The saddest of the falls we visited this week was in Sioux Falls, SD. The falls themselves were fine although they have, per the park signs, seen better days. For example there use to be a beautiful wooded island smack dab in the middle of the rolling falls. People supposedly came from all over the world to picnic there (grainy photos show men and woman in very uncomfortable dress pretending to have a good time eating a sandwich outdoors). The island was later flooded after a dam was built to help generate a little electricity.

But falling water makes clean energy and if that means overly dressed ladies and gentlemen have to find a new place to picnic then so be it. The thing that made the falls sad to us was their incredibly close proximity to a very large meat processing plant. Falls Park even offered a small museum dedicated to giving tourists the “stockyard experience.” Yikes.

It’s not all slaughter houses and waterfalls though for us on what is our second road trip of the summer. We are also checking  out a few more colleges including Macalester in understated but still hip St. Paul, MN. But really we just want to head out west to see some mountains. Sadly though the view will likely be hazy. And if the fires weren’t bad enough, Covid cases are on the rise everywhere. And don’t get me started on the growing right wing threat to democracy. Some days I think it’s only the falls that keep us going.

.

Tourism, as defined by Webster, is the constant search for bathrooms within a large variety of settings. At least I think that is how Webster defines tourism. Honestly it has been a long time since I cracked open a dictionary.

Sometimes it is incredibly easy to pee. Like in the back country where few to no toilets means pretty much every space has been peed on. One exception to that rule can be found within the Mount Rainier trail system which features a partially walled but other otherwise completely open toilet. The views are amazing. Your only company are the marmots.

Cities though operate at the other end of the spectrum. General rule of thumb is the bigger the urban setting the harder it will be to find a spot to pee. Even places like McDonald’s will likely require you to remember a number code or some other silly challenge before being allowed a stop at the golden throne. I probably shouldn’t complain though less they decided to swap out the number code with a Sphinx like riddle (OK, before you go to the bathroom tell me, what is white in the morning but brown by evening?).

Vermont of course has the nicest bathrooms. Recyclable paper towels, clean interiors a hint of syrup in the soap; pretty much everything needed to make your stay as pleasant as possible. Their highway rest stops are even more impressive. Quaint even. One welcome center we visited offered rustic wooden rocking chairs that overlooked an impressive wooded mountain valley. Besides maple syrup, the gift shop also sold an impressive amount of hand crafted objects. There was a rough looking but otherwise sturdy feeling barn immediately adjacent to the shop. The stop felt more like a destination than a quick place to pee.

Nevada has the worst rest stops ever. Cinder block squares surrounded by broken glass and desert. You do not linger at a Nevada rest stop. Arizona rest stops are much nicer but, and this is an important detail, you do risk being bit by a rattle snake if you wander too far off the path. At least that is what the signs tell you.

The Midwest approach to rest stops falls somewhere between the continuum of Vermont and Nevada. For example, food options are usually limited to vending machines with clear signage indicating that the host state is not responsible in any way for you actually receiving a snicker bar at the end of your transaction.  To further discourage possible litigation these signs also let you know that some charity is responsible for maintaining the condition of these machines (it is assumed that this charity also gets a share of the vending profits but, come to think of it, that is not something explicitly spelled out). They may even offer a small, joyless outcropping of playground equipment somewhere at the edge of the dog walk park. But plan on going elsewhere for your syrup.

Shirley Jackson moved to North Bennington with her husband Stanley in 1940. There the two literary stars entertained an impressive list of up and coming authors while all the time suffering the disapproval of their very conservative neighbors.

North Bennington today does not appear that conservative. Celebration of their most famous author however is limited to a single brick within a time line walk.

We skipped Walden Pond in order to have time to savor North Bennington. No disrespect to Henry Thoreau, but I think we made the right choice. However romantic writing in isolation may be, Shirley’s path of speaking uncomfortable truths to an oblivious hometown seems to be the more admirable way forward.

We arrived in the Boston area on the heels of a tropical storm and several days before our scheduled tour of Northeastern (which is still a few hours from now). Took advantage of this time to grab brunch with our cousins Brook, Olivia and Jacob (goes by Jake and loves his pancakes!). Also did a bunch of sightseeing by which I mean we walked aimlessly throughout the city mostly in search of a bathroom. We also ate a lot of food.

