A Year on the Road

What Theodore Roosevelt Did Best

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit buffalo

Where do we even begin? With the epic wildlife, the rugged buttes and valleys that make up the landscape, or the absolute vastness of this national park that has launched itself into our top favorite places in the U.S.? It’s the easiest blog to write due to our enthusiasm, and the hardest due to the immensity of its impact on our minds and our hearts.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit selfie — *As with all photos, you can’t get the scale of the landscape behind us. It’s just…huge!*

We won’t bore you with the facts around President Roosevelt’s hand in protecting 230 million acres of land and establishing the National Parks system, or the history of the mounds, buttes, ridges, and points that make North Dakota one of the most distinctive landscapes we’ve seen so far, save to say each layer that now makes up the area’s badlands was formed, evolved, and, in some cases, was laid bare over the course of 65 million years. It’s a big number, but as we drove the Scenic Loop in the park’s South Unit, and later, the North Unit, “big” was a word that took on new meaning.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit long view — *Everywhere you look there’s a gorgeous view to enjoy*

Still in awe of the seemingly endless farmlands and prairie lands as we drove from Bismarck to Medora, the small (and very touristy) “cowboy” town where we had a reservation the Red Trail Campground, the landscape changed, and almost without warning we were looking at colossal sandstone, siltstone, and mudstone “mountains” towering over deep valleys with rolling green hills and meandering rivers.

Red Trail Campground Medora SD — *Fati resting after her exertion, and Nippy getting ready for a scenic drive*

That morning, as we headed to Medora, we agreed we’d spend the evening and the next day catching up with work, then visit the South Unit on our second full day and the North Unit on our third full day. Obviously, that was a stupid and unrealistic plan, and our first trip into the South Unit saw us chomping at the bit as we entered the park around 7pm on the evening of our first day, lured by the promise of prairie dog towns and a greater chance at seeing wildlife around dusk.

Just minutes after entering the park we came upon our first prairie dog town, where hundreds of the adorable little rodents with almond-shaped eyes and sticky-uppy tails were going about their evening grass munching, while “sentinels” kept watch, throwing their whole upper bodies backwards and their arms upwards while emitting the cutest bark imaginable as part of their warning system.

It was straight out of a David Attenborough documentary, and Simon could have stayed there watching them until dark, but after about 20 minutes and a bit of prompting, he pointed Nippy up the hillside to see what else was in store.

The landscape had us utterly captivated, and over the course of three days we never grew tired of seeing the majestic hills and valleys.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit landscape — *We’re not sure what the flowering yellow plant is, but it smells great!*

But we had buffalo to find, and again, it wasn’t long before we spotted one, then drove alongside three more, so we congratulated ourselves on our incredible luck.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit lone buffalo — *The lone straggler*

We weren’t going to do the entire drive that first evening (made longer due to the south part of the loop being closed, so it was an out-and-back journey), and just before we turned around we were treated to a small group of wild horses, which capped off an excellent evening of wildlife viewing.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit wild horses

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit wild horses sunset

The next day we went up to the North Unit, fueled by the bacon and pancakes I made because I’m no quitter and was determined I’d be up to the challenge. The drive was a bit more difficult due to a stretch of Highway 28 being closed, so we had to detour about 66 miles, round trip, out of our way. Along the way, Simon saw a sign for Killdeer Mountain Battlefield, and being the sort of person who cannot pass anything by if it has even the slighted hint of interest for him (and despite the fact that he’d been wondering about finding a restroom for quite some time), he made the decision to find the battlefield, and he was unanimous in that.

Killdeer battlefield graves — *Obviously the fiercest battle in the west*

Long, unpleasant story short, it involved 16 miles round-trip on a dirt road (which he hates but thought there might be a restroom at the end of), a farmer and his son who angrily confined us on their property by locking the gate along the road so we couldn’t get out (stupid people that we are, as indicated by the sign on his gate that made some unfathomable reference to Stupid People, and the fact that the obscure battlefield monument was just a foot or two outside his gate and nearly impossible to see), and what can only be called an extremely disappointing monument to a grand total of two people who died on the “battlefield.”

kildeer battlefield farmer's gate — *The Stupid People sign, meaning us. This was our view after we unlocked the gate and made our escape when the farmer drove away*

Simon’s face says it all.

killdeer battlefield memorial — *The opposite of impressed*

The North Unit is supposed to be the part of the park where wildlife is at a maximum, but we only saw a couple of small herds of buffalo, both at a distance. We did see remarkable “cannonball” rock formations, created by minerals pouring through sediment layers, which Ruthie found as fascinating as we did.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit simon on cannonball rock

