pd8nzE6y9Dm1SFMPJgbJ6pTJK9aUp9CxS408xaaKwzB67U/s1600-h/From+Mich.+ON+066.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395076953670737650" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimKuXcVJQr1s-N1uOYZS5-2do01aQH0Bxr9GYG8zPxXyGEdlgA0y6Czj9fVapizfnp9C8ZimKEydoXvwhWw5tWo_dx4XLX4Pd8nzE6y9Dm1SFMPJgbJ6pTJK9aUp9CxS408xaaKwzB67U/s320/From+Mich.+ON+066.JPG" border="0" /></a>re's absolutely nobody else camping, which isn't surprising because it's cold and rainy so we sleep in the truck for the second time. They have great facilities and we both enjoy a hot shower before heading for Niagara Falls. </div><br /><div>The only issue we have is with the park staff who for some reason are very rude and arrogant. Probably the California plates (they're just jealous!!) </div></div></div></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-61420616933300074352009-10-17T19:59:00.000-07:002009-10-22T07:55:07.507-07:00Harbor Springs<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMw19OB2GT2H-4tQUL6tAqwP97eYUImNX70cHUYMGe4MsXmOqcwULkKpwoIZRAK99nY_f2J8zAC298v0Y3t9IY16mJHULlmi3SC0MHYS-aYHqWxX4e3ZDXB87lCTnszkQjz7sVwItrIs/s1600-h/From+Mich.+ON+003.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394336342438379330" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMw19OB2GT2H-4tQUL6tAqwP97eYUImNX70cHUYMGe4MsXmOqcwULkKpwoIZRAK99nY_f2J8zAC298v0Y3t9IY16mJHULlmi3SC0MHYS-aYHqWxX4e3ZDXB87lCTnszkQjz7sVwItrIs/s320/From+Mich.+ON+003.JPG" border="0" /></a> Tucked into Little Traverse Bay, where the natural springs make Lake Michigan so clear you can see huge salmon swimming deep on the bottom, is the incredibly beautiful and charming township of Harbor Springs, Michigan. Luckily for us one of our best friends now resides there on a full-time basis along with his new family.<br /><br /><div><div><div><div><div>He's also perhaps our bravest friend; he's the only person I've ever know who took on a new house, new job, new puppy, and a new son Leighton III, in the same two-month period. </div><br /><div>To <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3O_fYn5Ue5FeMGuWIvnT1NLRNDMl587gBZninrLAQ3Nu15kqqmHsu_lOwfHRiQvTlF_3rUUVTft8KyTbxVB0nHE0gaReIrsiNhmbS0ISsNzzv7z2MeYgWy05Ppno_d7ZJ0BeNgErBUs/s1600-h/From+Mich.+ON+008.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394320478799605554" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 230px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3O_fYn5Ue5FeMGuWIvnT1NLRNDMl587gBZninrLAQ3Nu15kqqmHsu_lOwfHRiQvTlF_3rUUVTft8KyTbxVB0nHE0gaReIrsiNhmbS0ISsNzzv7z2MeYgWy05Ppno_d7ZJ0BeNgErBUs/s320/From+Mich.+ON+008.JPG" border="0" /></a>his credit he's patient and well-adjusted and </div><br /><div>doing great. </div><br /><div>We finally pulled into a town at a decent hour and were able to make dinner and catch up. Along with his two-and-a-half month year old son, Leighton lives with his girlfriend Liz and Ophie's new little sidekick Mason. His house sits on a couple of acres and the dogs were able to chase and play for the entire week we were there. Ophie thought she had found paradise and will now only allow use to move back to a place with lots of property. </div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimzC__su_FH9_qru961RkZixuBZIIGwpDfZHpzHVt28AKlsW7VAxf6JcKwjRgs5Nv8o_p44Z1iRxSpzlELifvlX5FJubM6a6Ax-b5TOqWmQGbAn4vngUxxMJXigp7dw7dBwQ1Ihh_qByg/s1600-h/From+Mich.+ON+011.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394325568697812770" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 242px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimzC__su_FH9_qru961RkZixuBZIIGwpDfZHpzHVt28AKlsW7VAxf6JcKwjRgs5Nv8o_p44Z1iRxSpzlELifvlX5FJubM6a6Ax-b5TOqWmQGbAn4vngUxxMJXigp7dw7dBwQ1Ihh_qByg/s320/From+Mich.+ON+011.JPG" border="0" /></a>It turned out to be a great week. The weather forecast called for rain for most of the week but it never really transpired and only dumped one afternoon. Although upon entering Harbor Springs in was still summer, and we were decked in our shorts and tank tops, a week later when we left it was definitely fall with jeans and fleeces the new wear of the day. It's amazing how the Great Lakes have such an effect on the region's weather, the patterns move so quickly. They really are fresh water oceans. The boys said that its not uncommon for a front to drop 7-10 feet of snow easy. That's when paradise turns to 5-6 months of grey, cold, boring winter... </div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPizwUVmiWkCGcLhPHQ8cX2u8EbUuh6tb7Nk-w3EE9CQXUOy00LuGmdRSAWnrJGIbWBCTPL7w49wqfu1BBcvDW9qX0Czc3-Ls4CEzcxU46kELKf4yV4agzGm6ak1IA8Jh-LAfEEOyT4s/s1600-h/From+Mich.+ON+052.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394331655541375970" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPizwUVmiWkCGcLhPHQ8cX2u8EbUuh6tb7Nk-w3EE9CQXUOy00LuGmdRSAWnrJGIbWBCTPL7w49wqfu1BBcvDW9qX0Czc3-Ls4CEzcxU46kELKf4yV4agzGm6ak1IA8Jh-LAfEEOyT4s/s320/From+Mich.+ON+052.JPG" border="0" /></a>The boys in question are some of Northern Michigan's finest. The McLean brothers were around pretty much the whole time. They took us on some great single track mountain biking trails that were right in Leighton's back yard. Boyne Ski Mountain was 20 minute ride from the house and had one of the best marked trail systems I've seen. from super agressive trails decked out with ladders everywhere to mellow winding trails in was great. Leighton also took us on some driving tours of the region showing us some of the finer areas and fall color trails. The downtown area is decked out with fine shopping, art, food, and just enough local flavor to preserve it's standing as not a totally played out tourist trap. We highly recommend the local fudge! One of the highlights was our second to last night when we boated across the Bay over to Petosky for some fine dinning and then down the shore to Bay Harbor, a newer development that has some of the most glamorous monstrosities of homes you'll ever see, to meet up with some friends for a B-Day bash at the Knot. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKL1BL6uOe5-_dogdHxzrzob-gYz8f_TFlta_xAg4UbpFWnibqIMupWUHddSCbWjRm6geVI3SEfnh7EW3P_iYq5hobWVKToeAY2yyoh2FKZZdmFREzRVcGrI5fWbfOaB7mcgkr2zWtFog/s1600-h/From+Mich.+ON+022.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394335779547450930" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKL1BL6uOe5-_dogdHxzrzob-gYz8f_TFlta_xAg4UbpFWnibqIMupWUHddSCbWjRm6geVI3SEfnh7EW3P_iYq5hobWVKToeAY2yyoh2FKZZdmFREzRVcGrI5fWbfOaB7mcgkr2zWtFog/s320/From+Mich.+ON+022.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />Many good laughs and even better drinks were had by all. Jessica and I decided to partake in a local tradition and take the Buck Hunter Challenge! Having just spent several weeks viewing amazing and highly protected wild life we needed a release and Buck Hunter was just perfect. Remembering a shirt we had seen on a woman in Yellowstone which stated, "There's a place for all of God's creatures, next to the potatoes and gravy on my plate!" We pulled out the shot gun and had at it. I took down more bucks than Jessica did over the 5 different levels but she found her aim and had a perfect screen on the bonus turkey level killing all 30!! We all closed down the Knot and jumped on the boat for the 20 min. cruise back to Harbor. Along the way starring out at the water a<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkT81K5D2b0ZoRAjjJyM182z4SHtpCIv40fWTj3I5qt-ElEwZfZLdMU3K11faw2YBy5LkQd4tN3LPcylEjZW1MWicXD0bQtpdo-mWkWtm2T4_9f0VgvjO3et865gzI_OIizkF4ArhulRE/s1600-h/From+Mich.+ON+062.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394450852757439362" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkT81K5D2b0ZoRAjjJyM182z4SHtpCIv40fWTj3I5qt-ElEwZfZLdMU3K11faw2YBy5LkQd4tN3LPcylEjZW1MWicXD0bQtpdo-mWkWtm2T4_9f0VgvjO3et865gzI_OIizkF4ArhulRE/s320/From+Mich.+ON+062.JPG" border="0" /></a>nd lights on the hill sides I made up my mind that I wanted to sail around the world. I'm now accepting donations to make this dream a reality. Upon returning while we were tieing the boat to the dock I decided to show off and do a back flip into the lake. Other people said I fell off with all my clothes on including a polo sweater and Italian leather shoes. The jury's still out. What is certain is that my Blackberry doesn't like me anymore and my drivers licence picture now shows me with a snorkle and fins! The next day we BBQ'd ribs, watched a little football, and packed the car for the trip to Niagara Falls. We had a great time and we'll hopefully be back next year when the knee heals and we can wakeboard!<br /><br /><div></div><i>—Patrick</i><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-63494352317202418282009-10-17T19:58:00.000-07:002009-10-18T14:39:39.507-07:00Twelvemile Beach Campground<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOMnmOauC6Nrs1xR8lqWKTOFHeuCDIlOe7rY9D6V6x0V2zJ8pPXoGY_L1vG5Wgav9Hsi8hyphenhyphen_CaOM_DsRMtyvv57i9aJ49_9w1Xsht8lh9WnTMqg4-sFgK80IeIdXYSsVHPb9CJYZlyPrk/s1600-h/IMG_3909.JPG"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6vTNVWEX9gNuabVUE4yUpahSZAw8qNFAffcLEwGouhPZthb3L2oqCqN-qHyHSfx_XgDPbtH28Uo7akiN6zM7nuIC2Ngpn9RTEVlSWCNKD7JrLgwVGKl2Bax21WCX7jY4VdRpsSum96bc/s1600-h/IMG_3892.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6vTNVWEX9gNuabVUE4yUpahSZAw8qNFAffcLEwGouhPZthb3L2oqCqN-qHyHSfx_XgDPbtH28Uo7akiN6zM7nuIC2Ngpn9RTEVlSWCNKD7JrLgwVGKl2Bax21WCX7jY4VdRpsSum96bc/s320/IMG_3892.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393943485114285922" /></a><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">We left Marquette for Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore, a vast wilderness area in the northeastern part of the UP with sandstone cliffs, dunes, lakes, forests and more than 40 miles of Lake Superior Beach. The park roads are dirt two tracks that were muddy and rutted from the recent weather and fun as heck! We were hauling ass with no one else around on the roads, happy to be far from any traffic. We decided to stay in an area with several campgrounds to choose from on a point overlooking Lake Superior. Along the way we found a small village called Grand Marais at the northern most point of the park that wasn't much more than a street but happened to contain Lake Superior Brewing Co. so we had to stop in and sample the local flavor of course. Jessica was able to get a couple tasty brown ales and I had a couple hearty stouts. The ambiance and scene wasn’t exactly charming but it was memorable. Old folks with bad teeth and at least one cigarette hanging from their mouth dotted the bar. Camouflage was the color of choice, and elk and moose heads stared at us from all sides. All and all, good brew and good times. We left there for Hurricane River just west of Au Sable Light Station on the point.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUv0NhiPn_M3ru3EaFpbsIeDskRlD_UsXdBU2uDY1w3RyJHm5zJL9HiSG1RBouNqz1V04oLy7cTEbPdRG15oH8phIrBVjki1SwHiQTg2hIfj_WW22iMemdkvfNcybh-UtSZJYCNcmKFl8/s320/IMG_3912.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393944244420238546" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> The campground we found 7 miles down this little dirt road was great but we decided that it was worth driving on to see Twelvemile Beach Campground. We ended up finding the most unbelievable beach camping ever! The lake looked more like the Pacific Ocean and the beach was sandy and deserted. It felt more like Baja than Northern Michigan and we knew we wandered upon something special! We spent a great night around the campfire and planned to stay for a few more days or perhaps the rest of our life. The next morning we woke to a strong northern wind blowing across the lake and a wind chill factor of "cold as shit" We decided that we'd leave paradise for another time and head for Harbor Springs. Here's the photos and all I can say is if you get the chance go! </span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOMnmOauC6Nrs1xR8lqWKTOFHeuCDIlOe7rY9D6V6x0V2zJ8pPXoGY_L1vG5Wgav9Hsi8hyphenhyphen_CaOM_DsRMtyvv57i9aJ49_9w1Xsht8lh9WnTMqg4-sFgK80IeIdXYSsVHPb9CJYZlyPrk/s320/IMG_3909.