As we walked to breakfast this morning a guy in a pickup truck honked hello to us. We waved back and wondered if it was Ren from the 1313 Saloon. A few seconds later we passed the owner of the Blackboard Cafe. Luckily she found the cool coffee cup I had left behind. At the Tin Snug (Vinyl, eggs, baked goods and coffee) we knew the exact booth to sit. Two days in Wallace and we were local.

What is there to do in Wallace? We recommend the Oasis Brothel. Tiny Wallace, with their even smaller downtown, had dozens of brothels well into the 1970s. The last one, a very open secret that paid taxes and gave a lot to charity, was raided in 1988. The ladies were tipped off and left thinking they would be back in a couple of weeks. The Feds though stayed for years. They arrested the sheriff, padlocked a lot of businesses for illegal gambling, etc. The building changed hands a few times but no one disturbed the working chambers and now it’s a nifty museum/time capsule. What struck us the most were the working girls bedrooms with their sad single beds and trashy 1980s paperback romance novels.

Also did a lot of drinking in Wallace including at the Blackboard Cafe where we sipped espresso drinks while playing chess up in the loft (a birdseye view of the upscale Italian restaurant/book store/coffee shop and sporting goods store). Everything overlaps into one another and offers the customer a multiverse of business experiences.

The 1313 Speakeasy

We also had drinks one night at the 1313 Saloon where we watched Team USA lose to Turkey. The next night it was cocktails at their recently opened speakeasy style bar. Their we met a cool couple and talked a bit about everything. While doing so pretty much every waiter, bartender and other Wallace local drifted by us. Many of them stopped to say hello. A few gave us hugs. It was a magical night and one maybe possible in a place like Wallace.

We leave Wallace in a little bit. With it we leave the comfy indoors filled with endless opportunities to charge our various devices. It’s been a fun few days. But we are both excited for the home comforts of our tent.

After ten nights camping it was time to do a little bit of laundry. One crazy science fact is that at some point on any road trip the dirty laundry will exceed the actual amount of clothes packed. Lucky for us our tiny house in Livingston had a washer/dryer and also a projector TV which we used to catch up on Hacks. Two nights there! It was awesome. Last night we did a wash of just a pair of socks, some underwear and a T-shirt. Just living the rock star life.

On our last night in the Tetons we treated ourselves to a scenic dinner cruise. Thank you mom and dad for the generous anniversary gift used for that endeavor. On board we spied several mountain canyons. Completely trailless, they hide countless waterfalls and other such magic. Bears roaming that terrain might never get a glimpse of an out of breath tourist like me. And for that we are both lucky, that there are still wild places even in sight of a thousand camera lenses.

Today was a five moose kind of day. Woke up bright and early (about 8:00 AM which was an hour later than we wanted to) and drove like mad to get a parking spot at Jenny Lake. While not quite in the actual parking lot (that takes getting up at seven), we did manage to find a parking spot at the back end of the turn-off road leading into the lot. Fifteen minutes later and we would have ended up somewhere on the park road, maybe over a mile to the trail head.

We then spent almost an hour eating breakfast (smoked salmon on wasa crackers with leftover campfire potatoes), packing our bags and otherwise getting ready for the day. Afterward it was off the canyon we (and seemingly everyone else in the park) love so dearly. The crowds, the clouds and the elevation gains did not bother us at all.

Yesterday was a different day. Corey slept in and the campground was empty by the time we shuffled off. It was then a short drive followed by a second cup of coffee in the grasslands facing a bison herd.  Afterwards we snapped photos of the Snake River from an overlook before driving down to the river bed for a picnic. Then we wandered Mormon Row a bit before splitting another coffee at Dornan’s. Dinner, for me, was a barbeque steak with grilled potatoes and red peppers (Corey made a very yummy kimchi based salad for herself).

Both of those day are the kind you look back at in the deep of winter. Or maybe they enter the edge of consciousness toward the end of some endless work meeting. You can almost feel the warmth of the sun on the back of your neck while your physical self remains in the day to day grind. Not every day can be like those two. Thankfully though enough of them are.