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit cannonball rock landscape

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit cannonball rocks ruthie

It was back to the South Unit the next day, and as magnificent as the park’s big picture is, the smaller details are equally compelling, and often we felt we were looking at structures created by the hand of Antoni Gaudi, architect and designer of Barcelona’s grand basilica, La Sagrada Familia. In the same way Gaudi’s Nativity Façade seems to be “melting,” so too do some of the water-and-wind-weathered rock formations.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit melting rocks — *Melty rock*

But today nature had three very special gifts in store for us. The prairie dog town, seemingly in just 48 hours, had sprouted dozens and dozens of babies! Tiny and hilarious and full of the joys of spring, they wrestled and barked and made sure their cuteness captivated hearts, and we spent a long time watching their antics.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit prarie dog babies — *Terrible zoom photo, but you can see how tiny they are*

The buffalo took things a step further. As we came down a hillside into a deep valley, there they were, in their hundreds.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit large buffalo herd — *One side of the road, with more on the other side, and they just go on and on*

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit buffalo herd

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit buffalo with baby — *We saw so many babies!*

One massive herd took up both sides of the road, and the road itself. We inched our way forward, hoping the people behind us were happy to go slow too, until we found a parking space in the cutout, and that’s when things took an unexpected turn.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit buffalo scratching on car

This buffalo loves cars. It licked the pickup truck two cars down from us, it rubbed its head against their grate, then it moved on to the car next to us, and finally, as dessert, it began licking our car, chewing on the hookups for our tow bar, and looking us dead in the eye when Ruthie started barking.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit buffalo looking in front window

Now, let’s just say buffaloes have huge heads, and those heads have pointy bits. We’ve seen videos of cars the size of Nippy being turned into metal hamburger by enraged buffalo. So when this one came up to Simon’s window and stood there looking at him, we, and everyone around us, wondered what might happen next.

What happened next was, it felt it had made its point without using its points, and it was right. It moved on, leaving us with a thrilling if slightly terrifying memory we’ll treasure forever: The day Nippy got licked by a buffalo.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit buffalo looking in side window — *Eye to eye with a buffalo*

If you’ve read this far, you’ve done well. We did have one more special encounter waiting, when we came across not one but two coyotes prowling a prairie dog town. We thought we might witness the circle of life, but they decided to lay down for a nap instead, which was probably just as well. We weren’t sure we could watch prairie dogs being eaten.

Of course, we have no photos of this encounter. They were just out of reach of our zoom lenses. Instead, imagine two scraggly gray coyotes laying in a field, and you’ve pretty much got the picture.

We returned to Medora that evening, a funny little town that was quite touristy, but not obnoxiously so, and while we skipped the $50 per person Medora Music show everyone we’ve talked to since has asked if we saw (we live in Orlando, where shows are second to none but buffalo are non-existent), we did see the tractor parade, and that was enough for us.

Fargo: It’s So Much More Than A Wood Chipper

Fargo wood chipper — *Nobody should be smiling when encountering a sight like this*

Simon loves the dark comedy movie, Fargo, with its relentlessly evil villains, the dogged heroine Marge, and that chipper no one who has ever seen the movie can forget. The Chipper prop now lives at the Fargo-Moorehead Visitor Center, and it was the reason we put Fargo on our Grand Adventure route.

We stayed at a Harvest Host in Minnesota the night before, celebrating Simon’s birthday in high style with cheese and bikkies (crackers for us U.S. folks) and a beer, since we had no access to electricity and didn’t want to use up our batteries (generators aren’t usually allowed at Harvest Hosts), plus we’d had a celebratory lunch and were too full for much more.

*Birthday beer out there on the edge of the prairie (okay, right ON the prairie)*

The host location was a farm with horses, goats, chickens, cats with newborn kittens, and a gangly, year-old dog named Pooh Bear.

Harvest Host baby goat — *It’s so soft!*

We got to hold a three-day-old baby goat, meet the newborn kittens, and Simon, always ready to try his hand at something new, milked a mama goat.

We then spent the evening sitting on the front porch chatting with the owners, and felt it was exactly the kind of experience we were hoping to have during this journey.