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393944823733670754" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-50419684703677858712009-10-17T19:57:00.000-07:002009-10-18T08:19:21.845-07:00Onward for Michigan and Old Friends<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGCzZvvw5RcgUGyJTEj36iRMCmV0pvetWaK2QVRKhn8Sxd4wxXlXwBHYG5Dylnr7DkFuCipGH5OYsvuJOw5w_6M6vjoVAM4G2L9CsxLDNBL66HZcd-LehFRZ1ZVxtpW2JCS52Ld_BKZgk/s1600-h/lake+superior6.jpg"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUY_N-eFVvfN5qwQYj_P63147F_TLfv0mRMQaOEP4up3nAn9sOU__-QR9smrCPg6-q_fohUphNFSTS0MQO3-Fkbhec7TfEememQdSFYZDbbxKQfCkHZr3xP4w_oxTGRpbmS-3Hy8afKL0/s1600-h/lake+superior2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUY_N-eFVvfN5qwQYj_P63147F_TLfv0mRMQaOEP4up3nAn9sOU__-QR9smrCPg6-q_fohUphNFSTS0MQO3-Fkbhec7TfEememQdSFYZDbbxKQfCkHZr3xP4w_oxTGRpbmS-3Hy8afKL0/s320/lake+superior2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393941235782019666" /></a><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Driving north from Minneapolis we didn’t have a solid idea of what our plans were for the night and we didn’t really care. We were happy to be back on the road and charged up to see more good friends who we hadn’t seen for a while. Along the drive we went thru Duluth which isn’t all that representative except for a conversation Jessica and I had somewhere along the miles on the road. She said that if she could be named after any city it would be Duluth. I picked Phoenix. It’s not always the most interesting conversations that pass the miles we’ve found but sometimes they’re the funniest. On the way to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan we passed through Wisconsin (new state for both of us) where we saw the fall colors really starting to set in. The area is heavily wooded with picturesque farms and homesteads dotting the landscape. We spot a few bald eagles along the road sides and lots of small glassy lakes. We’re tipped to a great state park just inside the UP border but the weather forecast is calling for rain and we decided to camp after visiting with our friends Chad and Nancy who live not far from the park. Chad is originally from Michigan but was living in Santa Cruz and was one of my first friends when I moved there sometime around 2000. He’s a great guy and a dedicated Red Wings fan God rest his soul! Hahaha… </span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6cJ2uL4_mlBkbjdA1Eidz1a2LILbZTSGcRBme5D2aggt-oVB4XZqflMtXy0smRvTBXQ8CHeiTIBdcCtYVqbkbJLDO9QtJtRWdJ3cbcJiEIWvJbs2MiY3rlMPX2HmD54WyL82Q9uTio4/s320/lake+superior4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393941606063921090" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I’m surprised we’re still friends after all these years because while he used to be at work all day in Santa Cruz I’d get done with soccer practice and go over to his house and drink his beers until he got home usually only leaving one or two, ahhh the good ol' days. After a quick call we once again realize that we have great friends who are willing to go out of their way to accommodate us on our travels and it’s not a problem to show up a few days earlier than expected. They live in near Marquette, a cool little university town on Lake Superior. Again we pull in at night but this time early enough to catch the tail end of dinner. Steak and potatoes, SCORE! We meet Chaz, their 10-month-old son, for the first time—the cutest blue eyed boy around. We also meet another Stella who is their 2 year old dog and the biggest bitch around! Sorry guys if you read this!! : ) Ophie is constantly tortured by her and she starts several fights with our dog which kinda keeps the visit on high doggie tensions the whole time. We manage to keep them apart and enjoy the visit thoroughly. The next morning Chad, who works from home in many IT arenas, takes us for a hike around the back of his house which just happens to be hundreds of acres of great multi-purpose outdoor activity land. We hit a 5 mile loop that takes us by several lakes where the dogs swim and along a few mountain bike single track trails that look technical and great. Later in the afternoon we head to downtown Marquette which has a great waterfront and meet up with his wife Nancy, a local school teacher and one of the biggest sweet-hearts you‘ll ever meet, for happy hour I.P.A.’s. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGCzZvvw5RcgUGyJTEj36iRMCmV0pvetWaK2QVRKhn8Sxd4wxXlXwBHYG5Dylnr7DkFuCipGH5OYsvuJOw5w_6M6vjoVAM4G2L9CsxLDNBL66HZcd-LehFRZ1ZVxtpW2JCS52Ld_BKZgk/s320/lake+superior6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393942049274462162" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> Yes we do order I.P.A.’s everywhere we go!! Leaving there they take us for a drive along Lake Superior and to one of their favorite cliff jumping spots. The day is cold and breezy but I decided (more like get pressured by everyone) that I may not be back for a while and strip down to my boxers and jump! It’s cold but refreshing and by the time I swim in 100 yards or so my body feels it. We head back and Jessica whips up a great pasta and salad dinner and we have a great evening drinking wine and chatting it up. The next morning we decide to let them get back to their busy lives and get ourselves back around the campfire. We say our goodbyes and off we go. I’m really happy we were able to make it this far north to visit some good people! </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><i>—Patrick</i></span></p>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-53826810555553702412009-10-17T19:56:00.001-07:002009-10-18T08:14:53.907-07:00Minnesota Nice!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQir7oxzgYOWl7WO8_W9Kl3WJQNSFIXa_AYOqaaUl8LEkmdqLHXv94yTsKHqZapMTt_twksRjpZoNfp2qNCq6gZzVB9tdU37QhgLGTQUPm4fDIsXXdLxO7AWmz-LRyE2L2y5dcATH9jw/s1600-h/IMG_3819.JPG"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYNTuWyJ_8MvS_wbGmdEjzvbXZqoYoQcpOYuFfOcqCke6urkMzcr3jXYKP_zsdzRNW3dldulF8nWJKJ1EbSI27z6wItrsdNMIWu3HlLsqtpA_Z-35-TfpPiBQ3svBcC067xMtDwKyGvwM/s1600-h/IMG_3786.JPG"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPCmkGyByWn0qFhr8Jfn6fx9ts5gXr2f4cTg4msHcNWcrEKA8IITse2E5O5kgivbgK47ehVJ1SlOSILzKjMZWCV1bPPjY7RJMjNyof1mfqecL2uywlIl_W4kxwY0YGB4g06WlTfVty_KU/s1600-h/IMG_3773.JPG"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1OoZal2TzC6z9nvCeu4dtoW2Ee-bfCD0udBqndlB0Y1N8ecPRW2rKWmzViarRaGhXpDnFXF5Vtm6oVMAC6yyRrolHDWao_QXLka5_SwebU4mROqbzstFU-mTZNrYkrV_i5JwFXlM0PQ/s1600-h/IMG_3765.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1OoZal2TzC6z9nvCeu4dtoW2Ee-bfCD0udBqndlB0Y1N8ecPRW2rKWmzViarRaGhXpDnFXF5Vtm6oVMAC6yyRrolHDWao_QXLka5_SwebU4mROqbzstFU-mTZNrYkrV_i5JwFXlM0PQ/s320/IMG_3765.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393937120418510658" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"font-family:";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">There is a term coined by Minnesotans based on a warm friendliness and helpfulness that visitors find once inside the state's borders: Minnesota Nice. Upon arriving at our friends' house—Scott, Sarah and their daughter, Stella—we found out what it was all about. We pulled in late night as usual, wary from the long drive and were greeted with the feeling of coming home for the holidays. They carried our bags inside, put our bikes in their garage and had cold spirits at the ready. Mind you they had worked all day, Stella is only 16 months of super cute energy, and they both had to work early the next morning. We stayed up chatting about our adventure and life until after midnight and went to bed. The next morning we awoke to fresh brewed coffee, breakfast and the blessing to use all of their household amenities (laundry!) that we happily took advantage of. We’re still very grateful for the treatment we received from them and have scheduled an annual, visit which they haven‘t been informed of until now!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPCmkGyByWn0qFhr8Jfn6fx9ts5gXr2f4cTg4msHcNWcrEKA8IITse2E5O5kgivbgK47ehVJ1SlOSILzKjMZWCV1bPPjY7RJMjNyof1mfqecL2uywlIl_W4kxwY0YGB4g06WlTfVty_KU/s320/IMG_3773.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393938065690961186" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"font-family:";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Scott arranged his schedule to leave work early and show us around the city during the afternoon. First, in what was becoming typical fashion, he made us some lunch and gave us some insight into his job at the University of Minnesota in the neuro-science department. Jessica got a heck of a lot more out of what he was saying than I did, and it was there that I realized I probably relate better to Ophie. So we went to chase squirrels outside and let them talk.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"font-family:";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Minneapolis has 50-plus miles of multi-use trails that travel by three lakes and wind through numerous neighborhoods. We jumped on the bikes, picked Stella up from day care, and took a tour through about a third of the trail system. It was a beautiful late summer day and there were people everywhere. Couples out taking wedding pictures in the city’s rose garden, families sunbathing and swimming at many of the beaches along the lakes, rollerblades (yes rollerblades!!) are very popular in Minneapolis, bike riders both serious and recreational, runners, joggers, everyone…great people watching! We stopped half way through and let Stella look at the ducks and play on the beach while we had a local Oktoberfest brew. On the way back home Stella had a great time using her juice cup and snack jar as grenades which she would launch out of her bugger with great joy and accuracy. Luckily Jessica’s riding skills are up to par and she was able dodge them without harm. I don’t understand why more cities, whatever size, don’t embrace trails of this nature. Later that night Scott and Sarah invited some friends over, Scott made shrimp skewers, and we had local brews while listening to music and talked around their outdoor fire pit.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYNTuWyJ_8MvS_wbGmdEjzvbXZqoYoQcpOYuFfOcqCke6urkMzcr3jXYKP_zsdzRNW3dldulF8nWJKJ1EbSI27z6wItrsdNMIWu3HlLsqtpA_Z-35-TfpPiBQ3svBcC067xMtDwKyGvwM/s320/IMG_3786.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393938814033995538" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"font-family:";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The following morning Jessica and I slip over to the store and we cook big breakfast burritos. It was a good chance to catch up with Sarah a little more and hear about her social work within the Minneapolis community. Her patients and kindness are big assets in what amounts to a very trying and tough job—most people only last 6 months. Jessica and I love her Minnesotan accent and we still reference its charm along the road now (sure, sure). They also tell us that Stella’s name came from their hippie past, which includes several stints following Phish and Scott working for the University of Iowa radio station where he hosted a Grateful Dead hour followed by a free-form music hour. Fun stories all around! Following breakfast Scott’s folks come and happily picked up Stella so we could tour around the city and then go out later in the evening. We start the adventure downtown along the Mississippi River and walk along the waterfront, explore some of the theatre district, watche a German Polka band and their very scary troll-masked dancing crew, and then sit on an outside patio and enjoy several drinks. Later in the evening we visit a great seafood spot with a fourth-story roof top bar and splurge a bit, meaning I had the lobster stuffed salmon at market price, opps! Everyone orders great food, and that all-to-dangerous one more drink. Afterward we hit up this really cool bar with a bowling alley and cabaret inside, and laugh it up over some local I.P.A.s.