As the fog cleared on the peninsula, the residents of Port Angeles had a sort of sparkle to them. Not in their smile but their skin as the sun beat down on them. It became apparent why. After seeing Bella’s Pharmacy and hotels letting you know Edward Cullen slept here, I realized we were in the presence of abstinence vampires. Man, they were everywhere too. Every small business was capitalizing on the fact that Twilight was set in the area. Thriftway (a small grocery store) declared themselves the Twilight gear headquarters and had an area in the store set aside called “The Twilight Zone”. Two trademark infringements with one stone. I was half expecting to see the local orthodontist offering fang implants, buy one get one free, the Edward way.
I laughed about this until I actually saw some girls driving up the tourism market in a place that gets the most cloud cover in America. One girl was wearing those jeans and fat shoes the kids wear and a black Edward shirt. She was perusing the Twilight Zone with her grandparents in tow. I don’t know who I identified with more. I recall making my dad and brother take the ferry to Bremerton with me as a kid because my favorite band was from there. But the look in the grandparents’ eyes resonated with me even more. They clearly loved their granddaughter but did not understand at all why she liked this crap. They followed her throughout the “Zone” wherever she wanted to go. Only wanting to spend time with their granddaughter even if it was buying tour guides to a small shittown because some fictional vampire boy treats some fictional girl the way she wants to be treated.
After soaking in everything we needed to know about Twilight, we crossed the “vampire treaty line” and went in to Olympic National Park. At this point, the forest got really thick. Olympic National Park has a mainland section that surrounds a tall mountain on the peninsula but it has a separate portion that is in the coastal area. This is the area we were in. There were no ranger stations but there was a campground. After picking out our spot, we set up the tent on this mossy area. The air was so damp, the trees so tall, the animals so strange and the ground so soft that I imagined I was inside that cave that was “no cave” in Empire Strikes Back.
We took a hike to the Quillayute River. Along the way, we cut through a rainforest. By definition, it was a rainforest and it looked like Ferngully so I believe it was. It just felt weird because it had the humidity you expected but was quite cold that evening. Along our moss-covered walk, we ran in to a chicken. We didn’t run in to any humans, just a chicken.
Before we went to bed, we drove to Rialto Beach just down the street. This beach was covered in large pebbles and solid driftwood trees. It also had this huge kelp deposits that our friend Joe in Denver named “whale sperm” due to their size and shape. The beach was cold and cloudy and though we were there at sunset, we saw nothing of it.
I’d done a Puget Sound ferry ride before but without a car. I kind of knew what to expect but still get a kick out of driving my car on to another vehicle and having that vehicle move my car somewhere. These are the kind of five year old ideas I have. This five year old is also the one who points out to Jayne how amazing it is that just on the other side of the reservoir levee is WATER! If we were just on the other side of that hill, we’d be under feet of water.
Jayne also got a kick out of pulling our car in to a tight little highway layout and just leaving it there while we go up to peruse the cafeteria. On the boat. That has our car on it.
The old guy who parked next to us must have been excited about all this too because he opened his car door right in to ours while we were still settling. He was this professor-type (sorry Dad) who cruised up in his hot Toyota Solara convertible with his hot wife. Take note: his wife was as hot as his goldy-sandalwoody Toyota Solara convertible. For those of you that drive Sebrings, I am getting at the fact that neither of these things are hot. He gave that kind of “oof” face/noise when he did it but most certainly did not acknowledge us. He zipped that top up real fast and grabbed his tweed jacket out of the trunk, tightened his wool cap and hoofed it out of our sight. There weren’t any noticeable marks or I would have tore up shit. Tore up shit!
The fog was thick on the way to the peninsula. It definitely had that eerie “abandon all hope” kinda feel, like the end of Children of Men, except Jayne wasn’t pregnant. She isn’t, I promise.