The next morning we made the short trip into North Dakota, where we had another Harvest Host stay, this time at a winery, and while the sweet wines weren’t to our taste (neither was the eyelid tick), the food was good and we met another RVing couple who had come in from Oregon, which passed a happy couple of hours before heading back to the rig for the night, with a strong wind whipping through the prairie grasses as a small storm rolled past, which we loved.

Harvest Host 4e winery — *Moody sky, but we only had a little bit of rain as the storm went past*

Bismarck was our next destination, with a detour off the highway into Jamestown to see the World’s Largest Buffalo.

Largest buffalo in the world — *Imagine the droppings….*

The roadside attraction included a touristy town with stagecoach rides, and it made for a nice diversion on our way to Bismarck.

We woke up early and headed back to Fargo for a photo op with the infamous Chipper. If you don’t know the movie Fargo, it’s the means through which the hapless main character gets turned into the human equivalent of ground beef, thanks to a crazy man with a passion for gruesome murders [Note: Leg in Chipper = hint].

simon with wood chipper — *Non-gory recreation of a very gory scene*

The Coen brothers (Fargo’s producers and directors) signed the Chipper, but there was no way to get a photo of their signatures without glare, so here they are, just as obscure and unfathomable as the movie the brothers created.

wood chipper signatures — *Appropriately scrawled across the “exit”” end of the chipper, where whatever you shove into it blows out. Across the snow. All bloody.*

Our next campground (with full hookups!) was Hillcrest Acres in Bismarck, a small, pretty place appropriately located on a hill, a forerunner to the scenery we’d see as we drove around the area for the next few days.

Hillcrest acres campground — *Fati getting comfortable*

Countless times, we wondered how those hills (variously called “buttes,” “hills,” “points,” and “ridges”) formed, why most were grassy but some were bare, and why glacial movement made North Dakota so undulating, but Michigan so flat. Wind and water played their part, but we’d like to talk with a geologist to find out more. That’s one of the beauties of travel; it inspires curiosity.

north dakota butte — *These odd outcroppings are everywhere*

Our first full day took us to Washburn, where we discovered the restored Fort Mandan, in an area the Lewis and Clark expedition spent the winter of 1804. The fort had various tiny rooms, such as quarters for soldiers, interpreters, and the captain, plus a smokehouse, blacksmith, and storage room.

Ruthie was absolutely captivated by the Sargent of the Guard’s quarters and didn’t want to leave. We don’t know why, but she was very clear about wanting to stay.

ruthie fort mandan — *We tried not to read too much into it, but “past lives” certainly came to mind*

She was less captivated by the statue remembering Seaman, the faithful Newfoundland dog who traveled with the expedition, but she dutifully sat for a quick picture.

A short stroll beyond the statue rewarded us with our first up-close view of the Missouri River, whose waters were low and many big sandbars could be seen. We would cross over the Missouri several times in the following days.

Just a short drive away from the fort was the Knife River Indian Villages National Historic Site (using their cultural terminology, not the terminology we might have chosen), with a recreation of a Native American earthlodge that marks the area many tribes used as a trading center.

A buffalo hide acts as the doorway into the lodge, and inside the temperature is about 10 degrees cooler. A deep, smokey smell permeates, which gave us a small sense of what living inside it would have been like. Ruthie lost her mind in there, loving all the new sniffs.

susan in earthlodge — *Ignore the man pants and man shirt*

earthlodge interior — *Ignore the man pants and man shirt*

The visitor center here was superb, giving an excellent overview of two tribes and their lifestyles. Although the day was cool and we could safely leave Ruthie in the car for a short time, we had to turn down the host’s offer to watch a movie, as our Floridian sensibilities made us uncomfortable leaving her for very long. But the exhibits were terrific, and we felt we learned more about the people who once lived there.

We drove further west for Lake Sakakawea (pronounced here as Sah-KAH-kuh-WEE-uh, not Sack-a-juh-WAY-uh), a huge lake set below stark cliffsides, which must be ideal for boating on summer weekends. The history of the lake is, predictably, one of eminent domain, force, and the subsequent throwing-of-a-bone in naming it after a famous figure who (it is my opinion) probably had as little say in her destiny as the land that now holds the lake named for her did.

This is the site of two-mile-long Garrison Dam, a three-part set of structures built by the U.S. Corp of Engineering in 1953, that includes a pump station…

…the dam itself…

…and a spillway that helps route water back into the Missouri when levels get too high. Neither of us are geeky in that way, but it was truly fascinating, and we spent a fair bit of time pointing and saying, “I wonder what that’s for….”

