Missoula, Montana

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We are starting the process of summer trip planning.  Truth be told, this started some time during our last summer trip.  Corey and I both are suckers for maps and routing out trips is a great road game, especially on the interstate.  Even Henna gets into it a little.  Right now we are probably headed west through then down Colorado to the Grand Canyon, further south to visit family in Phoenix, west to S. California and then hitting Sequoia and Yosemite National Park on the way home.  We also would like to hit the pretty parts of Idaho.  And somewhere in that jumble of parks and beaches, maybe a night spent in Missoula, Mt.

Missoula is a funky western town at the intersection of I90 and route 93.  Not funky like San Francisco, but funky in that it is everything you like about the American West and everything you like about college towns blended together.  It also is set in an understated high desert landscape of low hills and buttes.  One of those hills has a giant M on top with a steep trail leading to it.  I have yet to touch that M.  Corey and I first came through Missoula on the way home from our Alaska trip.  Just married, it was our last trip sans kid and we hung out at the college bars.  The county fair was going on and we had fun betting on horses, checking out livestock, and watching some bad karaoke.  The next time through was with Henna.  No bars, the county fair was there again, and we discovered a laid back and very cool children’s museum.  They also have a great park with a restored carrousel.  If, while on the carrousel, you are able to grab the brass ring, you earn another free ride.  If I remember correctly I earned three free rides.  This summer, if we end up spending the night there, I know which horse offers the best brass ring access point.  I also plan on dragging Corey and Henna to that M.  Or more likely they will be eating ice cream while I venture a solo ascent. 

 

Angel Lake State Park, NV

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Off the interstate near Wells, Nevada (which is about 60 miles west of Utah) exists Angel Lake State Park.  The park is near but well above the sun scorched desert that is Wells.  So far above that there was snow near the campsite on the mid-July day we were there.  The state park is an oasis with a pretty campground, a stocked lake, a waterfall that we never made it to, and stars a plenty at night.  Oh, and you have to drive up a windy, not quite 2 lane road that should (but doesn’t) have a guardrail.  If you go, buy a fishing license at the gas station in Wells.  We did not and ended up paying the campground host a little something extra so we could not catch any fish.  Ah, but that ended up being the least of our worries.  Two nights before Henna woke up in the middle of the night on top of a mountain in Wyoming to get sick in the tent.  After a restful hotel stop in Evanston, Wyoming, Henna was feeling great.  The night at Angel Lake found Corey hurling under the stars.  A camping second for us.  Corey and I have since debated whether it was stomach flu (Corey’s position) or altitude sickness. 

The morning gave us a careful drive down the windy path and a fragile Corey moaning in the front seat.  Corey got a shower at the gas station/ diner (the one we should have bought the fishing license at) while Henna and I had a mighty fine breakfast.  I was feeling pretty down and out and a couple people gave us sympathetic looks.  We drove that day to Winnemucca, Nevada to sleep under the linens and then camped the day after at Lake Tahoe. The road can give good, bad, or a little bit of both.  We just roll.

Happy 100 year birthday Starved Rock!

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I was saving Starved Rock for when I had a little more time.  But the local news talked about this being the 100th year that Starved Rock has been open to the public and I could not resist commenting and posting some pictures.  Starved Rock State Park is our favorite winter destination.  Who can resist competing with other families for that sweet spot by the fireplace, tag and other games in their giant pool, and making that annual pilgrimage to a spot where a group of Native Americans supposedly were starved out.  The first few years we pulled Henna on a sled through Aurora canyons until the trail became too steep.  Now, in between snow ball fights, we sled down iced over boardwalk stairs on our buts.  Each year there also seem to be more resident eagles as well as more possums and the occasional stray cat that the bartender feeds.  And what always impresses me is that this pocket of wilderness resides less than two hours from home.

If Iowa was an Island it would be PEI

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We have been lucky enough to have visited PEI twice.  The first time Corey and I were not yet engaged.  The second time Henna was just a little kid instead of her now big kid self.  The place is truly magical.  Dozens of little towns scattered around an island whose elongated shapes makes it impossible to ever be an hour away from the water.  The sand is this rich, red, clay that you can easily mold into soft rocks (perfect for skipping).  There are also small farms everywhere and lots of places to pick up fresh mussels, lobsters, and scallops.  Seals swim the water and ospreys fly above (and fish below).  The people are extremely friendly too.  Both times we have gone to the island, people have approached struck up conversations with us.  Sometimes it’s while laughing at us while we try to steam a lobster (after the woman was done laughing she tore it apart for us in maybe five seconds).  Once while Corey and I were sipping wine and watching the moon rise above the water, a man came out of the shadows and approached the fire.  Although we were in a busy campground, our site was somewhat isolated.  As the man came closer he stopped and said, “I can’t sleep, mind for some conversation.”  His family was sleeping in an RV close by.  His house was walking distance from the campground.  He accepted a beer, talked about island life, and then was gone.  You gotta love this island.

If you go, make sure you plan ahead. The islanders like to camp out at their beaches.  We met a couple from England who had to spend one night in their car after arriving on a Friday.  Besides beaches, PEI offers very dramatic rolling hills as well as Anne of Green Gables themed points of interest.

Last note:  Our favorite beach/ campground is featured above.  Cedar Dunes Provincial Park on the northwest corner of the island.  Warmer water due to it not facing the Atlantic (in fact it faces New Brunswick), a working lighthouse with a good diner at the base, and a lot more quieter than points closer to Charlottetown.  I should make it clear; we at Hennacornoelidays always choose sunsets over sunrises.  Otherwise Jacques Cartier Provincial Park, where the sites are closer to the beach, is pretty cool too.