Once we left the ferry, we could really see why it was a wise decision. Being Sunday, everybody was lined up out the town for miles to get on the ferry back to town. This contributed to that “abandon all hope” feel with lines of stopped cars on a highway with people outside the vehicles. I really hoped we weren’t heading in to something disastrous.
Waking up in Vancouver, we knew it was our last day of being worth 23% more than everybody else. We had a plan of action on our way out of Canada. Of highest priority, we were going to make sure to spend our remaining Canadian money on donuts instead of concerning ourselves with exchanging it for the pittance of American it was worth. First stop, I needed a few litres of petrol. Only a few because I was sick of paying over a dollar per litre.
We were about 14 or 15 kilometers (two exits) north of the border and I wasn’t sure if I’d make it without running out of gas. Especially if we had to sit in line to cross the border. At about exit number 9 I pulled off in an area that looked like a place people kept cabins. The gas was even pricier here and I couldn’t wait any more to get in to America. Unfortunately, Canadians had a different plan for us. Getting back on to southbound traffic was not possible. There was no entry ramp from the direction of the road we were heading. I had to go down the road further, turn around and approach it from a different angle. We were getting more fed up with Canada with each U-turn.
As much as we were ready to call it off with Canada, we still heard her siren’s song of Tim Horton’s. The next exit (about 6 kilometers out) had one and I pulled off in to yet another crowded Tim Horton’s for donuts. We ended up trying and buying any of the flavors we hadn’t had a chance with yet due to our limited time in Canada and abundant Canadian dollars. I highly recommend the sour cream glazed cake donut. This from a man who thinks of gross old Donettes when he thinks of cake donuts.
Damnit. This was the final straw! After winding our way past the old people who were eating their donuts on a plate with forks, we got back in the car hoping to head southbound. Again, with no warning, there was no sign of southbound re-entry. This time it couldn’t even be done with a U-turn. I ended up having to head northbound and catch the previous exit I was at and turn around there. Our only explanation for this goes along with our previous conceptions of the Canadians: they have such an inferiority complex with their country (a well-founded one) that they don’t feel it necessary to make it easy for you to leave. As exits got closer to the American border there were more opportunities to get off southbound but fewer to get back on.
Once across the border our plan was to head to Olympic National Park, west of Seattle. The quickest route involved one of the many ferries in Washington State. We headed down highway 5 and peeled off west toward the ferry. Once 20 miles away from Interstate 5, which heads straight to Seattle, we saw a sign recommending we call ahead for ferry reservations. I called the number provided, and this being a Friday, the kind lady pointed out that everyone had the same bright idea we had and the next available ferry would be in 12 hours or so. We immediately turned around and decided to visit Seattle first.
Jayne’s fondest memories of America while we were in Canada for several days was Chipotle. Our founding fathers would feel so proud. So our stop for lunch was in Edmonds, WA at the closest Chipotle to the Canadian border, then we checked in to our recently Hotwired hotel. It was really near the airport which was incredibly useless to us.
First thing we checked when we got in to our room was if Seattle still had a baseball team or if they went ahead and threw them in to the package deal with the Sonics. I keep meaning to go to Oklahoma City to catch Shawn Kemp in action.
Not only do they still have a team, they were playing in an hour. We gathered ourselves, got out our American dollars, sharpened our scorekeeping pencils and headed downtown. Both corporate-sponsored football stadium (I forget what it’s called) and Safeco Field were just south of downtown and both were impressive looking. We bought bleacher seats off of a scalper and went in just in time to see the first ground out. I frantically caught up on my 6-3s and my lineup and the drizzle started. Slowly and silently Safeco’s huge roof began to roll closed, starting from the outfield above us. It was really cool to see the game both outside and inside. The roof closing was so slow and creepy, it looked like the mothership was coming in to laserbeam President Pullman’s house.