North Dakota’s oldest state park, Fort Abraham Lincoln State Park ($7 to enter), was our next stop, with three re-created blockhouses overlooking the Missouri River. On breezy summer days, the many narrow lookout windows must have afforded an excellent breeze. In winter, it must have been cold enough to freeze the brass whatsits off a monkey.

Fort Abraham Lincoln blockhouse — *One of the three blockhouses*

fort abraham lincoln window — *There are several of these narrow windows all around the blockhouse, some with fabulous views*

On-A-Slant Indian Village was within the park’s boundaries, too, and the earthlodges here were beautifully displayed, along with panels that described life in the Mandan tribe village from 1575-1781.

We were captivated by the idea that boys in the Mandan culture learned to shoot with accuracy by playing a game that involved throwing a hoop into the river and shooting an arrow into its moving center. According to an exhibit we saw, it was their belief that the dead buffalo they found floating in the river with each spring thaw were a result of these games. All of the children would have been treated to funny stories that told important tales.

Old Man Coyote and the Wild Potota legend

On the way out of the park, Simon made a quick right turn when he saw a sign for Custer’s House. We couldn’t take Ruthie in it, so we agreed Simon would check out the house while Ruthie and I waited in the car with the air conditioner on.

Twenty minutes later he was still standing on the house’s porch, so the following phone call ensued:

Susan: Hey. What’s going on?
Simon: Oh. Yes. It’s nice to hear from you. Uh-huh. I’ll let you know when I’m there.
Susan: What the hell are you talking about? I can see you standing on the porch, so I’ll certainly see you when you get back.
Simon: Okay, thanks! All the best. Bye for now.

When he got back to the car, he detailed the conversation a docent sitting on the porch (whom I couldn’t see) had at him. Not with him, at him. Simon asked what rank Custer was during the war, and 20 minutes later he knew everything from Custer’s blood type to his favorite dessert and whether he preferred tighty-whities or boxer-briefs. (Okay, not really, but the docent talked for a full 20 minutes, and Simon had to pretend I was someone important so as to break off the dissertation gently and with respect).

For those who cannot bear not knowing, it turns out Custer was a Lieutenant Colonel during the battle at Little Bighorn, but was a General during the Civil War and was allowed to keep that designation as an honorary title when that bloody war ended.

We finished the day at Standing Rock, an important stop along the Native American Scenic Byway. Our goal was to visit Sitting Bull’s burial site, which we found after many wrong turns, having blown past it on the way into town. Most people probably do that, too. There is only a small sign on the side of the road that indicates where this great man’s resting place is (or rather, was; he’s since been moved at the request of his grandchildren).

The grand brochure we were given at the Fargo visitor center did not prepare us for what we found at Standing Rock. Perhaps we missed the highlights, though we’re not quite sure how we could have. Instead – and we’re assuming a LOT, all of which may be wrong – we found a town completely void of energy, as if a total lack of opportunity and a heaping helping of injustice held the place and its people in a state of downcast limbo. We’ll end our sweeping assumptions there, and, with heavy hearts filled with compassion, put our energy into hoping all good things come to the people who, by choice or by historical force, make it their home.

A Year On The Road – The First Month

Want to see how far we’ve come in a month? This is the 31-day update of route – and distance – so far.

We now have a full month of our scheduled 12 officially in the books, and we have so far traveled a whopping 2,504 miles from home. We have crossed nine states, two time zones, and stayed in 14 different campgrounds and Harvest Host venues.

We have slowed down since our initial 7-day warp-speed approach (1,289 miles in that period; 1,215 in the 3 weeks since), and are paying more attention to savoring the sights as we travel. And we’re seeing some pretty stunning sights.

The route so far – 2,504 miles in 31 days, taking us from tropical Florida to the wide open spaces, and amazing scenery, of the Midwest and Northern Plains.

We are now in uncharted territory – for us – and ready for more adventures in the Dakotas, Montana and Wyoming. This is a hugely exciting part of the journey, with the areas rightly renowned for the wide open spaces of this huge country.

Having just arrived on the edge of The Badlands of North Dakota, the landscape is truly outlandish and full of intrigue. We’re here for the best part of a week, and will have a LOT more to report in due course.

The backdrop to our current spot in Medora, North Dakota, the Red Trail Campground, surrounded by the rugged scenery of The Badlands, and the gateway to Theodore Roosevelt National Park

For those keen on geography and geology, the term “Badlands” is a specific geologic feature of sedimentary rock erosion, and it creates some captivating and bizarre landscapes. We hope to see a lot of it in the next few days, as well as wildlife that should include bison, pronghorn antelope, bighorn sheep, deer, feral horses, and – Simon’s favorite – the prairie dog.

