Mad as a Hatter

Hey, cool. Got a notice from Schmap travel guides that they've shortlisted one of my pictures for possible use in the next edition of their San Francisco guide. I don't get any money or anything from that, but still... Recognition, appreciation, potential usefulness.... Neat. :)

For the heck of it, I'll link to other pics from the trip, for your browsing pleasure. And day-by-day entries about the trip (including a small selection of those pics) are, like this entry, posted with the "roadtrip09" tag on LJ and DW.

Repacked my stuff to condense things for the airline. My main bag got heavier, but I didn't think it would be a problem. It ended up weighing in at 46 pounds. Thankfully, the limit was 50 pounds (more, and you get charged extra). I've seen it lower, especially in airlines that figure primarily in kilograms. It would have been overweight, actually, if I'd kept the maps and guidebooks. Fortunately, I'd donated them to the hotel. (I got them free with my AAA membership anyway.) Front desk person seemed kind of confused about that idea. I heard her calling someone (presumably the manager) to ask what to do with them. But hopefully they'll make a good library for future guests.

Speaking of collections... if you're interested, you can click here to see a bag with all the insulin syringes I used during the two weeks of the trip. (I kept them in a bag until I could dispose of them safely and properly.)

Got to the airport, returned the car (I'd forgotten to top off the tank that morning, but luckily I'd filled up not too far out of town the night before), checked in. Went to buy lunch to take on the plane, but the McDonald's was only serving breakfast. Ordered a chicken biscuit sandwich, but that turned out to take much longer to put together than anything else they were serving. Realized I was getting late for the flight. Rushed across the airport. Found the gate. Completely wrong airline, with a flight going in the completely wrong direction. Looked at my ticket again. In my haste, I'd gone to my seat number instead of the gate number. My gate was all the way across the terminal (though, fortunately, I was in the right terminal - both seat and terminal were A, even if the numbers were different). It was hot, I was short on sleep, and my bags were heavy. I looked for an electric cart, but the only one I saw was charging and there was no one to drive me. Made it as quickly as I could, and was the last on the plane. With a lot of carry-on. But I made it, and on time. Whew.

Flight took me, ironically enough, to Newark Airport, a place I know well. It's the closest one to home. But my family was in MA, having driven up the day before for our annual vacation. So I walked across good old Terminal C to the departure gate for my connecting flight. At Mom's advice, I stopped to double-check the departure board, and, sure enough, the gate had changed in the few hours since I'd checked in at Denver. Luckily, the new gate was only one over, and I had no trouble getting to it. Except the flight... wasn't there. Completely different flight leaving from there, and that one was departing late. I was told it was the correct gate, but that my flight had also been delayed. Even though it was still listed as on time at the departure board and the online systems.

Managed to piece together from stuff overheard and things my bro-in-law was able to find online, that, for some reason, the plane which had been supposed to take me had been diverted to another route for some reason, and there was a delay getting the new plane in.

Delay was 30 minutes. Then two hours. With the computers still insisting, right up until the time the plane was supposed to have taken off, that the flight was on time. Then they just wiped the flight status off the board. Flight listed, status blank. Then I was quietly told by the gate agent that the flight had been moved back next door to the original gate. The announcement was made shortly thereafter. And then, about 10 minutes later, they made another announcement... the flight wasn't going to be delayed for another hour and a half, after all, but would be taking off in about half an hour, and all passengers were requested to come back immediately. Which threw a bit of a wrench into the plans of those who had, hearing of the delay, gone off to find dinner.

The plane was small, and there weren't many of us flying. We got seated, and then were told that we'd have to move around a bit in order to balance the plane. How reassuring.

But things actually went smoothly from there. Got to the airport in MA to find that my niece and nephew, having demanded the privilege of greeting me, had been granted special dispensation to stay up long past bedtime. After two weeks away from the whole family, that was quite a greeting.

And then I settled in for two weeks with my parents, siblings, nieces, and nephews at our cozy, relaxing, familiar, and beautiful annual vacation spot. A very satisfactory end to the trip.

Pics for the day

Stayed at the Holiday Inn Express in Custer, SD. The second (and last) time I stayed at the same hotel for two nights on the trip.