The mountains are bigger than Trump. No matter how many park passes he defiles with his hideous mug, our National Parks are far greater than the morally corrupt senile fool currently sitting in the Oval Office.

But there have been some changes in the park. And not for the better. International travelers now pay $100 per person for everyone over sixteen to enter the park (or $250 for an annual park pass that covers the entire family). It only cost $35 for a US family to enter the park and $80 for the annual pass. In a little while Corey and I plan on visiting a few parks in Canada where we will pay, and maybe even drink, like the locals. Same in Iceland. Same actually for every international park we have ever visited.

There are fewer rangers too. Across the way from our site a tourist chopped away at the trees for his campfire (I might have said something but he was cutting away dead branches which I guess is actually a good thing). The seven young guys camping nearby (all from the Chicago suburbs) last night loudly regaled each other with stores from their high school football days. Some loud cussing too. It was nothing that we hadn’t heard but there was a family camping next to them. Those loud kids from Chicago, plus Paul Bunyan, desperately needed a ranger to remind them of the rules. All it would take would be a periodic drive by. Just something to let them know they weren’t the only ones camping there.

Much more serious was the hiker who had to be airlifted off a trail. The day after Corey was attacked by a grouse, we half-heartedly hiked to Delta Lake before turning away from a boulder scramble. Delta Lake is off an unofficial trail. Like Fight Club, the official hiking maps don’t talk about Delta Lake. It was at the cut-off to the unmarked trail that we witnessed a man, with some help from his friends, attempt to army crawl his way over boulders and back to the main trail. When we left the group he was trying to limp down the trail with a makeshift walking stick. Later we saw his friends trying to carry him like a large sack, four men to each corner. He was not a small guy. The windy three mile down hill trail must have been a bit too much. Maybe forty-five minutes later a helicopter swept up the mountain. After another ten minutes or so it flew north with a red basket fixed tightly to its underside (which is where we think the hiker rode).

Before the helicopter rescue, a group of rangers passed us going up on the trail with a wheeled stretcher. The stretcher probably was what was hoisted up to the helicopter. They were actually the first rangers we had seen in the park. None previously in the campground, or at the trail head or on any of the trails. Would an informal conversation with that group have made a difference in their decision making? Or would more immediate care have possibly resulted in him having made his way back to the car without helicopter assistance? Maybe not. But we will never know for sure.

Our tattoos were by Bethanie Hart at Paintbrush Tattoo. Highly recommend her services. She was incredibly patient (with me) and had a lot of great ideas.

We completed a challenging hike today. 1800 foot elevation gain over about four miles (and then a much easier four mile return). My phone is almost 100% charged. And I am equally proud of both facts.

For our first trip together, some twenty-eight years ago, our parents gave us prepaid calling cards. And then every few days either Corey would call her mom or I would call my mom. And then that mom would call the other mom to let her know we were OK.

This is usually the point where Corey or Henna will answer my reverie with an “Old Man Noel.” They do it every time. But honestly I can’t help myself. In fact I seek out. Like at work when I ask an intern if they know what a dial tone is (the answer is usually no). Or I pour over my road atlas, intent to see an even better way out west.

Old Man Noel can still get himself into some pretty cool spots. He just does so more slowly (and doesn’t mind being passed on the hiking trail). Noel also still likes to hang out by the fire (but usually calls it a night around ten). His wife though is still young and beautiful. Some things will never change.

Written by Corey

(For a bleeped version of this post go to…..sorry there is no fucking bleeped version)

I have often wondered, while walking along a narrow trail, with a steep wooded or rocky incline next to me, what would happen if I fell. Would I simply slide along until something, say a rock or tree, broke my slide? Once my reverie is broken, I decide it probably wouldn’t be so bad. Of course it’s not something I ever planned on finding out.

Until today. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Without supplying too many details, a grouse had parked along the trail. A little grouse. He looked innocent enough, until we attempted to move past him. He was guarding this narrow path with his fuckity bird life. Oh come on, I thought, we’d come up this several hundred feet of trail and this mother fucking bird was not going to stop me. He called my advancing bluff and made towards me (like a mean mother fucker). Instinct took over and I made a slight quick “run” backwards away from-said scary psycho grouse.