Gonna Take A Sentimental Journey

Minnesota’s North Shore provided a day of sights that filled our senses. Today would be a day that filled our hearts as we headed north again, this time aiming for Hibbing and the Iron Range, Ely and its picturesque forests, and, most of all, Eveleth, birthplace of Susan’s grandfather.

(Susan is writing the blog, so it’ll be in first person.)

My maternal grandfather was among the first ice hockey players who was picked up by a professional team and received a signing bonus along with his contract. Two of his four brothers also played pro hockey. When WWII broke out, pro hockey and their careers ended for the duration, but their passion for the sport they grew up with never died. Returning to Eveleth was, for me, a return to my family and the immense legacy they left their relatively small town, and, ultimately, the country.

Our first goal for this day was the Iron Range, specifically Hull Rust Mahoning Mine in Hibbing, where one of my grandfather’s brothers was – many long years ago – a miner before becoming a soldier during the war.

I recall a trip I made to the mine with my parents in my teenage years, and seeing the unbelievably massive dump trucks that moved the raw iron ore from the pits to waiting trains that would then journey to Duluth, Minnesota and Superior in Wisconsin and then to wherever steel was needed to help build this great country.

Hull Rust Mahoning Mine Simon with dumptruck

My grandfather’s proud Slovenian ancestry is strong in Eveleth. My family still has a black-and-white photograph of a man in his coffin, with my ancestor Frank Prelesnik and four other people standing next to the coffin. When Simon and I went to Slovenia and met family, they knew who that man was (his last name, IIRC, was Laser), and had heard about his demise in the mine.

Hull Rust Mahoning Mine is now known as the Grand Canyon of the North, and the viewing area we visited left no doubt that it deserved its nickname. You cannot get the scale of this place from photos, or even from the viewing area above it.

Hull Rust Mahoning Mine long shot — *Click the photo to make it larger and you’ll see the “tiny” dump trucks going up the earthen roadway.*

Standing next to the massive dump trucks, their tires tower over you. Compare the up-close view of this one to the trucks you see in the mine.

While we were there we met a man who once worked in another mine, and he shared some stories with us about his time there, before ill health due to his work forced him into retirement. It only reinforced our opinion that the folks ‘round here are as hearty as they come.

We moved on, aiming for Eveleth. I know I still have family there, but I don’t recall who they are, nor where exactly they live. I do remember when the Hockey Hall of Fame opened and my grandfather and his brothers were in it. We stopped by, hoping the attendant would let us look at the case I’d seen during my first visit, which had their exhibit in it, but instead we got to chatting with a man whose grandfather played on the team with my grandfather, and we relived their glory days.

Eveleth Minnesota downtown mural — *Hockey mural in downtown Eveleth*

Hockey Hall of Fame Eveleth Minnesota — *Hockey mural in downtown Eveleth*

I was sorry not to see the exhibit again (Ruthie was in the car, and we couldn’t really leave her there for long), but we took a drive around town and came upon a permanent display in the downtown area, where the Big Stick is located.

The Big Stick Eveleth Minnesota — *The Big Stick*

I asked Simon to stop, and I’d pop over and take a quick look, just in case. I’m sure the look on my face was priceless when I saw my grandfather’s name and photo as part of the display.

Louis Prelesnik on mural in Eveleth Minnesota — *My handsome Papa! His great grandson has his looks.*

Even more astonishing, he was in it not once, but twice. That’s him, directly in the center of this photo:

Louis Prelesnik Eveleth Rangers — *Second row, fourth from left*

My heart filled to bursting that he had such recognition in a town that lives and breathes hockey. I could not have been happier for him!

Filled with pride, we spent the next two days along a not-so-scenic byway,

crossed from Duluth into Superior on the Duluth Aerial Lift Bridge,

checked out a gas station built by Frank Lloyd Wright,

saw Paul Bunyan and Babe the Big Blue Ox, who hang out near the center of downtown Bemidji,

and paid a visit to the stunning Jay Cooke State Park, with its swinging bridge over the St. Louis River, which is the largest tributary of our good friend Lake Superior,

then capped it all of at Lake Itasca, the location of the headwaters to the mighty Mississippi River.