What I never understood was why they were called Holiday Inn Express. The idea of an "express" hotel just makes me think you need to sleep fast or something. Even if you set that joking aside, it just makes the hotel sound cheap and stripped-down, like the "express" versions of fast food restaurants you find in food courts. Don't know what they were thinking when they chose that brand name. But it turns out to be a very well-appointed hotel. Luxurious decor, very nice breakfast, comfortable rooms. There's even a beautiful waterfall out back (behind the big plate glass windows in the lobby/breakfast area):



Oh, and a nice little sitting area behind the elevator with comfortable chairs and a lovely view of... the vending machines:



The hotel also happens to be directly across the street from Flintstones Bedrock City amusement park and campground. (Large picture here.) All the buildings are done in the style of the cartoon. It was kind of cool to look at, though I wasn't overly tempted to explore further.

My first stop for the day was the Crazy Horse Memorial. It's a 100-year project to carve a sculpture in honor of Sioux chief Crazy Horse out of a mountain in the Black Hills, which were long sacred to the tribe. (The fact that the sculpture is a mere 10 miles or so from Mount Rushmore is, of course, a complete coincidence.) The sculpture is huge. All four faces of Rushmore would fit in just the head, and the plan is to carve out a full torso and the corresponding portion of a horse, too.

The sculptor doing the work (at the behest of the Sioux tribe) was an assistant on Rushmore. His parents were Polish immigrants, but he was orphaned at a young age and raised by an Irish ex-prizefighter in Boston until he left at the age of 16. He married a woman named Ruth, and I'm wondering if, perhaps, he was Jewish (by birth, at least). They had 10 kids - 5 boys and 5 girls. He died in the 80s, but his kids (8 of the 10, anyway) continue the work. It's the project of their lives, as it was for their father.

The whole thing is privately funded. He started off working by himself on a shoestring budget, but as the project has picked up fame, donors have come in. And tourists (like me). They've got a whole museum now with an extensive gift shop (the inventory coming largely from donated goods, most made by local native tribes). They've been offered government money more than once. Large federal grants. But the sculptor insisted on turning it down. He didn't want to be beholden to anyone but the people, didn't want the project to belong to anyone but the tribe.

The face is done, and the area above the outstretched arm has been blasted clear. Millions of tons of granite have been removed, but there is considerable work left. Decades' worth. You can see here the scale model of the finished product, as well as a better view of what's done so far. The visitor's center is a mile away from the mountain, and if you look closely at the second picture you can see a large steamshovel on top of what will be the arm.





There are a few more pictures in today's batch, including some informational signs and a picture of the old compressor he used back at the beginning (after a year or two). It's amazing, and touring the visitor's center was a real learning experience. About the mountain, the tribe, local history...

On the one hand, you've got the copycat angle. Rushmore draws so many visitors, is so well known. And here they've decided to not only carve their own mountain right nearby, but do it way bigger, too. I mean, really.

On the other hand, it's a grand work. And they certainly deserve the recognition. The tribes themselves as well as the rich, bloody, tragic history.

In truth, I got so much more out of visiting Crazy Horse than I did Rushmore, and I wouldn't be surprised if, 50 or 100 years from now, it became the bigger attraction - figuratively as well as literally.

Oh, quick in-joke I have to share. A sign on the road up to the Crazy Horse visitor's center:



Cows ensue. ;)

Oh, another animal mention... You'd think daily mountain carving and frequent explosions would scare the local wildlife, but it seems that a herd of mountain goats took a liking to the stairs carved out by the Crazy Horse sculptors. They took up residence on the mountain, making use of the stairs, early on in the process, and they've grown entirely accustomed to the explosive goings-on. They just live on the mountainside, paying little attention to the tons of rock being blasted away nearby. The carving has been going on for over 60 years. Who knows how many generations of goats have grown up with it. Kinda cool, really.

Anyway, from there I made my way around the corner to Rushmore:



No, wait. Sorry. That's just the Coke machine in the parking deck.



Hmm. No. Not quite it, either. But at least I got my face up there with them.



Ah, there we go.