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQir7oxzgYOWl7WO8_W9Kl3WJQNSFIXa_AYOqaaUl8LEkmdqLHXv94yTsKHqZapMTt_twksRjpZoNfp2qNCq6gZzVB9tdU37QhgLGTQUPm4fDIsXXdLxO7AWmz-LRyE2L2y5dcATH9jw/s320/IMG_3819.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393939685339190066" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"font-family:";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Jessica and I are fully impressed, with not only our hosts, but the city as well and give it our stamp of approval!</span></span></p> <span style="font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-fareast-mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The next day we get up early, pack up our gear, and head out for a local disc golf course with a great reputation. Scott and I play while the girls wall alongside and talk and take photos. Ophie chases squirrels. The course was challenging and we both had our ups and downs but play pretty good overall. We finish up, Scott gives me the local radio station to follow Brett Favre, the newest Minnesotan, and part ways a few miles down the freeway. We thank them for the wonderful time!</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>—Patrick</i><br /></span><!--EndFragment--> <p></p><br /></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-42358761100059067512009-10-17T19:55:00.000-07:002009-10-18T07:43:10.096-07:00The Road In...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfVJxl2-kJUJ1rdd1wSjMasnq0ycd0y9n7FhwEspeK3DL8TAntfK-s8HkGdCy2d0xmqhOElildAQunRbQlRxkqGvL8NlLnjmMTS25dPft-urU4grdEyj3z_sXLcEtidW8mbkputtwml0/s1600-h/IMG_3808.JPG"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9knZN7hUm2HcBkm4jG0hOdTJTwibuXTGGkFCb0vOArNQxOefI7LxaG0k7elGTSzc6ZIrOtgA1gd6JlIrU9hxnaO0_cmazLXXTEdZ-0hzwskFn384FHbXmlktyEwlh3vibHtqtd4LaZCM/s1600-h/IMG_3780.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9knZN7hUm2HcBkm4jG0hOdTJTwibuXTGGkFCb0vOArNQxOefI7LxaG0k7elGTSzc6ZIrOtgA1gd6JlIrU9hxnaO0_cmazLXXTEdZ-0hzwskFn384FHbXmlktyEwlh3vibHtqtd4LaZCM/s320/IMG_3780.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393940410602412738" /></a><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">We felt major confliction for the first time as we packed up our camping gear and readied for the long drive to Minneapolis. The realization had set in that we were leaving the Great Parks of the West and wouldn’t be coming back until who knows when. We agreed that if given the chance again we would take the entire time in just the parks. But with fall closing in, it was now or never to head east. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The drive thru the rolling plains of South Dakota and into Minnesota was long but beautiful. We both enjoyed some time for reflection on everything that we had just seen and a chance to reset and ready our expectations for the new adventure ahead. As we got closer to the Minnesota border, strange and luring signs started to appear. At first every half hour or so and then growing in frequency to the point where there was one every mile, probably 100 or more in total. They were full of claims pronouncing that they had everything you would ever need in this life or the next. (a 6-foot rabbit, new T-Rex, a shooting gallery, free ice water, home-made doughnuts and pies free for vets and honeymooners, and a ton more I can‘t think of right now.) </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfVJxl2-kJUJ1rdd1wSjMasnq0ycd0y9n7FhwEspeK3DL8TAntfK-s8HkGdCy2d0xmqhOElildAQunRbQlRxkqGvL8NlLnjmMTS25dPft-urU4grdEyj3z_sXLcEtidW8mbkputtwml0/s320/IMG_3808.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393946703919532626" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">This Shangri-La, this Mecca, we couldn’t believe that we had been kept in the dark about such a place. It’s name; WallDrug…We couldn’t control our excitement, we imagined a monstrous golden building unlike anything we had ever seen. What we found was a little hokey street with third-rate tourist T-shirts, stickers, and restaurants. It was very disappointing considering the hype machine that was laid out before us. So we let Ophie out and she did her business on a patch of grass. We smiled feeling even with WallDrug, and off for Minnesota we went!</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><i>—Patrick</i></span></p>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-59680134415129668332009-09-28T13:05:00.000-07:002009-09-28T13:55:18.079-07:00The Other White Meat<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlZ58pq-95dRVQMg71hyphenhyphen03TIDKNcEalK28GurrWu7dXAQKOVKxCHOMcCMKwaEXQxNgvNysctT_5LVWk8ADo9rEACZCjPcUAI_1opM00FIHOaos0E-yYesAP_6vHhT6NrCfA3tNZKfQdlU/s1600-h/IMG_3754.JPG"></a><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlZ58pq-95dRVQMg71hyphenhyphen03TIDKNcEalK28GurrWu7dXAQKOVKxCHOMcCMKwaEXQxNgvNysctT_5LVWk8ADo9rEACZCjPcUAI_1opM00FIHOaos0E-yYesAP_6vHhT6NrCfA3tNZKfQdlU/s320/IMG_3754.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386592871988810530" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg51wSJyshsnkX7diDAjQ9ZYEh0ToNuvG3lZxNJGsF_gAsNmH4g7d8IxGNqe9JDQ_RxNprP2NdVFMXE_l2jl2B0VpTFR9gj-jEmxQCyqviu352Ud__t1lVNwofpnh9PcSyzFU8ZL2RiwkE/s1600-h/IMG_3756.JPG"></a><div>Here's a fossil of Archaeotherium, a large piglike animal that hunted small animals and also ate plants and carrion when it could find any. Some of these piggies grew as tall as 5 feet at the shoulder.<div><br /></div><div>Archaeotherium's fossil is on display at the Badlands Visitor Center, along with a model of what scientists believe it looked like.</div><div><br /></div><div>We wouldn't want to find one of these rooting around our campsite—not with those chompers—but it is time for lunch, and bacon sandwiches (of prehistoric, bacon-like sandwiches) sound a lot better than the usual peanut butter and jelly.</div></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg51wSJyshsnkX7diDAjQ9ZYEh0ToNuvG3lZxNJGsF_gAsNmH4g7d8IxGNqe9JDQ_RxNprP2NdVFMXE_l2jl2B0VpTFR9gj-jEmxQCyqviu352Ud__t1lVNwofpnh9PcSyzFU8ZL2RiwkE/s1600-h/IMG_3756.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg51wSJyshsnkX7diDAjQ9ZYEh0ToNuvG3lZxNJGsF_gAsNmH4g7d8IxGNqe9JDQ_RxNprP2NdVFMXE_l2jl2B0VpTFR9gj-jEmxQCyqviu352Ud__t1lVNwofpnh9PcSyzFU8ZL2RiwkE/s320/IMG_3756.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386592376465798082" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a><div></div><div><br /></div><div>Here, piggy piggy...</div><div><br /></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div> </div></div></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-88322017608441847522009-09-28T13:04:00.000-07:002009-09-28T13:53:44.878-07:00Mako Sica<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Is not the sky a father and the earth a mother, and are not all living things with feet or wings or roots their children?</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">—Nicholas Black Elk, Lakota spiritual leader, 1932</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTa3JvTp4B1_SgIvsQ5VlUvnEfIqOxnvdW7KLoLKb0rI6L5vHalabyFtG-9Y77tKmzInXjKXkAF_GLpVMT-eZwohieu3wUvrrChNYscy4RJT4d_igiVg4iOQodV-8WiiqNqiDNjpDYpC4/s1600-h/IMG_3717.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTa3JvTp4B1_SgIvsQ5VlUvnEfIqOxnvdW7KLoLKb0rI6L5vHalabyFtG-9Y77tKmzInXjKXkAF_GLpVMT-eZwohieu3wUvrrChNYscy4RJT4d_igiVg4iOQodV-8WiiqNqiDNjpDYpC4/s400/IMG_3717.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385556951939970434" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div>The Lakota called this place <i>mako sica</i>. French trappers knew it as <i>les mauvaises terres á traverser</i>. Both have the same meaning: Bad Lands.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj31vJ85odMpm8FFd3ClBXAyLnAuiRprZDtkdG04N86JwPJo8uuGiaIPWf-1P_c8iRzKSZUnNd0ZSSr40QQG5awNTjumW0aUIpb_GJ5LC7dZ_aBNpECrn19QmhSMn_f0zqFNnR5nQK8mtE/s1600-h/IMG_3647.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj31vJ85odMpm8FFd3ClBXAyLnAuiRprZDtkdG04N86JwPJo8uuGiaIPWf-1P_c8iRzKSZUnNd0ZSSr40QQG5awNTjumW0aUIpb_GJ5LC7dZ_aBNpECrn19QmhSMn_f0zqFNnR5nQK8mtE/s400/IMG_3647.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385543274169192418" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a>We arrive at dusk, as has become our routine to enter the national parks, and we find a tragically beautiful place. It's eerie and ethereal, mystical and haunted by the sound of wind rustling the grasses and insects buzzing across desolate plains. We enter the park Sept. 16 with the sun setting beyond the colorful, banded wall, glowing in soft purple and orange hues. As the moon rises we drive the Badlands Loop and listen to American Indian songs while an owl glides over the prairie and a massive buck stands near the road. We see their earthly form but prefer to think of them as ancient spirits assuming animal shapes.<div><br /></div><div>After setting up camp, we take Ophie to the amphitheater for the ranger's nightly program. Tonight's toipc: Prairie, which once sprawled across one-third of North America. Only 2 percent remains. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDOEZe9uV1Ooa5oBPUqBVwD4ArXP_cj1uB_PgPbrb3kmyBl76nGQJFrNvk6ACt8yx2yNu621GnL0isjIiRO4horBuGFBzyDES96ndgFzW7qFb9KYNq52uh5U0xYwXwKwD2kEUBxsnbZ4/s400/IMG_3696.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385552837691523090" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div>Badlands contains mixed-grass prairie, tall-grass species including big bluestem and prairie cordgrass, and short-grasses such as blue grama and buffalo grass. Today, prairie dogs, muledeer, pronghorn, bison, coyotes, big-horn sheep and black-footed ferrets live and thrive in the park. We watch and listen to the ranger's presentation and appreciate the still, subtle beauty of the grassland, and gaze up at the stars covering the dark, moonless sky.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge_U07E71U5Q-eD0q26S3B0e4WIGtsMtM-6lZ8MYqDvWp6dRMhhigu0K3NULsieWkq__AjGAsbD6JYHL7m0blveItlKq4zFsz_10hxzmDzqrm95xcuNmrd-g8YF_fVF9YdR_tyGuOcRgc/s1600-h/IMG_3675.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge_U07E71U5Q-eD0q26S3B0e4WIGtsMtM-6lZ8MYqDvWp6dRMhhigu0K3NULsieWkq__AjGAsbD6JYHL7m0blveItlKq4zFsz_10hxzmDzqrm95xcuNmrd-g8YF_fVF9YdR_tyGuOcRgc/s320/IMG_3675.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385550358311110882" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbfA9gNloRwGqvRFlVB5Fi4NCLmZ0mxwitd4fUJ7zXD5Xb5hCWleWPbketVwrVqhFTBqjtzw9jNaaWOCT88BG0l3xqJEUrM9FjYrlOmipj326oLhulI6S-bOMoTM0iwKTL5LAAs9totjQ/s320/IMG_3672.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385550099782400162" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /><div style="text-align: center; "><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>In the morning, we wake to the Western Meadow Lark's melodic birdsong. It's hot—88 degrees in this land of extremes—and our plans for an intense morning hike quickly fade. Instead, we take a fossil walk and see bygone creatures from millions of years ago like the Leptomeryx, a small, deer-like animal, sheep-like Oreodonts, ancient pigs called Archaeotherium, Mesohippus, a three-toed ancestor of modern horses, and Subhyracodon, a small, plant-eating rhinoceros.