Lost Dutchman State Park, AZ

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I was looking through some albums and came across our visit to the Lost Dutchman State Park which is near Tortilla Flats in Arizona (not to be confused with Refried Beans, Maine).  Legend has it that there is a gold mine hidden somewhere within the park.  Never found it.  We did find sun.  A lot of sun.  Even though it was a beautiful early Spring day in the low 80s, that sun bakes you.  And deserts, by definition, do not offer much shade.  But the blooming desert and cactus views made for an enjoyable day.

Random Oregon Pics

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It is still Fall here in Chicago, but my thoughts have turned to Oregon.  These are some oldish pictures of some of our favorite places on the wet side of the mountains.  Enjoy.

The picture above and below were taken at Sunset Bay State Park.  The Oregon coast rocks.

Silver Falls State Park, about 45 miles south east of Portland is pretty cool too.  We especially enjoyed hiking behind the falls.

Kouchibouguac National Park

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In the best of travels one finds themselves suddenly in a place as comfortable as home and as mysterious as the dark side of the moon.  It is a moment when everything is easy, especially the sense of discovery.  Kouchibouguac National Park was that place for us.  Kouchibouguac was no small place and its large campground was almost filled to capacity.  New Brunswick makes a triangle into the coast with Fundy National Park south and Kouchibouguac National Park north of its most eastern point.  With miles of beaches and dense forests one could bike on paved paths, hike on the beach to distant seal colonies, dig in the tide pools for crabs and starfishes, or swim on a lifeguarded beach.  What we could not do was agree on how to pronounce the place.  A year later after traveling through BC we discovered that no two people ever pronounce it the same way.   Also everyone is sure that they are correct in their pronunciation.

We spent the day jumping in the ocean (actually the Northumberland Straight which is much warmer than the ocean) then running to the tide pools.  Henna dug out pools for her catches and played with a band of children of which only a few spoke English.  Corey and I had many conversations which led us later that night to a small restaurant nearby St. Louis (not pronounced like they do in Missouri) where they boasted a lobster and scalloped covered pizza.  Next to us was an overdressed family who spoke French.  They were three like us but, in their neatly pressed clothes, did not smile or laugh like us.  Instead they spoke low and (maybe it was my imagination) occasionally glanced at us.  They looked glum which only made us feel happier with what we had; that tight grip on the present which I feel now even more than a year away from that town near the beach. 

Monticello and Douthat State Park

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Ever wonder whose home that is on the back of the nickel?  It is Mr. Jefferson’s’, the one- two-three man (first vice president, second secretary of state, and third president of the United States).  Please do not confuse him with the one-two punch of Dernier and Sandberg of the 1984 Cubs.  After seeing recreated Colonial Williamsburg and very much alive Washington D.C., it was interesting to visit Monticello.  There are no actors dressed up in funny clothes here.  Just a wonderfully restored home of one the greatest men in American History.  For a few bucks one is treated to a tour of a classic architectural gem that offers insight into the celebrated man’s interests and talents.  No pictures were allowed inside the home, but I can tell you it is filled with original and replica fossils (President Jefferson was fascinated with mastadones), a lot of books, and very interesting details like a dumb-waiter that went to his wine cellar.  It should be noted too that upon his death Monticello went first to a daughter who then sold to a local before being purchased by Uriah P. Levy.  Mr. Levy was the first Jewish Commodore (Admiral) and very much admired the former president.  First him and then later his nephew took immaculate care of the home before selling it to a preservation society in the 1920s.

After our tour we found a cool apple farm nearby and then retired at the local KOA. The next day we took a gander at the University of VA (designed by Mr. Jefferson).  UVA is almost as picturesque as Ohio University but has better eating options nearby.  We then enjoyed camping at Douthat State Park.

Where exactly is the Sir line?

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Recently while crossing the Mason Dixon line en route to D.C. a thought occurred to me; where exactly do the Sirs start?  No one called me Sir in Ohio and I did not get any Sirs in D.C. or the Baltimore area either.  But D.C. is a strange place, one where the man working the cashier may have been a former lobbyist from Cleveland.  No one there is ever from there.  Tourists too come from all over the world just to marvel at the beautiful landmarks housing dysfunctional politicians.  It seems that in our capital there is no general agreement for anything, let alone speech patterns.

I did not hear any Sirs either in Williamsburg, but again Williamsburg is a home for the displaced (retirees, wine makers, colonial reenactors, and brainy college students).  Heading a little north and west I began to hear plenty of Sirs.  The thing about hearing Sir is you begin to think you should Sir too.  There is an art to this.  You do not want to over Sir anyone (“Yes Sir, Sir, we might want to go there, Sir”).  But you do not want to under Sir someone either.  I mean, if the elder person next to you calls you Sir, you should definitely Sir him back.  I tried my best to Sir accordingly, but right when I started to get the hang of it we went to West Virginia and the Sirs stopped as quickly as they had begun.

Flight 93 Memorial

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The field would have been another lonely, filled in former coal mine if it were not for the tragic events of 9/11.  Instead there is this long road that takes you to a parking lot filled with tour and school buses as well as minivans, cars, etc.  Nobody dare speaks in too loud of a voice as the wounds here do not feel distant at all.  Where other memorial sites seem to encourage picnic baskets and frisbees, this one encourages quiet contemplation and a shared grief. 

The evil is told plainly in fact filled signs.  The NPS avoids hyperbole and lets the facts speak for itself.  People purposefully planned and executed innocent people. 

Other signs are just as plain.  Above is a picture roster of those aboard Flight 93.  They include tourists, a woman from Hawaii, an observant Jew, and several persons who overtook the terrorists and possibly prevented a greater tragedy on 9/11.  What struck me is that this is who we are:  many people from many different backgrounds with different beliefs who, when necessary, pull together for a greater cause.  The bad guys hate that.