After the game we walked back to our car which I managed to park right in town in a nice little restaurant district a short walk from the stadium. On the way there there was an industrial alleyway that had been turned in to a mini-Wrigleyville with sausage vendors and loading docks turned in to bars. Even with the rain it was a fun atmosphere. We got in the Forester and went back to the airport.
Because I am old and on vacation, I decided to watch the local news. To be fair I think Malcolm in the Middle was on before that. They broke in to let me know that highway 5 was closed through most of Seattle. This was the highway we just got off of. The reason being that some idiots were firing assault rifles in the university district across the highway and were now in a standoff with police. The local news had a heyday with it. They did nonstop coverage for a good hour and a half and I consumed every minute of it. The Wanda Sykes type reporter lady at the scene sassily reported that the highway closing was delaying those people who were “heading home from the game or just trying to go about their business.” I think if the cops gave her a flak jacket and a rifle she would have taken care of the suspects herself.
The next morning we decided to check out the Pike’s Place Market as well as the downtown area. At Pike’s Place we saw some of the usual: the fish throwing, super cheap large bouquets and lots of fresh fruit. They seemed to be pushing their plum-apricot freak hybrid, pluot. We also saw an old-time band that looked like they lived their music, a dude rotating slabs of delicious cheese, some Papyrus font and ate some crepes. Edenthaler and ham for me, goat cheese and spinach for Jayne. Just up the hill from the market was a map store. I promised Jayne all sorts of fresh fruit as long as we made time for the map store.
At the risk of sounding like an old guy grasping for some sort of hobby to define me, I dig maps. I especially like weird/different ones and I’d love to have a few to hang somewhere. A classic one that fits the category that I already have is this one of Napoleon’s army. It tracks both Napoleon’s march on a map as well as graphs the number of dudes he had with him at the time. You can get a sense of why he was so popular. I was looking for something in that arena. The map store had the Napoleon one and one that mapped but mostly graphed some Civil War numbers and dates. I tried to understand it but failed so I decided it shouldn’t really be a map to display. “Have you seen my map? I don’t understand it but I was just stretching for a conversation piece.”
Since we didn’t have a flight to catch, we Hotwired a new hotel north of the city in Edmonds. A favorite game for us on Hotwire is playing Holiday Inn Express Roulette. For the category and price we are willing to pay on Hotwire, we tend to be in the Holiday Inn Express category. It is definitely the perennial winner of the mid majors. So with a little reverse lookup, Jayne likes to play the odds on a hot breakfast and one of those fancy showerheads. When she wins, it normally results in a BINGO style freakout in the previous hotel room.
After a “BINGO!”, we were moving in to a cinnamon roll-smelling Holiday Inn Express. I’m not a marketing wizard but I imagine the appeal of Holiday Inn Express is we know what we’re getting. The only variable is how high they will be pumping the fake cinnamon roll smell. The one in Helena was on 11. Edmonds was just fine.
Another website this trip has been sponsored by is Yelp. We Yelped a used book store and some Cuban food. Jayne’s running low on books and so she needed a fillup. Our original plan was to check out a ton from the library and give them a tour of the US along with us. With 10 hour days in the passenger seat under Jayne’s belt, she had all of her library books read and we were only halfway done with our trip. The Half Price Books in the university district of Seattle was awesome. It was two solid levels of books and for under 20 bucks we had another eight books. That should last a week.
The Cuban restaurant we came across was also in the University district. It was La Casa Del Mojito. We both had steak based dishes and Jayne got her fill on avacado and I tamales. I’m sure our recommendation will drive tons of business to them. Regardless, we still bring it up. “Remember the steak at Del Mojito?”
The next morning we went to the ferry and lined up for the very next one available. We were justified in our decision to delay Olympic National Park when we saw how far down the highway the line could be formed for days like Friday.
You know how your town has a farmer’s market twice a month, in the summer? Vancouver has a farmer’s market which has metastasized and taken over an entire island, called Granville Island. They have all kinds of stores, from boutiques that sell “fun” sweatshirts to shoe stores painted in fanciful colors to carts selling every food that could conceivably be described as a pie.