</div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu42tWy5Az-ux_pXf3qtk5r0KemP6Y-M54VfF55nZHZVe69hIPBgVlrSb7gA87AItSR8CR9Kmh9kjCJHR1aqlTzNXc_1py7Gs7n1Cu8JN0Ro-DIU6cji7cQGoTlVLHbLwh-ptqfOiaSAc/s400/IMG_3710.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385554490707997186" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></div><div><br /></div><div>Next stop: Big Foot Pass. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is the place where Chief Big Foot led about 350 men, women and children down the Badlands Wall on Dec. 24, 1890. Five days later, nearly 200 of them were massacred at Wounded Knee, just to the south. It's an emotional place—much more so, I'm sure, for Lakota descendants. </div><div><br /></div><div>Next time, we'll visit the Stronghold Table (we're driving the North Unit; it's in the South Unit, through rutted tracks and closed gates) and stand in the place where the Lakota men danced the Ghost Dance for the last time before Wounded Knee. We leave Badlands less than 24 hours after our arrival. But the pictures in our minds of Lakota families pushed across this hard, desolate landscape in the dead of winter—when we don't even want to leave the comfort of the air-conditioned truck to hike a few miles through the canyons—driven to their death haunts us still.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>—Jessica</i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-60569870017358025942009-09-28T13:03:00.001-07:002009-09-28T13:51:11.769-07:00Deadwood<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4SVMlpIYwy8LQOTzWOWCFxG5XArqQ0R5BKrAUR9UazyYhT1IsD_G3sXXqDiMTj93eujr4HCiRSv9LdefwiC2VCDsOrAH09GhefL65WS5Uk03ajk6d8TNWFSsVOlS4YvMsLSgGTOKclxM/s1600-h/IMG_3638.JPG"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo-GHOxP6thXxi6iffr1L0ffH-DW2pybNLcldYxqezPmDeUOJ1tWmd0U312qTJLBGYr4jKFt00LbSyx3vFK_t8GosnhLtdcMuqw9YM8WsfI4gefC-DRFC5oMNkCdsPLFo00BhTV53pVJI/s1600-h/IMG_3581.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo-GHOxP6thXxi6iffr1L0ffH-DW2pybNLcldYxqezPmDeUOJ1tWmd0U312qTJLBGYr4jKFt00LbSyx3vFK_t8GosnhLtdcMuqw9YM8WsfI4gefC-DRFC5oMNkCdsPLFo00BhTV53pVJI/s320/IMG_3581.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386614122123984882" /></a><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCQB2ki5_ZfrZRtxLhtxFP7T3m8fdXJtAiXjbG5KSIaq8UBLsXPHfnYKUX9vWk3rg_AOsmH-4VTa9GqCg-yS8ZpnaF9H_5Rf3zOQxgoUkghm5mja-i2-uDpgfpi322arnG3RVj-mIQt_Y/s1600-h/IMG_3605.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCQB2ki5_ZfrZRtxLhtxFP7T3m8fdXJtAiXjbG5KSIaq8UBLsXPHfnYKUX9vWk3rg_AOsmH-4VTa9GqCg-yS8ZpnaF9H_5Rf3zOQxgoUkghm5mja-i2-uDpgfpi322arnG3RVj-mIQt_Y/s320/IMG_3605.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386613455517332114" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">Deadwood, South Dakota: Final resting place of Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane, and current nesting place of casinos and kitschy, Old West storefronts and bars.</div><div><br /></div><div>We stop by Mt. Moriah Cemetery to see Wild Bill and Calamity Jane's gravesites. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hickok was shot in the back of the head and killed Aug. 2, 1876, while playing poker at Saloon No. 10, and a Dead Man's Hand, black aces and eights, sits beneath his headstone. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisssvqnmjT28KPZxRdk4auMxnY_Tws63bjdjCXrZi33aDpZQmQtpWTcPKfclO2Kk2vgLB3fvK0Z71plMMHhWmGn880PW6-lVqmwETefid3GYDSkEKnvQgQ2UQq2Dj0MKxYS9vEJbII39I/s320/IMG_3607.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386616401097574610" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></div><div>Martha Jane Burke, aka Calamity Jane, rests alongside Wild Bill. During her 53 years, she worked on a bull train, performed in a Wild West show and worked as a prostitute. She didn't have much luck at the latter, probably because of her appearance. Most historians agree her claim to be Wild Bill's sweetheart was strictly a figment of her imagination. Regardless, her dying wish—to be buried next to the famed lawman—was granted, cementing her place in local lore and alongside her imagined lover.</div><div><br /></div><div>In addition to its two most famous spirits, Mt. Moriah is also the final resting place of many colorful characters, like Preacher Smith, a Methodist minister and medical doctor who was well loved by the community and murdered enroute to church, and Dora Dufran, a big-hearted madam with brothels in Lead, Rapid City, Deadwood and Belle Fourche. Children's graves (many died from smallpox) are also found throughout the cemetery, along with a Civil War veterans section.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzulsaI4hNTNi72Y3GPp6csUgoy1faU3vINP2uPGBZ96-Qs_PQBz-49_XsBLSOq5blugMx4dxp05pgCneFQTpor7w1EDO5YC4U37YTeluJkiAxT7E7NC9PllLI91tBAsSSmnPrrnoycbI/s320/IMG_3633.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386620657598789714" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div>After nearly getting duped into buying a beer at the so-called Saloon No. 10, we stumble upon Wild Bill Bar, and notice its sign that reads, "Historic Site, Saloon No. 10, where Wild Bill was shot, Aug. 2, 1876. The original bar burned down and was then rebuilt and renamed in honor of its most well-known murder victim. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4SVMlpIYwy8LQOTzWOWCFxG5XArqQ0R5BKrAUR9UazyYhT1IsD_G3sXXqDiMTj93eujr4HCiRSv9LdefwiC2VCDsOrAH09GhefL65WS5Uk03ajk6d8TNWFSsVOlS4YvMsLSgGTOKclxM/s320/IMG_3638.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386621683280979650" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div>We toast Wild Bill with a Black and Tan, check out the poker room display with mannequins reenacting Hickok's final hand, eat a burger, and drive like hell through the Black Hills and into Badlands. </div><div><br /></div><div>The Wild West inspires potential Halloween costumes: Wild Pat Hickok and Calamity Jess. </div><div><br /></div></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-21900063415971970462009-09-28T10:09:00.000-07:002009-09-28T11:17:08.997-07:00Four Faces of Freedom<div>Upon recommendation of several park rangers at Wind Cave, we decide to wait until evening to head up to <a href="http://www.nps.gov/archive/moru/park_history/carving_hist/carving_history.htm">Mount Rushmore</a> to see the lighting ceremony, the monument's main attraction that inspired a 2,500-seat amphitheater that fills up almost every night between Memorial and Labor days. </div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vUQ7wG84Il4JmIKjxZXM_g_xJD1nSvKC7VlgiUgTt824C9Du_25YZUMhhfn1duAor1Ab1Xf8-SKNDp_qsX_lLjPcfTwEViGEZxO7xLLS2gIeysFaADkijWQttekpwlHHc8TQOXYAdSQ/s1600-h/IMG_3541.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vUQ7wG84Il4JmIKjxZXM_g_xJD1nSvKC7VlgiUgTt824C9Du_25YZUMhhfn1duAor1Ab1Xf8-SKNDp_qsX_lLjPcfTwEViGEZxO7xLLS2gIeysFaADkijWQttekpwlHHc8TQOXYAdSQ/s400/IMG_3541.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386571055190166274" /></a><div>We arrive about an hour before dusk not really expecting much other than presidents’ faces in stone and perhaps a trail below them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>What we find is much, much more. The monument is beautifully laid out; the entrance has the feeling of a Roman architecture with four flights of stairs leading into huge stone columns that reveal the first glimpse of the Rushmore faces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Upon entering the main grounds there’s a long walkway with every state’s flag and huge stone pillars leading up to the amphitheater site.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>With the usual gift shop, eatery, and a very well put together museum/visitor center we’re both impressed with Mount Rushmore.</div><div><div> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIUWLONXAlrqm7V7p890SiBDoFl9v7dmTuoE2jGyjqTOLoZmjhFXeiHCckmWp1c6DU8Jb7A2kHLOKZRBk8bMAryO795SYKNWWzb3lu8IVOhGa-mnjtRe15Vtv3oxQ-Dfm1RiBp7INNeAU/s400/IMG_3540.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386571508803171698" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">The night is pleasant and warm, so we decide to grab some waffle cones with huge scoops of ice cream mounded on top. Jessica gets strawberry cheesecake and I get my favorite mint chocolate chip. The prices are surprisingly reasonable and we head down and get a seat, front and center. Studying the faces they almost seem fake in their perfection, a true testament to the sculptor <a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/rushmore/peopleevents/p_gborglum.html">Gutzon Borglum</a>. It was his idea and vision to sculpt Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and Roosevelt upon these rocks instead of what was originally supposed to be heroes of the west like Lewis and Clark, Wild Bill or Red Cloud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As the ceremony approaches we’re joined by a little old lady wearing a stars-and-stripes sweater and sporting a proud grin on her face as she sees the 1,000 plus people roll in. We start chatting and she tells us she’s part of the Mount Rushmore Foundation, which plays and important roll in the upkeep of the park (lawmakers wrote a section in the legislation guaranteeing no fee to enter the park). But thanks to a clever loophole, there's now a $10 fee for parking. Our new friend is full of other pieces of information and historical facts, and we both find her knowledgeable and charming. One interesting story she tells us is that this summer, three <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/07/08/AR2009070802246.html">Greenpeace activists</a> snuck up to the top and hung a huge banner over the faces with a message for President Obama, "America Honors Leaders not politicians, stop global warming."</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Darkness is now upon us. A ranger comes out and plays presidential triva games with the crowd until everyone is finally settled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Every answer is one of the presidents on Rushmore, and within every set of four questions, each of the four presidents gets a nod. This is only the start of what feels like a junior high history lecture. The following video that provides the highlights of each president’s life proves to be very laughable and elementary but nonetheless does show that each man had a great impact on the America in which we live and certainly enjoy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Finally at the end, the spotlights shines and the faces are revealed against the dark starry sky, a beautiful sight that is only dimmed by the urging of the rangers to join along with the recording and sing <i>America the Beautiful</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">Upon returning to our Wind Cave campsite, we light a fire and pull out our amateur astronomy book and do some constellation identifying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The sky has so many stars that it almost makes it harder to find things. But we have fun anyway and now feel confident that if we were lost in the woods we could find our way out.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>—Patrick</i></p> <!--EndFragment--> </div></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-44052190810122951162009-09-25T17:03:00.000-07:002009-09-28T11:19:08.179-07:00Alvin's Place<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidxKBLmGqN05oLy45hJcSvXSypOCLEwim7DsasUbyI5ohQuoVAitSuSxu_lpOt7V7swrTgTZTj4KC0aCNUMOZuyoTh3XCia79Nr9L1qfkoAFqgbl_4r3VTK1sMy-K5o-lkMcRUME1JQZE/s1600-h/IMG_3469.JPG"></a><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;color:#4D4D4D;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-size:-webkit-xxx-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;color:#4D4D4D;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLZAs6jccTMmIy3_HWicZ2NR7baDhAsSiuWrz1UUjz7ZzStex0gttyUUx6cdP90hxlESn5wKgSDi957u-NDHGfsw1H0volUOwdO_Ay7gWgNmp8Wri062fq7kYdydvatgsblekyw8xgWRE/s1600-h/IMG_3489.