Except that that's not how it was supposed to look. The sculptors had to make some changes along the way. Jefferson was supposed to be on the left of Washington, but that area of mountain proved too unstable. There were many other revisions along the way, too. And even once they got the faces in the right place and started to work on the rest of the plan... they encountered a vein of loose shale running across the middle of the part of the mountain they'd intended to carve. So the final carving ended up a little short of the master plan:



Still, it's an amazing feat. To carve out the mountain, they used dynamite to blast away huge chunks of rock. With care, precision, and experience, they managed to place the explosives in such a way as to get within inches of the final curves. From there, jackhammers were used (with various heads for the final stages). All this was done by workmen who were lowered off the top of the mountain in harness chairs. And yet not a single life was lost during the entire process.

There are four presidents on Rushmore. Washington, to symbolize the founding of the country and the struggle for independence. Jefferson, to symbolize the expansion of the country. Lincoln, to symbolize the union of the country and the equality of its citizens. And Roosevelt, to symbolize the (then) modern role of the country and our place in world affairs.

At that point, it was lunchtime. I headed over to the Pioneer Lodge in the little town of Keystone. Looking at their menu, I noticed elk burgers. I felt a little bad about it, but also rather curious. With apologies to Bambi's distant relatives, I gave it a try. It tasted... pretty much like any other hamburger. Ah well.

From there, it was off to the Museum of Geology at the South Dakota School of Mines and Technology. Dinosaurs and fossils and minerals (oh my!). It wasn't exactly the Museum of Natural History in NYC, but it was still well worth exploring.

While I was there, I asked the people behind the counter if they could help me find a certain ancient artifact. Something called a... uhm... oh yeah. "Phone book." That earned me a brief smile. And it turns out that they actually did have such a thing. I knew if one was to be found, it'd be in the museum with the fossils. Flipped through and got the numbers to several local radio stations.

You see, I'd realized that I was in the Black Mountain Hills of Dakota, a place I'd heard of in song but had never expected to visit. I'd only had a vague idea of what they were (mountains somewhere in the Dakotas, obviously). But, being there, I just had to hear that old song again. The one we used to sing on family bike trips when I was a kid. The one I used to make my first solo L&C vid. Rocky Raccoon, by The Beatles.

I tried calling a few of the likely stations. The ones that played classic rock. But no one picked up. I think their weekend programming was nationally syndicated. Or dedicated to specialties like the blues or Woodstock (much talk about the anniversary, and some of the stations were playing music recorded from the event). Ah well.

It was late afternoon by the time I left the Museum of Geology. I had enough time to see one more site before 5 or 6pm closing time. I considered my options and settled on Sitting Bull Crystal Cave. There are several caves open for tours in the Black Hills. Jewel Cave is the second longest known in the world, and is said to be very beautiful... but it's so famous that there's often a huge line for tickets, especially later in the day. I could perhaps have explored Wind Cave, which is also supposed to be very beautiful, but it was too far - I'd realized when I'd chosen to head in the other direction to go see the Museum of Geology that I'd never be able to make it back in time to see that. But Sitting Bull was open a little later, was on my way back to the hotel, and was said to have the largest known specimens of certain crystal formations in the world.

Getting there was interesting. Once you turn off the main road, you have to go down a narrow path barely wide enough to allow two-way traffic. And it's got major major hairpin turns. There are huge signs up to warn you to honk your horn before taking the turn (to warn any oncoming cars from the other direction who would have no way to see you in time and no room to pull over). It was... intense.

Once I finally made it down, I learned that I'd just missed a tour. Luckily, though, there was time for one more. I'd just have to wait half an hour or so. But they hesitated in selling me the ticket. It's an 11-story climb down. Over 800 stairs. Very steep stairs. Not recommended for anyone with a disability or anyone not used to a good amount of exercise. But I told them I could make it.

The cave wasn't the most beautiful I'd seen, but it was interesting. There were crystal formations (some of which reminded me of the end of Superman Returns). There were also fossils embedded in the rock:



If you look closely inside that red circle, you can see a fossilized shrimp. In the middle of South Dakota. The middle of North America. Because, yes, once, many many years ago, the middle of what is now North America was at the bottom of the ocean. I'd known that, or at least heard it a few times here and there, but it was really cool to personally see solid evidence.

Then again, I also saw solid evidence of something very different:



A fossilized pineapple ring!