On the edge of Granville Island there is a shack called Go Fish that sells fish and chips, using fish that they basically caught five minutes ago. I ordered batter-fried salmon and chips, and it was insane delicious. Zach had wandered off to get something for lunch that didn’t come from the ocean, and when he came back he wanted to try one bite. “No,” I said. It was already all gone. I did not regret this.
Granville was also hosting a wooden boat festival, which ruled pretty hard. It really made us want to built a wooden boat and sail the seas with it. Once they have wireless internet for boats on the ocean, we will definitely do this.
After a very cold morning in Banff, we decided to cut our losses and head toward Vancouver. It was painful to let the Canadians have that $19.60 we paid for a second day that we didn’t use.
At breakfast, we looked at the map and decided we should try to make it at least to Kamloops, British Columbia. We drove through Banff and a few other Canadian national parks (including their take on Glacier). Canadians seem fine having a big highway system running through their national parks.
The drive to Kamloops was scenic. It was mostly hills/mountains with trees on them but every once in a while you would descend in to a valley or a town. It seemed most of the towns existed because of logging. The place (at least along the highway) didn’t appear to be stripped to their credit. There were plenty of signs denoting when the forest was harvested and their replanting plans. Nature was also doing its part to get rid of trees too. Off to the south of Salmon Arm (a town which evoked all sorts of imagery in Jayne and I’s heads) there was a wildfire which made the sky orange and the air smell even more like burnt wood. Many of the other towns smelled like wood that was freshly sawed. Also on one of our descents we saw several huge bald eagle nests with the eagles just chilling in them, all swelling with majesty.
We played the Kamloops hotel scene by ear as well. One had the word “Thrift” in the name so I took the bait. They were sporting wireless internet (the router was sitting on top of the check in counter next to where I signed the receipt) and were touting a free contintental breakfast. We found out the next morning that that meant Leon at the front desk stopped by IGA on his way to work and picked up a packet of muffins and plugged the hot pot of water in.
We actually arrived in to Kamloops at the dinner hour so why not check out the nightlife? As guilty white kids who may or may not have listened to NPR and may or may not have watched Rick Steves on PBS, we wanted to get something you can’t get in Iowa. We wanted to do as the Romans do. Then we tried to think of just what the hell Canadians do for dinner that is different/better than Iowans. All we could suggest was throwing some bacon on it. That’s how they did their caesar salad.
We were craving our two usuals: pasta or Mexican. We didn’t want to create some sort of NAFTA vortex so we checked out the pasta scene. A restaurant I had been seeing in Chili’s-esque scenarios was a place called East Side Mario’s. After the required online Viewing Of The Menu for Jayne, we went to Kamloops’ mall. East Side Mario’s was interesting. Not only was it an Italian place in Canada but it set a scene much like Olive Garden does. Only instead of pretending you are in Tuscany, they pretend you are in the back alley of Little Italy in New York City. Yep, Canadians doing Italian American-style. It looked like the set for the first Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie (bossanova?).
The food was as expected and we took our leftovers with us to see what else we could get in to. We drove toward the river and I tried looking for a parking space near the park. I was struggling and at first we blamed it on the arena next to the park. The only available spaces were reserved for specific people who had very hockey-sounding names during hockey season. Since it’s Canada, we couldn’t determine if it was hockey season or not. I recalled seeing hockey-related humor on billboards and watched a kid pick up his skates from a SportChek so I played it safe on the parking spot. Wouldn’t want to get five minutes for disrespecting the game?
The actual cause of the parking shortage was more unexpected and hilarious than hockey in August.
Jayne and I have been listening to my music collection on shuffle during our long drives and one downside is my large Johnny Cash collection. I respect his music enough to have it on my player, but don’t know it well enough to whittle it down to a manageable amount. This causes every fifth song or so to be about Ira Hayes. Once parked and in the park, I heard Johnny Cash over the tennis courts. Jayne and I chuckled because we clearly could not escape him. I assumed some concert series was between acts and was soothing the crowd with Johnny Cash.