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLZAs6jccTMmIy3_HWicZ2NR7baDhAsSiuWrz1UUjz7ZzStex0gttyUUx6cdP90hxlESn5wKgSDi957u-NDHGfsw1H0volUOwdO_Ay7gWgNmp8Wri062fq7kYdydvatgsblekyw8xgWRE/s400/IMG_3489.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385585591437696034" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></a><a href="http://www.nps.gov/wica/index.htm">Wind Cave National Park</a> is located about a half-hour south of Mount Rushmore in the Black Hills of South Dakota. We initially didn't know much about it or even have it on our radar of things to do, but our national parks book convinces us that it's probably worth checking out. We decide to make it our destination after leaving Devils Tower. We make our usual late-night entrance after an all-day-and-night drive, and pull in around 11:30pm. Between some detours that weren't planned—or fun—that we won't mention at this point, the road being different than we expected, and the fear that a deer is going to jump out in front of us at any moment (seriously an issue around these parts!) we drive like grandma on Sunday and finally arrive.<div><br /></div><div>The campground is more like a big picnic park area with bermuda style grasses and huge prairie lands. After getting camp set up and cracking a Rolling Rock (Jessica's cheap beer choice, not so good without lime-aid) we realize that we're standing underneath the most spectacular sky either one of us have ever seen! Life is once again good, and our trip—and 12-hour driving day—have meaning.<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4mZDghpyd3RPWXm323GeSyfuLPPQbnv08SnXxKyybAMp9gMnYzTlbCufadRowRUKZA8zjBcxgaKJaFmVizKWgqI9LMp2-yO_N-nrjPmsPhqWb829Z4n-OhbZGpypUAaUWL_LHlf24fPg/s400/IMG_3525.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385569174834058834" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div>Wind Cave is surprisingly the seventh-oldest national park and fifth-longest cave system in the world at the moment. Cave exploration is an ongoing craft, and experts know that there must be more than the 135 miles that are documented. An expo at the 1893 World's Fair in Chicago sparked enough awe and interest that the government commissioned a survey crew to see it first-hand and report back with their data. They unanimously agreed that it was worthy and joined: Yellowstone (first national park); Sequoia (second); Yosemite (third); Kings Canyon (fourth); Mount Rainier (sixth); and Crater Lake (seventh). With the addition of Wind Cave, what was considered worthy of protection changed.</div><div><br /></div><div>The history of Wind Cave starts with the Native Americans in the area who revered it as sacred and never tried to explore it. The first westerners credited with its discovery were two brothers who had chased a wounded deer down a ravine and stubbled upon the entrance hole. But the main credit for it becoming a protected park goes to a young boy not yet 18 years old.</div><div><br /></div><div>Alvin McDonald moved to the Black Hills in 1890 when his father was commissioned to run the South Dakota Mining Co. claim in the area. Gold had been discovered and prospectors were flooding in by the hundreds to find their fortune. Alvin being a young boy was less interested in prospecting and more interested in exploring. One day he happened upon the entrance to Wind Cave. What we haven't told you is that the entrance (photo, below) to the cave is only 14 inches across, from the photo and in person we're more that amazed that anyone could have or would have wanted to crawl into this crack in the ground. For the next three years, Alvin spent every waking moment in the cave and chronicled it in a <a href="http://www.nps.gov/wica/historyculture/alvin-mcdonalds-diary-text.htm">journal</a> that is displayed on the park's website. It was he and his father who took the exibit to the Worlds Fair in Chicago, started the initially tourism in the cave, and provided the first maps of the caves to the government surveyors. Here's an entry from his journal:</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidxKBLmGqN05oLy45hJcSvXSypOCLEwim7DsasUbyI5ohQuoVAitSuSxu_lpOt7V7swrTgTZTj4KC0aCNUMOZuyoTh3XCia79Nr9L1qfkoAFqgbl_4r3VTK1sMy-K5o-lkMcRUME1JQZE/s400/IMG_3469.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386565567824057138" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Friday Jan 23rd, 1891<br /></span></strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">We got up late this morning and I started into the cave at 9:15 A.M. with W Stirling of Hay Springs Neb and Frank Stirling of Sault Ste Marie, Mich. as follows. We started for Mound Builder's Rest and got there at 1:00 P.M. After looking around a while we struck a passage leading to the left and went through a narrow passage for 700 feet before finding anything of interest. We then found a flat room with four passages leading from it. We finally chose the passage that lead south and then East. After following this passage for about a quarter of a mile through open rooms we found a place where there had been a heavy fall some ancient period because the rocks are all stuck together with sediment of some kind. I found a geode with white crystals in it at the bottom of the pile. After running out our string we returned to the flat room with the four passages leading from it. I and Walter left Frank with the string so we couldn't get lost and explored the other passages. I found nothing in the west passage and he found nothing in the East passage. Then we both went the N.E. passage and found a room of beautiful crystallized box, lattice and bracket work together with some fine geodes. After backing up in good shape we started for the entrance and arrived at 6:30 P.M. after 9 hr 15 minute trip. Were plenty tired when we got out and.....supper ..... folks went to bed and left me at 9:00 P.M. and I think I will get to bed at 10:00 P.M. Have given up the idea of finding the end of Wind Cave. Good night, Cora.</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Understanding that cave exploration in theses days was made possible with candles and a simple ball of string makes Alvin's accomplishments pretty amazing. At one point on the tour our guide tells us a story from Alvin where his string broke and he ran out of candles before he could find the exit. After 60 hours in the dark Alvin found his way out. Pretty amazing. Then the guide turns off the light and we discover what complete darkness is and that it was very amazing someone didn't find his bones years later!</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Another great story from our guide, who himself is an avid Wind Cave explorer, came just weeks before we arrived. He and a few other park employees were mapping a new section of the cave when they came upon a room with several passages leading out. His passageway opened up and as he tells it, his excitement grew as he realized there was a large room at the end. In the caving world when you discover a new room you get to name it. He said there was a special feeling being the first person in this room until his head lamp spotted something on the wall that read Alvin McDonald July 4, 1893, with a smile he knew he was in Alvin's Place.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>—Patrick Hardcastle</i></div></div></span></span></span></div></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-67661426688429038612009-09-25T14:24:00.000-07:002009-09-25T16:55:33.785-07:00A Pleasant Detour<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHm-2NXIQZ3Zfn5e157X5j4ChDpJmhUY6zgadnxDPaDH_E80kAxzJU6X3TGNoRsKxIFId4gR-aI5aJ7NS9rA904E9kxlh7XXwWEuaYwE84VqLpqRyPzsM2UF6qrOKgej7B3prOkGV16qQ/s1600-h/IMG_3460.JPG"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiknYLMW1fnbn4rPRstL1YMs4OEpw59yCZvFO_TP7_e3SjXXrbGedprrrr33mCeulz5h15Id7hdM9DF_-QqJyQ_5xuZsJZr1mfEiGAtJJcoSeo_lw_Cn4r2fhjwiZgq8Bcp_jAEJqUad_g/s1600-h/IMG_3434.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiknYLMW1fnbn4rPRstL1YMs4OEpw59yCZvFO_TP7_e3SjXXrbGedprrrr33mCeulz5h15Id7hdM9DF_-QqJyQ_5xuZsJZr1mfEiGAtJJcoSeo_lw_Cn4r2fhjwiZgq8Bcp_jAEJqUad_g/s400/IMG_3434.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385522134878690418" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiknYLMW1fnbn4rPRstL1YMs4OEpw59yCZvFO_TP7_e3SjXXrbGedprrrr33mCeulz5h15Id7hdM9DF_-QqJyQ_5xuZsJZr1mfEiGAtJJcoSeo_lw_Cn4r2fhjwiZgq8Bcp_jAEJqUad_g/s1600-h/IMG_3434.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;">The benefit of studying the atlas several times in the morning before leaving is that you'll find hidden gems that detour off of the planned route and in many cases get a "I didn't even realize we were that close," comment. While headed for the Black Hills, I notice </a><a href="http://www.nps.gov/deto/index.htm">Devils Tower National Monument</a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiknYLMW1fnbn4rPRstL1YMs4OEpw59yCZvFO_TP7_e3SjXXrbGedprrrr33mCeulz5h15Id7hdM9DF_-QqJyQ_5xuZsJZr1mfEiGAtJJcoSeo_lw_Cn4r2fhjwiZgq8Bcp_jAEJqUad_g/s1600-h/IMG_3434.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"> is just a short loop north before we hit South Dakota and our turn south. The famed rock of so many sci-fi geeks and UFO searchers is a place that I've always longed to see (hopefully that gives you a little insight in who I am.) On the drive in I almost clean out a suicidal turkey, which may have been good for our food budget and Ophie's birding instincts, but bad because we don't have a lot of extra room for a 40-pound bird. </a></span><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiknYLMW1fnbn4rPRstL1YMs4OEpw59yCZvFO_TP7_e3SjXXrbGedprrrr33mCeulz5h15Id7hdM9DF_-QqJyQ_5xuZsJZr1mfEiGAtJJcoSeo_lw_Cn4r2fhjwiZgq8Bcp_jAEJqUad_g/s1600-h/IMG_3434.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiknYLMW1fnbn4rPRstL1YMs4OEpw59yCZvFO_TP7_e3SjXXrbGedprrrr33mCeulz5h15Id7hdM9DF_-QqJyQ_5xuZsJZr1mfEiGAtJJcoSeo_lw_Cn4r2fhjwiZgq8Bcp_jAEJqUad_g/s1600-h/IMG_3434.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;">Devils Tower is an impressive sight on the horizon, this massive rock formation rising out of the tame rolling hills of eastern Wyoming. Pulling into the parking lot, we see the dreaded no dog sign which, for the most part, we pretend means bring your dog, let her off the leash, and please let her pooh somewhere in the woods, out of sight!! </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiknYLMW1fnbn4rPRstL1YMs4OEpw59yCZvFO_TP7_e3SjXXrbGedprrrr33mCeulz5h15Id7hdM9DF_-QqJyQ_5xuZsJZr1mfEiGAtJJcoSeo_lw_Cn4r2fhjwiZgq8Bcp_jAEJqUad_g/s1600-h/IMG_3434.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;">But there's a large group of Native Americans who use these lands as a sort of spiritual Mecca, so we decide it best to keep Ophie on the leash and go up to the rock one at a time.</a></span></div><div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGUZ9Wl3Z6Kvyiy_ib_e16e94k28rwc3ls-H2jtXshm9-1rEEofbkzfN2WCitxLFeQx14A0yQhrts0BBGfjtsAsX1g8YMtZVvK43i4Rume8IqpcIL-bOuvuouHgwcmoiTvKfZzaujiVo/s400/IMG_3447.