I wonder what that means... ;)

By the time I got out of the cave, the thunderstorms we'd been expecting all day had finally arrived. There'd been not-too-distant thunder when I went down, but the rain still hadn't come. (Something I personally put down to the fact that I'd been carrying my raincoat around with me all day. A talisman to ward off the actual rain, you see... ;) Luckily, it wasn't too far back to the car, and I did, as mentioned, have my raincoat on me.

Went back to the hotel, did a bit of research online (wireless in the hotel didn't work so well for me, but they had a backup - ethernet jacks. Which actually worked - once I reinstalled the ethernet drivers, anyway. Oops.) into local classic rock radio stations. One wasn't answering the phone. Another was scheduled to have Casey Kasem's Top 40 the next morning. Another was going to dedicate the morning to the blues. And I couldn't get the clock radio in the room to reliably pick up any of them. Ah well.

Went for dinner at Elk Canyon, a restaurant just down the street in Custer. Nice place, and not too far in case the rain (which had eased up and finally stopped) decided to pick up again. Also, I'd noticed on their menu (posted online) an interesting item - the "Bucket of Bones." BBQ ribs served in a bucket. Buffalo ribs. Not something you often get a chance to try. At least, not if you live in NJ. I went for it. They were good, too. Incredibly tender. Though the sauce was a little more watery than I'd have preferred. And they didn't come with much on the side. Still, I was glad of the experience. (And it sort of carried on the theme from lunch. About which I had some mixed feelings.)

Returned to the hotel with a few hours to bedtime and not much to do. Decided to poke around online... and lightning struck the hotel, knocking out the cable. Just at the very second that I pressed the button to send an email to one of the local radio stations about how to go about making a request. Dang.

Pics for the day

I'd stopped off for the night at a lovely little Hampton Inn in Mountain Home, Idaho. Grown fond of Hampton on my various trips, though their prices have gone up a bit in the last couple of years. Finally had good internet service. Expansive breakfast. And it didn't hurt that the staff seemed to consist mainly of charming young ladies.

Spent much of the day driving across the Idaho countryside. (Fortunately, the GPS, having had the night off to reset itself, worked just fine.) It was almost entirely unpopulated. More mountains than I'd expected. More cows, too (though, in truth, not that many). I saw one field that could maybe possibly have been growing potatoes, but no more than that. I have no idea where all the potatoes actually were. Most of what I saw was endless patches of scrub brush, one of which turned out to (somewhat randomly, as far as I can tell) have been designated a National Forest.

In the middle of a long stretch of road through said scrub brush, I noticed a decades-old plastic sign off the side of the road advertising Pepsi. Behind it was about the most beat-up, dilapidated, sketchy-looking, ramshackle old wooden building I'd seen (not counting long-abandoned farmhouses) in some time. The sign said it was a hotel. I think it was actually open. Later, I realized that it was probably a hunting lodge, since I'd seen several turn-offs with little signs announcing "sportsman access."

Also along the highway were historical sites... which turned out to be little pull-out areas in what would otherwise be the shoulder of the highway. There would be a large sign at each... and not much more. A view of miles and miles of empty and unmarked scrub brush. But there was a branch of the Oregon Trail that went through the area, and I'm sure there was plenty of history involving the natives. Still... kind of underwhelming, as historical sites go.

On the radio, I heard ads for a drag racing meetup, apparantly a big annual one in southern Idaho. (There was also, as it happened, a big motorcycle gathering in South Dakota shortly before my arrival.) What attracted my attention was the name. And, to some degree, the location. It was at High Desert Speedway, which was, according to the ad, "just 5 miles past the stoplight" in Gooding. What amused me more, though, is that the name of the event was "Thunder On The Butte." (It's pronounced "beaut," but still... Okay, fine. Maybe I'm being juvenile. It still amused me.)

Made it across state route 20 to Craters of the Moon National Park. It's a vast area of lava flows with odd rock formations and unusual plants. NASA has used it in testing to simulate conditions on Mars.

I drove around the park and took a couple of walks along short trails. Pics and a couple of videos are linked at the top.