Then there he was, Johnny Cash (impersonated) himself. He was wrapping up “Folsom Prison Blues”. He stopped to tell the audience that he actually wrote a final verse to that song. He then re-picked the ambling line and sang Weird Al style about Canadian provincial politics, much to the enjoyment of the crowd. This was no small crowd either. It was filled with old ladies who probably thought the guy was Johnny Cash, long-haired professors that have never professed, mop-headed teenagers yelling “Play some ‘Hurt’!”, ladies with manageable haircuts nodding to each lyric, African-Canadians wearing Canadian flag tube socks and people pretending to be mounties, complete with red shirts and actual horses.
We took in all we could (about two songs) and walked over to the river. There was a crazy sunset that was aided by the smoke from the nearby wildfires. Then we went home (Thriftlodge), our heads hurting from trying to figure out what was Johnny Cash’s connection with Canadians.
Fellow Americans: you may think you love donuts, but you do not love donuts. You like, enjoy, and occasionally consume donuts. Canadians LOVE donuts. They have Tim Horton’s the way Americans have Subways. I mean they are EVERYWHERE. And when you walk into that Tim Horton’s, you will wait in a line, because at least half a dozen Canadians got there before you. Because they LOVE donuts. And when they get those donuts, they might even sit down and eat them off a plate, instead of gulping them down while driving away, like an American. Really something to behold.
So after a couple stops at various Tim Horton’s, we made it into Banff. Banff is different from American national parks. It’s simultaneously more developed, resort-style, and more desolate and creepy feeling than an American national park. It’s hard to describe but it gave me a weird feeling.
The Trans-Canada highway from Calgary to Vancouver goes right through Banff, so when you pull up to the park entrance, you have to explain where you’re going so they can charge you accordingly. The unbelievably French Canadian working the booth was not exactly helpful. When we admitted we weren’t sure where we were headed for within the park, she visibly drew back in alarm. We laughed about that one for awhile. If French-Canadian people are so easily taken aback it’s no wonder they don’t control any territory larger than Quebec.
(Zach also claims that there was a funny campsite manager who I made fun of for being excessively Canadian, but I don’t recollect her. Mock them and leave them, that’s my style.)
The general feel of the park was very different from Glacier or Devil’s Tower. It was less nature-y/outdoorsy/hiker-y, and more Family Vacation Destination. Where American national parks attract a very specific type of vacationer (a nerdy one), Banff seems to draw people who would love to visit Disney World except their country doesn’t have one. Yet at the same time, the woods are very tall and quiet and dark and unnerving. Kind of like Jeff Goldblum.
We followed a paved path along a river which was very pretty. It ends at a waterfall, and when you reach the lower falls, you can walk through a cave-tunnel and come out basically under the falls. It’s very cool, especially considering that the little spot is (mostly) non-man-made.
After eating a delicious camping dinner (a couple tins of beef stew) we retired for the night. It was already getting chilly, but we had no idea what we were in for. Internet, it was COLD in Banff that night. Like, ICE ICE BABY TOO COLD (TOO COLD).
We both woke up multiple times to groan and shiver and be cold. I don’t think I’ve ever locked up in a fetal position so tight and small, trying to stay warm. I was circled up so close I probably looked like a dog sleeping on too-small rug.
We had planned on staying two nights, but I couldn’t take any more punishment like that. The next morning we decided to make like Al-Qaeda and blow the place.
We broke for the border and they let us in! The super-Canadian dude at the booth deemed us worthy after a few questions. Now we are in the land of Sportscentre, washrooms and Poulet McCroquettes.