In between college visits we also did a little camping, dodged a tropical storm and tried to pretend it was a lot sunnier than it really was.

Vermont leads the nation in fully vaccinated adults (over 76%!). They also suffered just 250 Covid related deaths. South Dakota, in comparison, has almost the same population but has thus far suffered over 2,000 Covid related deaths. They obviously know what they are doing when it comes to Covid. It was still though pretty annoying when told only one parent was allowed on the University of Vermont tour.

So I did what any rational adult would do. I stalked the tour. Then I tired of stalking the tour (only thing more boring than being on a college tour is watching said tour from a distance; like watching a badly pirated opera).

Other quirks related to Vermont include their difficulty labeling things. Lakes, for example, are often called ponds here. Vacation homes (just like in the Adirondacks) are referred to as camps. Don’t know why, they just are.

Equally perplexing are their voting habits. Vermont, one of the whitest and most rural of states, consistently votes well to the left. Vermont’s largest city, Burlington (42,500 or about 1/200th the size of NYC) oscillates between the Democratic and the Progressive party (and right now is led by the latter). It’s not only an urban phenomenom- driving though the country I have seen many BLM flags but not one Trump or Blue Lives Matter flag. This becomes even more noteworthy when you consider how similar VT really is to rightward drifting Iowa. Must be something in the maple syrup.

We were suppose to camp two nights near Lake Placid. But then the rain came. Buckets and buckets of rain. The forecast said it would last two mostly uninterrupted days. So we fled the Adirondacks and headed toward Vermont.

It’s hard to describe Vermont without using Vermont as an adjective (as in, man that is so Vermont). So I will just tell you a little bit about our day.

After crossing Lake Champlain we took a short “poetry hike” at Niquette Bay Stay Park.” It was a beautiful hike though the woods where we stopped ever so often to read a laminated poem stuck to a tree. At the trail head was a Nature Library. Then it was off to Burlington where we sipped maple syrup lemonade at a Farmer’s Market before browsing several used book stores. And now I am writing you about a quarter mile away from the Ben and Jerry’s factory. That my friend is a typical Vermont day.

About 3,000 students at Colgate. Add another 3,000 living in town and you got yourself a tiny, overly intellectualized little town that would leave Sean Hannity foaming at the mouth. Within an hour of Colgate are at least a dozen similar schools that add a bit of a progressive accent to an otherwise Trump-like region. For example I was pumping gas when next to me a man yelled to himself  “$3.15 a gallon! Unf#$@ing believable!” then traded glances with me as if waiting for me to add “Thanks Biden” (a few years ago it would have been “Thanks a lot Obamacare.”)

We brought masks with on our trip of course. So far though we rarely wear them and the world sure seems to be a lot safer than it was a year ago. But it was recently 116 degrees in Portland (and 104 in Lady Smith, BC). That ain’t good.

After Hamilton it was north to Lake Durant State Park in the Adirondacks. Some rain but dry enough for two nice campfires. No stars at all though but we did enjoy listening to the loons, frogs and owls carry about their business. Then this morning the rain finally came and we find ourselves drying out just west of Burlington.

Our first trip together was the last summer of the 20^th century. Corey and I were still getting to know each other while at the same time figuring out how to build a campfire and pitch a tent. It was awesome. It was amazing. And it was something we knew we would do again and again.

About a decade later we started the blog. Someone had to explain to us what WiFi was. Neither of us had ever heard of Facebook and I don’t think Instagram was a thing yet. But over the years we caught on and sometimes even caught up to technology. And along the way we camped through a hurricane, a pandemic, crazy elections and even crazier Presidents. But nothing, nothing at all has prepared us for what comes next.

Someday soon Henna will go to college. It may be somewhere far. Or it might be right off the purple or red line. Either way our tight traveling family will forever be changed. The new journey begins tomorrow with us headed toward Cleveland before heading for points further east to tramp though the mountains while also of course checking out a few colleges. Final decision by Monkey Survey? Probably not. But we will keep you posted.