Went to explore at least one of the "caves" (not technically caves, since they're actually just holes in the lava flows). It was a mile-long walk down a paved path over the rocky hills. In summer desert heat with black lava rock all over. It was a bit of a trek. The trail split at one point, one end going to a single cave, the other going to "Boy Scout Cave" (known for having been explored by a troop of scouts, and for having an entrance small enough that you pretty much had to be a small child to get in) and to "Beauty Cave." I decided that two chances at caves were better than one, particularly when one of them is named "Beauty Cave." I got there to find some people coming out with a heavy-duty flashlight. Kicked myself for not having thought of that and for having left my little flashlight in the car. Decided to go see the cave anyway.

It was a treacherous climb down over loose, sharp rock:



At the bottom, there was... darkness. It did, however, feel surprisingly, refreshingly cool. Cool enough that I saw my breath misting in the air, despite the scorching heat topside.

I waited a few minutes to see if any of the people who'd been behind me on the trail (and might have flashlights) would catch up, but they didn't. So I climbed back up and started on the trail back, warning people as I passed that they should have their flashlights ready, but that they could expect major relief from the heat. One of them told me that, no, they didn't have a flashlight, but that they'd decided to go to the cave that didn't require one. I looked at the brochure in my hand (which I'd glanced over without reading the main text). Sure enough, the other branch of the path would have taken me to a cave with natural openings in the ceiling which let in enough light to see by without a flashlight... and also had a nice, easy staircase to help visitors get down to the bottom. Brilliant.

But it was late and I was tired so I decided to skip it. Got into the car and headed over to my next stop - the new home of my old college roommate, his wife, and their 16-month-old daughter. Was good to see him again and meet the baby and all that. We stayed up late chatting and playing games.

Unfortunately, there was a blackout at 7 in the morning. Turns out it'd been a scheduled one, but that, since the last several announced blackouts had failed to actually occur, the owners hadn't expected this one to, either. So my CPAP shut off, waking me up. And breakfast was cooked (fortunately they had a gas burner) by candlelight. The inn had an emergency generator, but it wasn't enough for full power and had to be restarted several times.

Had a nice conversation with my tablemates while we waited for food to be prepared, about politics and Harry Potter and a bunch of other random things. The inn's owner whipped up french toast and scrambled eggs and I forget what else, cooked to order, doing what he could with whatever worked in the kitchen. He was working pretty furiously back there, and it took him a while to fill the orders, but, as far as I'm concerned, the results were well worth it.

After I'd eaten, power had been restored, and things had settled down at least a little, I stepped over to get a picture of him in the kitchen:



Also got a picture of the front of the inn:



And the view across the street to what there is of the town of Myers Flat ("sneeze and you'll miss it," as the hostess said):



The hostess loves to give talks about the area and what there is to see. Unfortunately, I had a long drive ahead of me and couldn't afford to spend the time. She was disappointed, but her husband gently reminded her that I did need to go. And I caught part of the talk on my way out. Husband asked about my bags, but I'd already gotten them downstairs and into the car, using the back stairs (which led almost directly out from my room, which was at the end of the hall). He was all set to help me, even seemed a little disappointed that I'd already done it myself, but I told him he'd clearly had enough on his hands with breakfast and the blackout. He smiled and thanked me, admitting that things had been pretty hectic. Said a quick goodbye and then hurried back to the kitchen for more work.

I headed back to the road, driving through the very scenic and peaceful redwood forest. Stopped off at Prairie Creek State Park. Outside the visitor's center, there was a wooden sign attached to the side of the building just to the right of the door. At the top there was a little bird's nest. I managed to snap off a shot just as the mother flew in to feed one of the chicks:



At the advice of the very helpful woman in the visitor's center, I drove a couple of miles down the road to stop at the Big Tree and walk the shorter pathway that looped through a section of the forest. It was breathtakingly beautiful. (And, in parts, reminded me of Endor. Probably not that big a coincidence. Those scenes were surely shot somewhere amongst California's redwoods.) Check out the day's pics (linked at the top of this entry) to see for yourself. Included are two short videos - one of the drive through part of the forest, the other of the Big Tree.

Back on the road, I followed 101 up the coast before cutting back to I-5 via 199 (a little south of the Oregon border). I was sorry to miss the Oregon coastline, which more than one person had told me was even more beautiful than California's, but I didn't have the time. I was due to stay over in Portland, which was still several hundred miles away. (Google maps says about 460 from Myers Flat to the suburb where I stayed.)