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385530651847325618" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span>The Kiowa, the local native american tribe, have a legend that goes something like this: "Eight children were there at play, seven sisters and their brother. Suddenly the boy was struck dumb; he trembled and began to run upon his hands and feet. His fingers became claws, and his body was covered with fur. Directly there was a bear where the boy had been. The sisters were terrified; they ran, and the bear after them. They came to the stump of a great tree and the tree spoke to them. It bade them to climb upon it, and as they did so it began to rise into the air. The bear came to kill them, but they were just beyond its reach. It reared against the tree and scored the bark all around with its claws. The seven sisters were borne into the sky, and they became the the stars of the Big Dipper." </div><div>Native American legends are better than strict science and modern religions!!! </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHm-2NXIQZ3Zfn5e157X5j4ChDpJmhUY6zgadnxDPaDH_E80kAxzJU6X3TGNoRsKxIFId4gR-aI5aJ7NS9rA904E9kxlh7XXwWEuaYwE84VqLpqRyPzsM2UF6qrOKgej7B3prOkGV16qQ/s400/IMG_3460.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385534850134167314" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div>On the way out we see a little spot called <a href="http://devilstowerview.com/">Devils Tower View</a>. It's a bbq/gift shop/taxidermy spot and in most normal cases we wouldn't stop but they have Buffalo Burgers posted on the sign outside and we've been talking about trying one for the last several hundred miles. The shop is run by a very friendly older couple who's hospitality and food is matched only by the views of Devils Tower behind the shop. We're surprised to find out that they have wireless internet and it's a good chance to catch up on a few things before hitting national park land that has NO internet connections anywhere! We each grab a burger and a Devils Tower lager, grab a sticker and some huckleberry honey, say our farewells, snap a quick photo and we're off! </div><div><br /></div><div>A Pleasant Detour. </div></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-89276151650801344922009-09-25T14:08:00.001-07:002009-09-25T14:17:52.767-07:00Extra-Super 8<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhra5HeCp_MJJ3fEJa0PS6rE7Jrj8FOrGXg9-DvZk09z4T1gZ77Oo76iJXJJth8X0EnwTBPzJZ9CTxWktEOxGzC8dJBrwOjI9TG5AWL4jeMSC3bOPhVSnW9JWQKMiioik2cRp5bOIKqkeU/s1600-h/IMG_3355.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhra5HeCp_MJJ3fEJa0PS6rE7Jrj8FOrGXg9-DvZk09z4T1gZ77Oo76iJXJJth8X0EnwTBPzJZ9CTxWktEOxGzC8dJBrwOjI9TG5AWL4jeMSC3bOPhVSnW9JWQKMiioik2cRp5bOIKqkeU/s320/IMG_3355.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385517123611442610" /></a><br />Super 8 in Powell, Wyoming. A shower and a bed never felt so good. It's got everything we need: Wi-Fi, a TV, a hot tub, laundry and Pizza Hut next door. We overindulge in all of the above. When we leave Super 8, heading to South Dakota, all three of us smell fresh, like lavender and vanilla. After two nights sleeping in a motel room we are ready to sleep outdoors and hear nature's noises instead of indoor air conditioning. <div><br /></div><div>When we finally arrive in Wind Cave after a 12-hour drive from Powell, a wildlife symphony of elk, owls, coyotes and crickets welcomes us back to their world. </div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-37531159235991696692009-09-22T09:39:00.000-07:002009-09-25T14:07:50.920-07:00Climbing Cliffs and Jumping Off<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii_mWp_Usxup1of6-TWtsp9wCJU6elU3E2VQHsvMVvV95uHL5xfJ5VBUzr1haTdx0PQUYoxCKuAnD49l_g3dKid_EH2-qxnUVxblxfK9aB1NWBlzQkhhlEIihrFwPySBB-ChZ6jb1xz4U/s1600-h/IMG_3312.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWQCip4Xo72qPXUEIzVRNs2W72YFhpAhPBaB_J7LPRhpDzEvxy6roXuF_kduUT6LLlhW77bCGOiehyphenhyphenmo1N_qI3mcrf2t_mUhJ1hauu_mI1BYRXPSOry7kIneH_KmvKBNcn0xWkVZ1aJbg/s1600-h/IMG_3308.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWQCip4Xo72qPXUEIzVRNs2W72YFhpAhPBaB_J7LPRhpDzEvxy6roXuF_kduUT6LLlhW77bCGOiehyphenhyphenmo1N_qI3mcrf2t_mUhJ1hauu_mI1BYRXPSOry7kIneH_KmvKBNcn0xWkVZ1aJbg/s400/IMG_3308.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385500186132156594" /></a>Grand Teton, Day Two. <div><br /></div><div>It's Sept. 12, but we're losing track of dates and days of the week, and beginning to measure time by places and activities. We won't remember today as Sept. 12, but rather as the day we hiked up into the Tetons and cliff jump into crystal-blue Jenny Lake. </div><div><br /></div><div>We take the Cascade Canyon Trail, which loops around Jenny Lake before climbing about 5 miles to Hidden Falls, and then another steep mile past the falls to Inspiration Point, elevation 7,200 feet. We're speedy on the uphill trip (Patrick race-hikes), scaling rocks to pass foreign tourists and small children with walking sticks, eliciting comments from an older Southern couple sitting on a log: "You're fast now, but we'll see what you look like on the downhill."</div><div><br /></div><div>What we look like on the downhill: Stripped down to our skivvies and soaking wet. But first we find Inspiration: A bottle of beer, alpine smells and turquoise waters hundreds of feet below.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii_mWp_Usxup1of6-TWtsp9wCJU6elU3E2VQHsvMVvV95uHL5xfJ5VBUzr1haTdx0PQUYoxCKuAnD49l_g3dKid_EH2-qxnUVxblxfK9aB1NWBlzQkhhlEIihrFwPySBB-ChZ6jb1xz4U/s400/IMG_3312.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385503076902900418" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div>On the hike up to Inspiration Point, we realize what we've been missing: Cliff jumping. And then we see her: a massive boulder, as close to a foothill as we've seen in the Tetons, rising about 15 feet above Jenny Lake. It's a hot, dry day and the lake calls to us. Once we see the rock, we know where we'll be stopping on the hike back down to our campsite.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDgeif9poNMeRnYTggIEdmuuAvhonuyox7QvT3ctklCMpB0zZzjQ7d3ZfylhBXVaa2Y7eTr4210V4jkjt29vvjCYkkJzHr2aAtcKXW1wYGsbJtWRGjxHdYLQ4B3zuRhDwuhHjbGNmyBaA/s320/IMG_3330.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385505211744070578" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdMG8evGeDs1u6GRd06FuRMjx0kuLB7LEF-1ge_WJ3BdBue_FLY4d3Y5okb0X1j04EsOl3WY1c4ZvK1nv_ceU2MkBrXDng6K82PUhFDfzNgwSEBQIaIipF6cjDn_4iqsYOxHy-UfXETAk/s320/IMG_3328.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385504773942014434" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We both jump and dive off the rock into Jenny Lake and the glacier-fed water instantly soothes our hot skin and refreshes us. Fellow hikers cheer and laugh at the crazy kids swimming in their underwear in the icy lake.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qqEyBPYHc6jEz6Hu52uRNX35yq1vE47Zj5sUm48hEB2bAxBW1EJ1RxRMwmw2qD4Hqf0gS1OTBNQuBTumtr8DOUrr3n1kBXvVZehOcBMTw2HLKu_3pRG-trVlaWsW9JP29l57ZUG1fQs/s320/IMG_3338.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385506537124241922" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">While we're sunning on top of the rock, we see a monstrous rainbow trout swimming in the lake, lazily hunting for flies on top of the water, not the least bit worried about landing on someone's dinner plate (yes, we do wish we'd brought a fishing pole). </span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">It's the perfect day and the perfect place, from the cozy, RV-free campsite at Jenny Lake to the 12-mile roundtrip hike, to swimming in clear, cold waters—and, at least for me, it's made even more perfect by the promise of a bed and a shower, which will be our first in a week, at the end of the day. We plan to stay in Jackson, and I've got visions of plush pillows, claw-foot tubs and clean hair dancing in my head. We'll have a night out on the town, dine and drink at a cowboy bar, and I'll wear makeup for the first time in a month and my sole dress that I brought to last four months on the road. It's past Labor Day so we figure tourist season ha ended, so we don't make hotel reservations. </span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI3r2HipEjGMIgkolyS6qtHAi6oIoNyQ94gfJmrxJAQ6bp34hNtPQFmk-oUbwa48RITT0J0i5jNZ-pvdMRz0OSCsfX0MyAxUxV3rOHw_IhJ-on2a9k18C5JhkPWCmV6re3wkFNrZI8UXg/s320/IMG_3340.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385511134879160962" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></div><div>Big mistake. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is no vacancy is Jackson, and I'm melting down. My scalp itches and my hair is matted and forming dreads. Patrick stinks, the dog stinks, I stink and, from the three of us sitting and sweating in it all day, the truck especially stinks. </div><div>Patrick tries to make me feel better by blaming our poor planning on Harrison Ford, who owns a ranch in Jackson. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Damn Harrison. We'd be able to find a room if didn't rent out the entire town to accommodate his out-of-town guests." </div><div><br /></div><div>This doesn't stop my tears. Jackson's south of where we're headed (Wind Cave), so we decide to drive north east, and we'll try to find a available room in some Wyoming city. We drive back through Grand Teton and Yellowstone, passing herds of buffalo and the sun setting over Yellowstone Lake. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdvWvBDaiUP6XXIDHgRO3b-LFyCTqxrXPNkbG0sJK4lRb9gUOhdmLnyaBzqEogbTpHy1ZHNwS5Sqj0ZR5bv-Z_O09fGorGcWUWUElSjoAaKze4HAK_MYfdb1tx9pHsYo4hCwDe5FWHZIc/s400/IMG_3348.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385513464125063986" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-79922371474855910092009-09-21T22:43:00.000-07:002009-09-22T09:32:19.118-07:00Simple Life<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDkEd1AhkKCwh2u_ocjZu_7cXq4_8K5edy05nuNk0ra7xaYNYaqsu-OPVTFVmkS1CY61ntXMB42WEANbnQ8OC3SrEzouosm0Aa_xQInqfCOd8d2qqTTFFb0-_P62fDuv1UFD8A7THVVhQ/s1600-h/IMG_3276.JPG"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLFwXvWonrMteq3O5hZxUUx5fk6Y2QP0LFx9OAB6XD9tDa0cHy_cAEpdHjTfz8MPBiqhBP2YB7UuxsC3RvvZ7JSHpg0_wRk8urn628FX1eSC16RXqonD09G6dMmAh5tJ3mjWazmkijAU/s1600-h/IMG_3272.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLFwXvWonrMteq3O5hZxUUx5fk6Y2QP0LFx9OAB6XD9tDa0cHy_cAEpdHjTfz8MPBiqhBP2YB7UuxsC3RvvZ7JSHpg0_wRk8urn628FX1eSC16RXqonD09G6dMmAh5tJ3mjWazmkijAU/s320/IMG_3272.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384168183697819506" /></a><br />Daily activities take longer outdoors. Making coffee entails pulling the camping stove out of the truck, filling the percolator with water, lighting the stove (sometimes refilling the propane), waiting for the water to boil, pressing the coffee. <div><br /></div><div>Usually by 10am we've cooked breakfast, washed ourselves and our dishes, rolled the sleeping mats, stuffed the sleeping bags, taken down the tent, packed the truck and are on the road, heading to the next camp site or national park or state. </div><div><br /></div><div>After the sun sets, we reverse this routine. Setting up camp takes nearly no time at all, but preparing dinner takes hours sometimes, chopping, boiling, dressing, saucing, cooking. </div><div><br /></div><div>I like this. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDkEd1AhkKCwh2u_ocjZu_7cXq4_8K5edy05nuNk0ra7xaYNYaqsu-OPVTFVmkS1CY61ntXMB42WEANbnQ8OC3SrEzouosm0Aa_xQInqfCOd8d2qqTTFFb0-_P62fDuv1UFD8A7THVVhQ/s320/IMG_3276.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384168454345755250" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div>It's methodical and ritual, and allows me time to reflect on the activity and give thanks for the place I'm in and at, the food I'm preparing and the people for whom I'm preparing it. Food tastes better outdoors, sights look more vivid, scents smell more distinctly and touch feels more sensitive. We live with a heightened sense of alertness and remain conscious in the moment. I don't want to lose this when I'm back in the real world. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>—Jessica</i></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-12564986545529359182009-09-21T21:28:00.000-07:002009-09-25T12:50:00.069-07:00Tetons of Fun<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzb_kiVpI6DgCvtS1fHqT2eAs-tM6BX5CPognex4aQhAUOgFHJebR9vp0VjDUp6HzQ1BJ1douPyqvYvwbyxuLc2bIBpbgAO7gVRvUSIXc79FNJc2BjUqp_KJl8K354tJ1X-axmEDez0Bw/s1600-h/IMG_3245.JPG"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYmuI7oVRYteRAvtZ5MN2DhAs3lbiXWayl6iQH1Jat42zIdl7uf37wtcKuay_bDZjIqtsXn3HeTTnJqjPom2r3UAXcThHrbM9RB-T1zSWrHMhKuJNXHKBYaMABoMD_OHKCe_xClyh-zKQ/s1600-h/IMG_3222.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYmuI7oVRYteRAvtZ5MN2DhAs3lbiXWayl6iQH1Jat42zIdl7uf37wtcKuay_bDZjIqtsXn3HeTTnJqjPom2r3UAXcThHrbM9RB-T1zSWrHMhKuJNXHKBYaMABoMD_OHKCe_xClyh-zKQ/s400/IMG_3222.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384147496588026162" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br />The youngest of the Rocky Mountains, the Tetons are perhaps the most dramatic, seemingly rising from flatland (it's relative in the Rockies), jagged, glacier-capped and looking like something from a movie set. And perhaps they are—Harrison Ford has a ranch here, which may explain why we can't get a room in Jackson Hole on a given Saturday night, but more about that later.<div><br /></div><div>The wildlife, plantlife and colors in Yellowstone are vivid and awe-inspiring, unlike anything we have ever experienced. But <a href="http://www.nps.gov/grte/index.htm">Grand Teton</a> is a welcome change of pace: quieter, smaller, warmer, a place where we feel more ownership. To quote our campsite neighbors, Susan and George, at <a href="http://www.gtlc.com/lodging/gtlc-campgrounds-jenny-lake-lodge.aspx">Jenny Lake</a>, "You can hold Grand Tetons in your hand." This is after they told us to live simply and care deeply (Susan) and gave us permission to have kids because our dog was very well-behaved (Susan), and threatened to bear-mace our dog, (George) who followed them into their tent at 7pm and asked permission to fart (George) before the happy couple remembered what oysters did to George. And then we didn't hear from them for the rest of the night.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAueJ7aVGlJJkhDzj3i5MZBWGHoI652N0nwIwqDnpKYUESTQj6FX1HYsuSJZsNIvZVMmTEE7ZyNi4EEONYPUSXgW3KXsO2BDU9boct73ueyTtKCPdjhaFY0yxVWIZS1esN_Hih___lznY/s400/IMG_3278.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384150386216250322" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div>The bike path in Grand Teton National Park winds 8 miles through the park with the Tetons towering behind the paved, mulit-use path.</div></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisixbmdJDfoe8IjfSM1gEj4VykO1Vlk5djVIWuQUKR5yCdmdmSkL1va3JpoTGChYOPzDx8aBZ1Xg02av-KOVeY2xQtx0VkdPCWrELtycPikPWIxPtiN1vR0667QfvfGzujcBTqndhmvoU/s1600-h/IMG_3252.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisixbmdJDfoe8IjfSM1gEj4VykO1Vlk5djVIWuQUKR5yCdmdmSkL1va3JpoTGChYOPzDx8aBZ1Xg02av-KOVeY2xQtx0VkdPCWrELtycPikPWIxPtiN1vR0667QfvfGzujcBTqndhmvoU/s400/IMG_3252.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384153034894271138" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKSaKuJeWLHBQlLJ8LRf4alOU2Bi2nAQUO9xIR-L8mH_dlNo7gd4H728HxdCD4D-amf2gBJZ75xWcnT2zcwqR3HIHYoPSz20SCQ1llOqJpwNdyVLZq9eoN0gUZoUeX6Ry0Tf5zSEhBv8/s1600-h/IMG_3251.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKSaKuJeWLHBQlLJ8LRf4alOU2Bi2nAQUO9xIR-L8mH_dlNo7gd4H728HxdCD4D-amf2gBJZ75xWcnT2zcwqR3HIHYoPSz20SCQ1llOqJpwNdyVLZq9eoN0gUZoUeX6Ry0Tf5zSEhBv8/s400/IMG_3251.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384152774622032242" /></a>We ride 7.6 miles into Moose, WY, which we decide to move to based on the name alone (we do see a mama moose and her baby on the ride into town, which must be a good omen, or, at least, a good large mammal). After the ride to Moose, we stop at <a href="http://www.dornans.com/">Dornans</a> for a beer—Moose Drool. It tastes rich and refreshing after our ride, and it's amplified by the mountains behind the patio.<div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6VtEaPWIVFGCkhSHt2PVg6ArNRIrLTzyFQEPpLdMddhXV9WqyupKvywg5l0KuF6ZbBBkQxxgJicPi1oITuWorEPaK_A0StrVlYHVDjCuCUx6ryG1eCSpyatwkZoHCPN1TL10fxTa_w34/s1600-h/IMG_3263.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6VtEaPWIVFGCkhSHt2PVg6ArNRIrLTzyFQEPpLdMddhXV9WqyupKvywg5l0KuF6ZbBBkQxxgJicPi1oITuWorEPaK_A0StrVlYHVDjCuCUx6ryG1eCSpyatwkZoHCPN1TL10fxTa_w34/s400/IMG_3263.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384154626374818770" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><div><div style="text-align: left;">Wine sounds good after three weeks of beer (we should have brought a case of California wine. Feel free to donate to the cause.), and the pizza shop has a liquor store next door. But, alas, West Coast wine costs a lot more when one's in Middle America, so we buy a six pack of local, organic beer, which is more in our price-range. It also takes more room in our camel packs. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzb_kiVpI6DgCvtS1fHqT2eAs-tM6BX5CPognex4aQhAUOgFHJebR9vp0VjDUp6HzQ1BJ1douPyqvYvwbyxuLc2bIBpbgAO7gVRvUSIXc79FNJc2BjUqp_KJl8K354tJ1X-axmEDez0Bw/s400/IMG_3245.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384158717306722546" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">Patrick's got the camera at this point. One thing I've learned on this trip: Things that go wrong are usually my fault. The other things that go wrong are because "we" did something wrong, as in: "We ran out of gas" between Hood River and Spokane (translation: Patrick didn't stop to fill up the tank and then we ran out of gas, and waited an hour for AAA to bring us 5 gallons, which barely drives us to the next town with a gas station). And, now, "we" forget the camera at the liquor store. This means Patrick took it out of his pack, set it on the counter and didn't stick it back in after putting three bottles inside his camel pack. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The way he, err, we tell the rest of the story: Patrick rides up the killer hill out of Moose, a winding, steep trail that takes all of our willpower—and lung power—to climb. He's stronger and faster, and beats me to the top. Turning around to snap a picture "of Jess and her red face, riding up the hill," he realizes the camera is no longer in his pack or pocket. Thus, "we" forgot the camera. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I can't complain. He rides back down—and up—the hill to get the camera, and then catches up to me about a half-mile from Jenny Lake. He climbs the incline twice, but even though my legs don't burn like his do, I think the beer tastes just as good back at camp.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>—Jessica</i></div></div></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-73041584842188625652009-09-21T20:38:00.000-07:002009-09-21T21:27:30.309-07:00Geyser Row<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><a href="http://www.nps.gov/yell/index.htm">Yellowstone</a> houses some 10,000 thermal features, and more than 500 of these are geysers. Here are some of our favorites. Here's Opal Pool:</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDY6RDAYobV9Udod52w2iv9MocjomzuNtYq6h5OrSmLyEYshiov7gTFIQOgU6HYi3Q4dB3nA98DZC1U2KN_ASNiTfvxR28XtdXgR_vt8laEQGUnC5uKBC6lwbpmwCocVNZwlR3Hhir5kk/s1600-h/IMG_3077.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDY6RDAYobV9Udod52w2iv9MocjomzuNtYq6h5OrSmLyEYshiov7gTFIQOgU6HYi3Q4dB3nA98DZC1U2KN_ASNiTfvxR28XtdXgR_vt8laEQGUnC5uKBC6lwbpmwCocVNZwlR3Hhir5kk/s400/IMG_3077.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384135156035103154" /></a>And Grand Prismatic Springs, the largest hot springs in the U.S. and the third largest in the world. The colors are the result of the pigmented bacteria in the microbial mats that grow around the edges of mineral-rich water:<div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxyVLmlXnluaD-SZu2Ug8VOeMrQ5vxI4lv44eUM40dw2ofJ4mo2ktvjtgOdDdR5-gJxGK_KVAcJxadVesbJOjJJyuh746hnb1NrlTZSFXrUAyIj7_gnNX3iXHjRQOtGZiXowbaFBiiQuQ/s1600-h/IMG_3084.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxyVLmlXnluaD-SZu2Ug8VOeMrQ5vxI4lv44eUM40dw2ofJ4mo2ktvjtgOdDdR5-gJxGK_KVAcJxadVesbJOjJJyuh746hnb1NrlTZSFXrUAyIj7_gnNX3iXHjRQOtGZiXowbaFBiiQuQ/s400/IMG_3084.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384137484091275442" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a>Excelsior Geyser, the tallest active geyser in the world, active for 10 years ending in 1888, with one major eruption in 1985:</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeyef3K8bmWiQml7suHeUYTUUeyEj5RWhJzPTebxni6Er8jXq-SU8VT1X6yALqONDmtUe0HCn6G0RORm1-pnjMFuc2hNXlwwnXUJRzXvVGvKQg6zO4IcSDSt8uHNfZ394WWyfaUDx1woE/s1600-h/IMG_3094.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeyef3K8bmWiQml7suHeUYTUUeyEj5RWhJzPTebxni6Er8jXq-SU8VT1X6yALqONDmtUe0HCn6G0RORm1-pnjMFuc2hNXlwwnXUJRzXvVGvKQg6zO4IcSDSt8uHNfZ394WWyfaUDx1woE/s400/IMG_3094.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384138692711066706" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a></div><div>Great Fountain Geyser, our favorite, which we happened upon its eruption by pure luck:</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiedggJP0mqhaOKNxEO4wHWOtLaS4zQr-uUj8C7LxESZzihddyXjvvrRkrTVEGh2_X7pGYPH-_hOM1BbJBGUpSzJb9AebhKjhlUsn5vVD_GC4FUj5t8VKko7j3BKkWUBWIitCOhhRTp3UY/s1600-h/IMG_3098.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiedggJP0mqhaOKNxEO4wHWOtLaS4zQr-uUj8C7LxESZzihddyXjvvrRkrTVEGh2_X7pGYPH-_hOM1BbJBGUpSzJb9AebhKjhlUsn5vVD_GC4FUj5t8VKko7j3BKkWUBWIitCOhhRTp3UY/s400/IMG_3098.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384141986888021458" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMu1Zj-KeDwutVN5yQO94R46EV9i10hMHsxMaSVGROEXQoadB5Cx3WJ8OGyUCKMYhqVwILeeKshxLOFVmqXRgVhKmU1ANZZZvpoB9gOUAk3rL0kNjldvsiDacL5W7GGJb9FlnuBZ1vyCM/s400/IMG_3120.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384142529308993922" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline; "><br /></span></span></div>And, of course, Old Faithful:</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV-7XX1nm8qm8OGQfYP7xIJe_QAhMsMoBUCOyoPZo5F-jqwkW54pP__GiwDBSBrP3V2_ed4a2PdfXwquRd8JZWUd6mI3EFr4heblCkPazhVuypW4fo7zriMNZ_Ra2X_u-h5yAUbWC5Axg/s400/IMG_3153.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384143547066604226" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6234057113005864301.post-8562637648023563812009-09-19T07:29:00.000-07:002009-09-21T20:33:27.396-07:00Yellowstone's True Colors<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYejp4MfUoVCRh4n1mGYBOTIW4JeXLI1ZSPCccIVMV-2Xp4rIoDCBXVVfk8p0dm-plIlP9iSMcJvvZycZJuCHfYTgxbLaWwGL8MXg_RF2_cJdNms7cGD8Lt2dyoJefqYA25tOqVG4ksMM/s1600-h/IMG_3139.JPG"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></span><div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdvL6VJEaj7BwJLG6d5rLOq_Qg3YWiNvzfFswstgYdj2eC_WOWPNDMzOz6fmAUueVJCb76jGzYSUbBJGm3qtjXy-VcJMdJL1mNv4_ZDXEkhFY5VxyzTgIHOC5_UAxM3qWzMyc4X-BbcY/s1600-h/IMG_3009.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdvL6VJEaj7BwJLG6d5rLOq_Qg3YWiNvzfFswstgYdj2eC_WOWPNDMzOz6fmAUueVJCb76jGzYSUbBJGm3qtjXy-VcJMdJL1mNv4_ZDXEkhFY5VxyzTgIHOC5_UAxM3qWzMyc4X-BbcY/s400/IMG_3009.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383204841189451906" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a>And we're back!! Sorry to those family and friends who thought we may have been swallowed up by the road, lets get on with it...