We set a goal for Calgary so that we could be in a hotel near Banff National Park to head there the next day. This time we did not get a reservation so I was left just picking a place at random and asking for their rate. The 10 year old I’m travelling with was excited that I grabbed the one with a waterslide. Our Super 8 was reasonable, especially since they’ve rebranded. I find that very important.
Actually I just got through bitching about Super 8’s rebranding. First of all it is not an improvement on their logo at all. They did the 90s/early 2000s “trick” of taking the previous idea and putting it through a windtunnel. They basically hit Skew on Illustrator and dragged the bottom right corner up and to the right a little and added some gloss to the text. Is that going to bring Super 8 up to date with their clientele? Was Brosius really dying for a more aerodynamic hotel room?
Anyway, the girl behind the desk was friendly enough and our room was actually a suite. And yes, Jayne did go down the waterslide.
Next door to Canadian Super 8 was Canadian Wal-Mart. We needed to replenish our soda, orange juice and Kool-Aid Jammers stocks so we drove over. We spent most of our time marvelling at people. The number of times we thought (or said) “Man you’re Canadian”… Why did everybody look like they were on meth? Boardshorts, dark socks and work boots were very common. We also saw a few people who were clearly under the influence of something and it wasn’t Molson Ice.
To complete the Americans-in-Canada triangle, we decided to see how they do Papa John’s. Another thing that transcends cultures is the type of dudes who work at a Papa John’s.
For our second day at Glacier, Zach and I wanted to take a big old hike. We wanted to take a one-way loop hike, since nothing is less interesting than turning around at a halfway point and taking the same walk again, only more sore and tired this time.
This meant taking the Highline Trail. It starts at Logan Pass and ends at The Loop, which is 12 miles in all. NBD.
So after dragging ourselves out of the tent once it got too hot to remain under the sleeping bag and brewing some Crabbiness Reduction Potion (aka Jayne’s tea) we drove up to Logan Pass.
The little synopsis in the newspaper they hand you whenever you drive into any National Park said that the hike would take 7-8 hours. Once we got to Logan Pass we realized that the last shuttle to bring us back to our car would be leaving in less than 8 hours. I am proud that this only made me fret incessantly, rather than cancel the entire hike.
The National Parks are interesting in the way they warn you of danger, i.e. that they just assume you’re not going to be an idiot. There are no fences around the Grand Canyon, and this Highline Trail had no guardrails to keep you from careening down the alpine meadows. There was a single sign reminding you to bring your own water, but that’s it. For many parts of this hike you walk a narrow path along a rock face, often crossing streams or loose rocks. It’s pretty rad.
The first leg is uphill, leading up to a little plain with boulders to sit on and summer snow to gawk at. It’s a good place to eat lunch and let the fat squirrels crawl over your boots and beg for scraps.
Wild animals begging for food drives me nuts because it is living proof of how dumb people are. They see a cute/majestic/noble wild animal, they feel a natural yearning to connect somehow with that animal, and so they…give it a treat. Just like tossing Greenies to Fido back home. Idiotic.
The middle part of the hike was truly amazing. I’m not exactly John Muir so I’ll let Zach’s photos show you how beautiful and exhilarating it was.
The last three miles are all downhill. “Great,” you think. “Going down, easy!” No. Going steeply downhill for three miles just basically destroys your knees and ankles. When I realized this I almost started crying. It was only the knowledge that Zach is (probably) not physically capable of carrying me down a mountain that kept me from just giving up right there.
Feeling extremely weary, we did make it down to shuttle in plenty of time (less than 6 hours). When I saw that bus I could have kissed the driver.
We crowded aboard only to see that it was crammed to the gills with old people seeing the park in air-conditioned style. The driver tried to tell Zach there was no room for him, but when he sat on my lap the driver made no objections.
When we got back to Logan Pass I waddled as fast as I could up to the visitor center, intent on buying about a gallon of Gatorade. Guess again, friends – the visitor center does not sell an ounce of liquid. I settled for drinking as much water as I physically could from the drinking fountain. As I staggered back to the car my entire abdomen sloshed ‘glorp glorp.’