Along the way, I passed a sign marking the 45th Parallel - halfway between the equator and the north pole.

I also heard an old song that's long confused me. She's A Beauty, by The Tubes. The song itself doesn't confuse me. It's pretty clear what it's about. Which is exactly why I'm always confused about why it gets as much radio airtime as it does. Maybe I'm just too much of a prude.

Other thing I noticed on the highway. Very odd, and somewhat frustrating (though I tried not to let it get to me too much and to keep a sense of humor about it)... I'm driving along the highway with two lanes going in each direction. I'm going at a good clip - speeding a little, but not by more than about 5mph. In the right lane, there's a truck that's going along somewhat under the speed limit. Behind the truck is a car or small truck. I can see them from a mile off. Possibly more. There's no one in the left lane as far as I can see in front of me, and no one in the left lane for at least a mile behind me. This happened at least five times that day, and several times a day on subsequent days. In every single case... Just as I catch up with the two vehicles in the right lane, the driver of the car (perhaps inspired by my example) suddenly decides that he'd like to pass the slow(ish) truck in front of him. Shifts lanes right in front of me with about a second to spare, going 5 or 10 mph slower than I've been going... just fast enough to very gradually pass the truck (after which he shifts back into the right lane and proceeds along just slightly faster than the truck). Every single time. Could have easily done it with time to spare when I first spotted him. Could have done it just as well just after I passed. But no. Every single time, he decides that the perfect time to edge past the truck he's been following for miles is just before I get there. *shakes head*

Two other things of note about driving in Oregon...

First, all gas is full serve. Just like NJ... and *checks* yep... no other state in the country. I discovered this when I stopped off for gas (naturally). Took a while getting my stuff together - getting my shoes back on, digging my wallet out, etc - and then opened the door to the sound of a cheerful "Hello!" Jumped in my seat and whipped my head around to find a boy in his mid-to-late teens waiting patiently right next to the door. I think he was sort of used to it. And also used to people like me who forget to actually pop the cover on the gas cap. (Though in my defense the car I usually drive automatically unlocks the gas cap when you unlock the doors - a strange and somewhat unsettling mechanism when I first encountered it, but now one that I'm thoroughly accustomed to.)

Other thing is speedometer check areas. I don't think they have those in the northeast. Basically, it's a measured mile (which we do have), but there are signs beforehand which tell you it's coming up and how long it should take you to go that mile at speed limit. Kind of interesting, though I'm not sure how often people actually make use of it, especially since it involves timing your drive to the second. (Not to mention holding to speed limit on a nice big open stretch of interstate highway.)

Anyway, that's about it for the day. I'll spare you the bit about the front desk worker I didn't really get along with (I think she was having a stressful day) and just move along to the next day.

Not much to say about the 7th. We drove the last 50 or so miles and offloaded what we could from the truck. Had pizza for dinner, as per moving day tradition. Oh, that's something. I went looking online for local pizza places. But we were in Berkley, CA. One of them offered pizza with all sorts of organically grown stuff in weird combinations. Another made more normal-seeming pizzas... until you got to the part where they delivered them uncooked so you could throw them in the oven yourself. Only thing with normal pizza in the area was a Domino's. So I ordered online (which one of the people in the house thought to be a brave and odd move). That was cool. The website has a progress bar for your order, so you can see stage by stage when they start on it, put it in the oven, box it, send it out for delivery... Finally, there was a line on the form for special driver instructions ("use the back door" or whatever). I put in "big yellow moving truck," figuring it would be a good landmark, and the driver would know whom to look for. Turned out to be a good thing. We were out at the truck when he pulled up. So he did, indeed, deliver the pizza to the big yellow moving truck. I found it vaguely amusing.

Went to pick up my rental car. I'd ordered a standard, but when I got there, I was given something a little different:



Turns out there was a company rule that since I was returning it to a different state they had to give me a car with out-of-state plates. And that was all they had.

It turned out to be a good transition. After a week of driving the truck, the huge SUV felt small, light, and low to the ground.