This is where I now have some idea of what it would be like to hurtle down a mountain side. It’s not pretty. It hurts like hell. Those branches and shrubs along a trail will stab and scrap the fuck outta of you. And gravity, especially this high up, will work its physics magic and pull you down. In this moment, all you’ll think is “what is happening?….ouch-FUCK”. Once you stop, and the rush of movement has ceased, and you try to get back up-cuz believe me, you’ll be knee deep in dry brittle shit you never expected to be in-there will be a moment of utter shock.

Life is like this. Walking along on a sunny god damn day, minding your own business and BAM. Down you go.

This post is not a, woe is me post. Not at all. Fuck. I got people at home fighting a bigger fight than a few scratches.

But nothing like a tumble to make you take stock a bit. Shit goes down in this life-sometimes it’s you. The initial shock-the “what the fuck?”, the taking stock, the getting back up and the moving on will hopefully make you stronger. Sure as hell it’s with a bit more fight in you. Which believe me, helped me muscle through the remaining 1,000 feet in a mile to get my sorry ass to the top of the mountain.

I will say though that along the way, the wild flowers were still beautiful. The snow patch we had to cross made my heart race, but I sloughed through. Ultimately the top was glorious and the pizza tasted yummy as hell.

In summation. Fight the fight. Assess the situation. Love and support your people. To believe in this living is a hard road to go.

Corey

Enjoying my cup of coffee. The temperature is probably in the low 40s and several critters, a collared fox, a deer and a hungry crow, have already made their way through the campground. The sun, however, is just beginning to peak over the trees and soon I will trade my sweater, jacket and robe combination for shorts and a T-shirt.

Yet I can’t help but think of Sydney, NE. It is a small speck on the map about a hundred miles between North Platte and Cheyenne. It has, though, a giant Cabela’s right off the interstate. Until 2017, it was actually the headquarters for the entire Cabela’s operation. But then it was bought by Bass Pro Shops which resulted in over 2,000 people being laid off (or about one third of Sydney ‘s population). So now many of the big houses on the hill surrounding Sydney are empty. But the giant Cabela’s remains, almost like a taunt to what used to be.

A couple of hours into our drive and the sky got really scary. It was dark. Like the middle of the night dark and then the rain fell so hard we had to pull over. For the next few hours that rain would come and go. By Waterloo though we had cleared the storm.

If only North West Nebraska had a bit of that rain. Their, a wildfire blew up the night before our trip and very much threatened our beloved Fort Robinson State Park. So much so they had to evacuate campers and close down the park. Luckily everyone got out OK. And for now the parade grounds, Trailside Museum and Post Playhouse (where we had hoped to see Oklahoma!) appear safe.

So we had to make new plans. It cost us a few hours extra driving but now we are in Sydney, NE ready to head up to Dubois, WY. Corey is sleeping upstairs and I’m probably going to have a second helping of that hotel biscuit and gravy combination. Here’s to the road ahead. I’m

The car is mostly packed and I’ve been kicked out of the house. Not for too much longer. It’s kind of a tradition with us. Corey does a deep clean and I help out by going somewhere else. To be honest, most of her effort is just redoing the stuff I did earlier in the day (with her muttering stuff like “you know the dish towels don’t belong in the stove”).

We only half planned out our trip. Mapped us out  as far as Vancouver Island but have no idea how we get ourselves back home. Maybe we don’t. We just crash on David’s couch and let GoFundMe take care of the rest (help Noel and Corey fulfill their dream of leisure).

The first time we headed we were just a bit older than Henna is now. A lot of people gave us advice on that trip. And some of it was even worth remembering. The best was from Ethel and David (a couple in their 80s traveling by RV) who graciously took our photo at a rest stop in South Dakota overlooking the Missouri. They said the best way to get to know someone is by traveling with them. Corey and I were just barely a couple at the start of that trip. By the end we just knew. The same way I just know to stay out just a bit longer.