Although the car was in sight, one physical challenge remained – a big horn sheep was patrolling the parking lot like a straight up player. I don’t know if he was looking for ladies or hoping to lap up some antifreeze but he definitely had that wicked devil-eyes thing going on that goats have.
Then we drove back to camp and I complained about being sore all the way to Canada.
We had our first multi-night stay in one place here in Glacier. We took off from Helena at a decent hour to ensure that we got to the park on time. We had read that Glacier campgrounds were known to fill up. Having spent a night or two on the side of the road or in an Albertson’s parking lot in the past, I knew Jayne would not be down with that. Although it was a fun part of the adventure as a kid, now that I’m an adult I have to worry about all the things that come along with that. Like what if a cop shows up? The “but I’m 10, this is the doings of my crazy parents” excuse doesn’t work when you’re the guy behind the steering wheel.
On the way up, Jayne was checking this site for Glacier campground availability anytime we entered an area that had cell phone coverage. Which was very limited, considering the biggest town we saw on the way there had a gas station that was guarded by an “attack cat” and advertised pop and candy for sale. The pop and candy was kept in one lone refrigerator inside the garage office. We rolled in on the eastern part of Glacier Park and went straight to the first campground (St. Mary’s). The cheerful park ranger recommended that if Rising Sun was available we check that out for tent camping. She said it was more sheltered and tent-campers preferred that one. We got in and chose one of the last spots. By 4 pm the campground was totally full.
On the way to Rising Sun, after being in the park for less than 5 minutes. I saw a bear. It was in the road way up ahead and a few cars were approaching from the other direction. It was moving very quickly and hopped across the road and shot up the hillside on the side of the road. We had already been warned to be on the lookout for bears. They were on high alert for bears and anything not in use (including makeup and soap and stuff) had to be inside a hard sided vehicle. While we were putting up the tent a ranger came by and told Jayne that a bear was in the north loop of the campground. That was it for bears though. I was really hoping, in the right, safe circumstance, that we would get to see one. My encounter from way down the road just wasn’t good enough.
Once we got in to our site, we decided to drive across the park. Coming in on the east side we realized there was quite a bit to see. Glacier is a huge park. There are tons of trails, several entrances and one main highway that cuts through it. The highway is over 50 miles long from eastside to westside. The maximum speed limit is 45 miles an hour and most of the time you are driving winding on the very narrow edge of a mountain, some of which is down to one lane due to an 8 year construction project.
Our main goal was finding some food. We had a camp stove and canned food/items to cook with but we were still slightly paralyzed at the bear thing. To be honest, I was less scared of the bear and more afraid I wasn’t fully understanding the campsite regulations. I mean I couldn’t have toothpaste out, but I’m allowed to cook up a beef stew? I guess a person has to eat when camping but does a bear have to brush his teeth?
There were some food services on Lake Macdonald which was 30+ miles away. It was early evening but we figured it would take a few minutes to get there. About halfway there, after the Logan Pass visitor center, construction started to pick up and we were stopped several times to wait in line for the one lane road. They were leading strings of traffic with pilot cars and stoplights. The already narrow road was even more narrow with bulldozers pushing around in the other lane.