One other thing - looking at the maps of the area, I noticed that one of the suburbs of San Francisco is named Sunnyvale. I kind of want to go there and open up a themed restaurant and nightclub... named, of course, "The Bronze." I bet it'd pull in fans from all over. Don't know how it'd work getting the rights and requisite memorabilia and all, and it's not like I have a few million dollars just lying around waiting to be turned into a nightclub, but still... that would be awesome, wouldn't it?

Pics for the day (Page 2 includes shots of the front grill of the truck. We had a really impressive collection of bugs. Monarch butterfly, a variety of bees, some beetles... Later, we came back to the truck to find a couple of sparrows taking advantage of the buffet.)

The day's drive took us through Wyoming and Utah. Another day, another 500 miles.

We drove through several patches of road under construction. Actually, we hit a lot of construction throughout the trip. Summer is the season for paving (you want it to set during the warmer times, or else you'd have more trouble with cracks and potholes from heat expansion), and the stimulus specifically included extra funds for highway roadwork.

There was a scary bit. I was driving the truck. We were coming down a mountain side. I was focusing on my left mirror, watching a car in the next lane over (and I think I was preparing to change lanes). There was a curve coming up, but it came up faster than I'd realized, somehow. Dan called a warning. I turned to keep us on the road (and away from the mountainside, which wasn't too far off the road, though there was a big shoulder) and somehow cut it too sharply. The trailer swung out, pulling the truck. I steered to correct, and the trailer swung the other way, back and forth like a pendulum. It was really scary, but I did manage to get the truck back under control. Fortunately, the car I'd been watching had noticed and dropped back to give me room. Got things straightened out, pulled over at the next exit. The truck was fine, but Dan and I were both pretty shaky. He took over driving, and thankfully we were fine from there. (The incident also served as a warning for us, so we were more careful coming over the mountains the next day.)

Passed the southern end of the Salt Lake, but didn't get to see too much of it. Still, more of it than I'd seen during my last trip to Salt Lake City (for my roommate's wedding). We also drove across the salt flats (smooth land with salty, sandy soil, the former bed of what was once a much larger salt lake), a perfectly straight shot of road that went on for about 50 miles with nothing by the roadside. We were glad we'd filled up not too far outside of SLC.

We did see this thing in the middle of the salt flats, though I still have no idea what it is or why it's there:



Also saw this:



It's a Morton's Salt factory. Seems that at least some of the salt you find on the grocery store's shelves comes from dredging up and processing the salt flats.

If you want, you can see a video of a train. I took pictures of the first couple of trains we saw, but as I started to take in the size of them, I switched to video. It's incredible. This wasn't even the biggest one we saw, and some of them had containers piled two or three high. (I hear from a friend of a friend that much of what's in those containers is the stuff that's too hazardous to legally transport on the highway. So you get all sorts of creepy, disgusting, and scary things in the mix.) I showed my nephew this video after I got back. At first he was just happy to see a real train. Then, as he started to taken in the size of the thing, his jaw dropped. Then he started making these funny gasping noises, which turned to full-out laughter as the train just kept coming. Made me glad I'd taken the video (something I'd done specifically with him in mind, though I'd never expected that much of a reaction).

We also passed some (more) wind farms. Modern day windmills are things of surprising grace and elegance (when in the proper setting).



They're also friggin huge. Take a look at one a little closer:



And now take a look at a single blade, being transported on an oversized flatbed truck:



Amazing.

But, back to the salt flats... People drive on them. I mean, duh. That's what they're best known for. That's where people come every year to try to break the world landspeed records using rocket cars and all sorts of funky things. But we saw a lot of tire tracks just leading off the highway. People who just drove off the middle of the highway to camp out on the flats. Sometimes, they left messages behind. Their names or something. Sometimes a phrase:



They also left other things behind:



That is apparantly Utah's answer to the fairy ring. It's a ring of beer bottles, pushed upside-down into the salt. We saw a few of them. I managed to take this picture on the first try, out the side window of a truck moving at highway speed using a digital camera with a noticeable delay between pressing the button and triggering the shutter, and I even got the ring almost centered. Dan was very impressed. (You should be, too. ;) )

There are a few more sights of possible interest in the pics, but their captions tell the story. I won't clutter this post up too much more. We drove on past the salt flats and over the mountains and stopped for the night in West Wendover, NV. It's just over the border. You can walk from there to Wendover, UT. But the two towns are very different. And, actually, West Wendover is a bit of a study in contrasts, too.