<br /><br /><div>In 1872 Yellowstone became the U.S.'s first national park. As we study the park map over our morning coffee we discover that not only does Yellowstone contain the greatest variety of natural treasures in the nation, It is very bike friendly and has miles of multi-use trails prohibited to cars. YES!!! At this point we're ready for a brake from our truck/home, which has taken on a funky smell that may be coming from us...Jessica thinks it's just me and the dog, the dog thinks it's absolutely heaven, and I know I'm probably guilty as charged but I somehow justify it as my "explorer scent." It's a short 12 mile drive over to Nez Perce Creek where the parks longest multi-use trail picks up so we break down camp quickly and eagerly get going.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div>Instantly Yellowstone embraces us with it's beauty and we feel like we've stumbled into heaven. We pull our bikes down from the top racks and do our best to clean the 6 states worth of bugs off of them, get our camelbacks loaded up, situate the truck for Ophie to hang tight for the day, and we start pedaling. Within a couple minutes we spot our first buffalo, it's quite breath taking that you can be so close to such a strong powerful beast and bask in its presence. The true symbol of the Great American West, proud and sturdy, useful and necessary...why we traded this native grazing animal for the the cow?? I think it was the mentality of the day: eradicate the Native Americans and their culture for a new society to take root. Throughout our travels I realize there is a thin line between being proud of American History and ashamed of American History. Across the same path that we're traveling today Chief Joseph led his people on the infamous Trail of Tears, reminders are scattered about...</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7IvNRou4c1PwdyrXWjX-g_w_hCMce6tw-p8AY7eal5bRvodRoF3DwWVuMWnrm8yTFUDyV6J9qLxycNmNuJzuYbhnLp8SLm7TUrRp8ovRINPCSagupfvWmWr2KHCOGE3eJTVZO6qhPxVs/s400/IMG_3132.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383214087514155330" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>The trail we pick up takes us away from the Nez Perce Creek and picks up the Firehole River, which meanders through the golden meadows of Yellowstone, rolling past the fire-scared trees of the '88 fire that redefined the landscape drastically. The forest has regenerated itself, and the park seems to not have missed a beat. None of the big landmarks were harmed and the herds of animals still remain intact. Throughout travels in all the national parks, we are constantly reminded that fire is a friend, not foe, and is vital to a healthy park system.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdkBJShRIjK_VQgLOeIA2DvPvXcovRwy7m60830nfXJeeoxdHPXs0Ag83-EID3sFD9Yk7kN5WopcX8U33UU4YibWZp4NGVfL3vHMuWjHlbIIHfQyLKvRnw8PDdmTHr0nqbIs6WJluA9_I/s400/IMG_3010.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383930877989170146" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div>The 30-plus mile loop highlights the parks thermo-geologic pools and perhaps more than 100 of varying shapes, sizes, colors, temperatures and smells that line the Firefox River. Many of them runoff into the river that is teeming with life as is evident by the success of the the fly fishermen that seem to be everywhere in the park. Jessica uses the binoculars to study the landscape but I think she is remembering the movie <i>A River Runs Through It </i>(that follows the story of Norman Mclean) and is searching for his brother who was played by Brad Pitt!</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-31aP68yTMEXjKvnho-xIwnCwKqFLUK3H2N8et-mi5YD2yuJGjkNdvdqtvqYgy8MabJBHu5-cS8K4YpmpE0Pi3UyIA7lZhOfG8OPrACUg_i-q5s-zMVca9fqGQFzA7M1l8dyez85Q97c/s400/IMG_3087.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383942178453541746" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div>As we continue down the the trail, a different side of Yellowstone emerges and suddenly we're riding in a peloton of insects. Thousands of grasshoppers dance off the fronts of our tires and, in many cases, jump right on us and hitch a ride for a while. It's evident from Jessica's shrills that several have tried to hitch a ride on her face. Also accompanying them are huge, bright fire red and orange dragonflies. There must be dozens of other varieties of flies but we weren't able to pick the brain of any fly fishermen to see what was biting on the river. Thankfully no mosquitos along the trail—and throughout the trip for that matter.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipyGUS1fgsauj3_lBhHXBFKJ1WF7XU60ASWI4eO6qgng5kqz3BMX_rSQt6XYS5mOm-mhVlG3wEjeEprOGOxSSl4SU65q7BqOKywWC9e4iPhOAggIF117omaTpA9rS2yCEc1UWnBmXQMXs/s400/IMG_3041.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383948565144493106" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div>Off of the multi-use trail, we decide to stash our bikes in the trees and take a 4-mile hike out to Hidden Falls. It's an easy trail that really highlights the new growth over taking the fire-burnt areas. The falls are impressive considering that it's just a trickling stream above and below. The marsh area around the base of the falls is cool and refreshing, and we both dunk our heads in the stream before turning around and hiking out. While hiking out we realize that most of the people on the trail looked dressed more for the mall or disco than for walking in the park. Their discomfort and bickering gives us some good laughs, and before we knew it we are back on our bikes. Within minutes Yellowstone once again gives us a little thrill. We spot a coyote about 100 feet up on the trail and we ride quickly to follow its tracks as it ducks into a small meadow next to the trail. We pull up in time to see it stalking some small critter. Suddenly it pounces and lunch is served! We watch it finish the snack and then slowly move on balancing on a fallen tree and then ducking away into the bush. A very cool moment!</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpPnlX_Vf5ahjNnqrVpb9kjhqMMe7msCfBmvXjrdrttXyaXGUKfAi09CkIwt3LHVxAO7OZDiK9sQNlZG6QDYMWbO3e8PRlE67ECVv0H86ID_ZWHEJeW-59YE5aXnXnY7IGATpJC0Zjj3Y/s400/IMG_3056.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383984677768615794" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div>At this point we're just on the back side of the Grand Prismatic Spring. It's a huge, psychedelic-inspired thermal pool with multi-colored steam pouring out looking like flares burning at a South American soccer match. It's a little journey up and around back to the main entrance on the main highway which parallels the Firehole River again. Before the entrance, Jessica spots our first bald eagle (looking more like a teradactile) and I spot an Osprey hitting the water in front of a fly fisherman and some lucky tourists who just pilled out of a mini-van.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB6CgTiSrPbH-XZrwioip6sQv8tFq1yNzOmn8Lo6R8iCha-ex7g3MpUJGgxzi1AJ5hQYvxNYJILfAWMzInprbPxbBjOK4xXb9dEssY0DZgBOTKmJQPi2IBydskibN9EuFF60UumDiauL4/s400/IMG_3084.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384070283391501474" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span><div>The Grand Prismatic Spring is on a one-half mile boardwalk along with the Excelsior Geyser Crater, which looks like a huge, tropical-water hot tub, only it heats at 160 degrees. This is definitely one of the most popular attractions in the park and has hundreds of people gawking at its unique beauty. It's fun to look at all of the license plates, and realize that as we head further east we are one of the few "dreaded Californians" out this far, which only reinforces that our decision that to embark on this epic journey was the right decision at this point in our lives. </div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih-lSsYJqJlp8GaYj5q5H1uNTY7ETq9vxUvC6P33Fm9qoAadPRSJkfbCvJ7GsAhE5pZSB8vr2LpyCI7YTowvKTxGYG7or_XoE6bW3hZkLIOoOE8v6xSHGBirZf7p2zS00pkpoD7n7YQOU/s1600-h/IMG_3094.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih-lSsYJqJlp8GaYj5q5H1uNTY7ETq9vxUvC6P33Fm9qoAadPRSJkfbCvJ7GsAhE5pZSB8vr2LpyCI7YTowvKTxGYG7or_XoE6bW3hZkLIOoOE8v6xSHGBirZf7p2zS00pkpoD7n7YQOU/s400/IMG_3094.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384077190949576210" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /></div><div>Our amazing journey now turns to riding back to the Nez Perce Creek picnic area entirely along the highway, which we find is pleasant and, in our estimation, the only way to travel through the park. Beautiful meadows, small lakes, and more geysers line the miles and I'm very impressed with Jessica's poise the entire way, not only pedaling along single-track in the park but also dealing with 50-plus miles an hour traffic (the cars were probably not looking at the road) whizzing past us! For those of you who don't know: Jessica fell off a 60-foot cliff in Aptos' Nisene Marks earlier this year but has been fearlessly charging ever since. </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXyKW1NaaYmi3htl8y-ogkPuL1n48J032X6NxqUlHDY1zAamRQNANt5PnmbtSCk23QEVp-czyP8d0M7g4Y_bhAAZIZNVeG_zMOfPg67WNXecDj4vNjiV1RQoQmUw4wfZx2UOyhpEMyqOM/s400/IMG_3114.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384080458377227106" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></div><div>Just about a mile before the end of our journey, we see Firehole Lake Drive, a small 2- or 3-mile loop road with a few of the park's hidden geysers along it. The afternoon has been so pleasant that we happily turn up the road to see what most pass without a second glance. There are several small geysers not unlike anything we haven't seen durning the day and then in true Yellowstone fashion we happen upon perhaps the best hidden gem of the day. The Great Fountain Geyser is about to blow and usually only does once or twice a year—if lucky. The hardcore photo geyser community sits loaded and ready for the show, and we stand closely by soaking up information, and realizing just how lucky we were to turn up this road. The geyser slowly starts bubbling and shooting 10 minutes before the climax of 80-100 feet spurts of steaming hot water that ahhh the simple on-lookers and satisfy those who have awaited the next eruption since last May. We leave with many great photos and an experience that we know the masses that visit Yellowstone every year seldom see. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYejp4MfUoVCRh4n1mGYBOTIW4JeXLI1ZSPCccIVMV-2Xp4rIoDCBXVVfk8p0dm-plIlP9iSMcJvvZycZJuCHfYTgxbLaWwGL8MXg_RF2_cJdNms7cGD8Lt2dyoJefqYA25tOqVG4ksMM/s400/IMG_3139.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384083972425172850" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div>Finally back to the car, hours longer that expected but more impressed and happier than we may have been anywhere along the trip we grab our PB&J sandwiches and Glacier beer (cheap stuff for sure!!) and bask in our glorious adventure. Never has a cheap meal tasted so much like that of a king's, and never have we needed to disobey the rules of not swimming in the creek with our dog applied more! I jump in first with an Iowa family looking on in disgust and attentive curiosity. With Ophie and I playing fetch up and down the creek, they look on like we're one of the main attractions in the park. Jessica at first is reluctant but slowly comes around until she finally sits in the creek and, with some urging, leans back and baptises herself in the waters. Her look upon re-emerging tells the story of the whole day... : )</div><div><br /></div><div><i>—Patrick</i></div></div></div></span></span></div></div></div>Patrick, Jessica & Ophie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05880073238428532590noreply@blogger.com0