We definitely didn’t arrive at Lake Macdonald until dinner time anyway. There was a grill/”pizzaria” called Jammer Joe’s. I think the “Jammer” had something to do with the weird old-fashioned shuttles the park uses. They are old Ford bus type things that have been renovated to run on propane. I did my part to wipe out the buffalo population again and had a buffalo sausage and pepper dish and Jayne had pasta primavera. We walked over to Lake Macdonald (the lake) after dinner to see what was up. There were renovated boats being used for short tours around the glacial lake and there were people hanging out on the “beach” of the lake. The weather was nice and sunny and several people had their shoes off and were wading in the cool lake. There was a creek that runs down the hill in to the lake and people were walking through that too. Still everyone was clothed. Except one lady. I’m no prude or anything, especially when it comes to the female side of things but Jayne and I couldn’t figure out what this lady’s situation was. She was just chilling in a leopard print bikini. Something that I wouldn’t really question in Florida or even the Res. Although Glacier is a vacation destination, it is a vacation destination for nerds who want to learn about how the valley was formed and how the gravel was smoothed out by the massive glacier. More than anything, it was comical to watch a bikini-clad woman stand around among families who were wearing matching crocs, matching glasses, matching sensible Columbia hiking shorts, those floppy pith helmet type hats you probably would buy at Cabela’s and were smeared in 70 SPF.
I didn’t let her distract me too much as I had business to handle. My family and I were in Glacier about 10 years ago and years before that we’ve taken plenty of other trips that included water with rocks by them. This typically lead to rock-skipping contests. I had actually forgotten about the possibility until at Lake Macdonald when I saw a little boy showing his younger brother how to skip a rock. I basically threw my camera at Jayne and ran to the edge of the water looking for a good rock. Jayne says that I actually did the cartoony rubbing the hands together thing as I bent 90 degrees looking for one. I wish I had the luxury of teaching my little brother how to skip a rock because my little bro, Tyler, pretty much schooled me when it came to that. I decided to use my camera’s video function and send a rock skip over to Ty from one park to another. Ty’s currently working with SCA (Americorps-type stuff) in a New Hampshire park. I’m sure when he’s not busy hugging a tree, he’s skipping a rock or two too. I’m super proud of his work there and abroad and can’t wait to go visit him there this fall.
The best I ever got was 8-10 skips. I remember one time Tyler had one in the 20s. My older brother Justin was damn good at it too.
Our trip down to the lake was just going to be a quick walk to see what it looked like and what was available boat wise but we ended up just hanging out for a while, skipping rocks and walking through the creek. At the other end of the lake was Apgar Village. We checked that town out before it got too late in the evening. Jayne got some huckleberry icecream (they were REALLY pushing the huckleberry) and we picked out a somewhat useless trail hiking book. We were in the market for a good day long hike to do. We ended up deciding on the Highline Trail and went back to the campsite with plans to get up the next morning and hike it. We returned relieved to find that no bear had slept in our tent or eaten our porridge.
Today was spent mostly on the road. We’re in Helena, MT for the night at fake cinnamon roll smell infused Holiday Inn Express. Our goal today was to get as close to Glacier National Park as we could from Devil’s Tower.
We came across southern Montana and turned right at the Yellowstone left, Glacier right intersection. Southern Montana was really pretty but I just have that sense of “we’re really far away from everything else” that I don’t care for in places to live in. Towns we stopped in were definitely cool though. It seemed like people, despite being really into horses, were pretty cool people.
After a stop in Billings at local burger expert Hardee’s, we analyzed the map and realized our original goal of Great Falls, MT for the night was not even on the quickest route to Glacier. Helena was though and it had the added bonus of being the state capital if you enjoy crossing silly milestones off your list.
In Helena we tried to catch up on our Internet and then went out in search of a steakhouse. The two options on most searches for “Helena steakhouse” were Applebee’s and some place called Silver Star. After weighing the pros and cons carefully, Silver Star won our business. It was a nice evening out so we ate on the porch and there appeared to be some conferences going on in town. For what we couldn’t determine but I believe one involved self-satisfied overweight men and another involved depressing spinsters who eat alone with their legal pads at steakhouses.
On the way home, I wanted to see the capitol proper so we stopped outside and I stood in the intersection to get you the lovely shot above. Coming from states that have beautiful domes (even on our old capitols) I was disappointed to see that at 9:30pm the capitol wasn’t even lit up.
The evening finished with running in to that same spinster across town in our hotel elevator where she grumpily gave me advice on acquiring ice. Helena was good to us.