See, West Wendover has casinos. They don't have those in Utah, of course. Not so much with the drinking, either. So Wendover is very much the poor side of town. It's where people stay before sneaking across the border to drink and gamble and what have you. The casinos (and there are 4 in the little town) are, of course, lavishly decorated and prepared to offer all sorts of luxuries. Outside the casinos... it's like I've heard about Vegas. You go off the strip, and you're suddenly in the area that belongs to the people who work for the casinos. The ones who scrape by on low wages to help create this atmosphere of luxury for the people who have money to throw away. (Or who don't have the money to throw away, but are desperately hoping to beat the odds. Or just can't help themselves.)

All that said... we got our most luxurious room of the trip for the lowest price of the trip. Casinos are very happy to have people stay over.

Pics for the day

In the morning, making my way to the hotel's breakfast area (in the lobby near the front desk), I saw a guy hanging around just outside an open door. He was wearing a t-shirt that said:

I DON'T CARE
I'M NOT LISTENING
[I forget what the 3rd was. Something similar.]
ALL OF THE ABOVE

I thought that was kind of interesting, but shrugged and moved on. After I passed, he stepped out of the door and wandered off somewhere. A little ways further, I realized that the door he'd been in hadn't actually been a guest room but rather the door to the little office that connected to the front desk. Seemed kind of an odd thing for a hotel employee to be wearing, but... whatever.

As I entered the breakfast area, I saw a hotel employee lead a guest back to the front desk. She explained that she was actually off duty, but since there didn't appear to be anyone manning the front desk just then, she'd get behind the desk and help out... and, actually, it appeared that the manager, who had been behind the desk, had just stepped out. Brilliant.

Back on the road... we passed a few examples of an interesting Ohio highway feature. Every once in a while, there'd be a sign saying that there was emergency parking 1/2 a mile ahead. Half a mile later, there'd be a section about 100 feet long where the guardrail moved out far enough to allow a car to safely park without getting smashed by highway traffic. There was another sign to indicate that it was emergency parking... and that there was a 2 hour limit.

All of which seems to miss the point of emergency parking. When you have an emergency, you can't necessarily wait 1/2 a mile (or, for that matter, the 30 or so miles between emergency pullouts). And then, how are you supposed to see it, pull over, stop, and then get back up to highway speed when the thing is 100 feet long? And then... a two hour limit? And what if your emergency can't be fixed within 2 hours?

Other thing about Ohio is that all of the rest stops (except one) were exactly the same. It was the same building with the same restaurants and everything. Same restaurants isn't that unusual. The NJ Turnpike Authority owns the rest stops on the Turnpike, and it gives the rental contracts out to all of them rather than one at a time. But this was the same exact building. An unusual building, at that. An asymmetrical design with the restaurants built along one side of a bright, open rotunda, and a hallway (with bathrooms and information) leading out the other side. It's pretty cool. Effective, and surprisingly beautiful. But very odd to see it and appreciate it only to find that the next five rest stops are exactly the same. (And even odder to decide to take a picture of one, only to find that the last rest stop in Ohio had an entirely different design.)

Something else we passed on the highway - triple trailers. A semi towing three full-sized containers behind it. It was shocking to the see the first. I couldn't imagine steering something like that, especially after having experienced what it was like to drive a moving van with a single trailer. But then we started seeing more of them. A few from FedEx and the like, but the vast majority seemed to be owned by a company called Con-Way. I've got a picture of one of those. I'll upload it when I get around to sorting pics.

We ended up driving 767 miles that day. Further than we'd wanted to, but there was nothing between Des Moines, IA and Omaha, NB. Nothing. In late afternoon, it looked like we'd hit Des Moines in the early evening, maybe around dinner time. Dan liked to stop early by my standards, but even so, we should have been able to make Omaha in time. Except that we ended up taking a very long dinner break. At first, we couldn't find the place we'd been aiming for. Then we had a long, relaxed dinner. And then filled up with gas. I forget what else happened, but basically, we didn't make it to the hotel until something like 1am. Partly my fault for flubbing the estimate, and I feel bad about that. But we made it. And made up for our slow start on the 2nd. And give ourselves a bit more wiggle room to relax the following day.