What a gift it was when we left the park and came across a new mama doe and her baby, who couldn’t have been more than a day or two old. She was making some poor decisions as regards crossing the road, and several of us stopped our cars and encouraged her to head back into the woods. I like to think she wised up, and that her baby stands a fighting chance at a good, long life.

*She was in the road, then out of the road, then her baby was in the road, then mama considered going into the road again….we hope this little newborn survived.*

But even that heartwarming encounter pales ever so slightly in comparison to seeing my Papa again, on skates, playing the game he loved.

What We Learned During Our First Month On The Road

June 14 marks the one-month point in our year-long Grand Adventure, and here’s what we’ve learned so far:

Things are going to break or need repair. Not sometimes, but all the d@mned time, starting immediately.

There are good people who are ready to help when things break or need repair. Some of them will require money for their assistance, some won’t. You’ll value both.

You’ll be that person in an online RV group who can help someone else who’s freaking out over whatever it is that broke or needs repair on their rig, because you’ve been there and gotten through it. And you’ll feel great knowing you helped.

Every itch or slight brush against your skin is immediately assumed to be a tick once you’ve pulled a tick out of your eyelid.

That screwdriver you used a few times a year in your sticks-and-bricks (house) is now your constant companion.

The ultraviolet water purifier works when it wants to work. When it’s working, fill up every receptacle you own for those times when it doesn’t work, and don’t bother wondering what made it stop, or what made it start again. You will never, ever know the answer.

You’ll be checking the temperature inside your refrigerator several times each day. It’ll either be freezing everything solid or hovering just under the “safe zone.” You’ll have no idea why.

Those frozen baby carrots in your fridge are nice and crunchy once they’ve thawed out a little bit.

Have canned chili in your cupboard at all times. It goes on everything and doesn’t need refrigeration.

The comforting smell of bacon and pancakes wafting through your window from your neighbor’s rig may make you shed a tear, but you’re not there yet. With the learning curve you’re on, your brain simply doesn’t have the capacity to safely combine propane cooking, proper refrigeration, and highly flammable fat. You will be there soon, but you’re not there yet.

Deet can be sprayed on clothing, but only certain clothing, and not when you’re wearing it, and not on a Tuesday, and not if you’re going to wear the clothing in less than two hours, and you should use skin Deet sometimes, but not under clothing, and not…..blah blah blah blah blah……..

When you get Advantix II dog tick repellant on your fingers – because how the hell else are you supposed to separate their thick fur than with your fingers, and the directions don’t tell you to wear gloves – you probably should rinse it off for the recommended 20 minutes, but you don’t actually have to call poison control, as also recommended on the back of the box.

Pull the gray tank while you’re rinsing your fingers for 20 minutes. That’s a lot of water.

When you take your Advantix II tick-repelling dog out for the first time after you put that stuff on them, bugs do actually stay away. Score, you genius!

When you’re driving the RV, you and your co-pilot will see the road surface in a way you never did before. When it’s rough, you’ll cringe over every single bump, because your rig has become a beloved friend and doesn’t deserve that abuse. When the road is smooth, you’ll feel a sense of euphoria you never knew was possible.

When you spill an entire glass of wine over your laptop, it will die of alcohol poisoning. Don’t fool yourself. It’s never going to live again. Just go get a new one, because this one is dead. And it won’t be the old one you spilled all that wine over. It’ll be the newer one. This is simply the way of it, so accept it and move on. Life is still worth living.

That washer/dryer combo you paid a shit-ton of money for is worth every single penny when you’ve got fresh laundry making your rig smell like a flower-filled summer’s day.

There is no rhyme nor reason for why any given roadway is designated “Scenic Byway.” As far as we can tell, that just means there’s either nothing but trees on both sides of the road, or trees that block whatever gorgeous view is just on the other side of them. Signs will indicate you might see a moose or a deer, but you won’t.

Deer live in the city. Go find them there. And when you find a mama with her brand-new baby you’ll feel like you’ve been given a gift you’ll never forget.

This is a big, big country. A country you THINK is big, but it’s even BIGGER than you THINK it is. It’s absolutely beautiful, and worth all the annoying, perplexing, and frustrating stuff it takes to allow you to see it.

Our second month starts tomorrow, and the good news is, we’re one month smarter than we were when we started. How lucky we are to be doing this!

A Year On The Road – Weeks 2-3; 691 miles

After our indecently hasty first-week charge through the center of the USA, our pace has (deliberately) slowed in weeks two and three. Instead of 1,289 miles in 7 days, we covered “just” 691 in 14 days; i.e. half the distance in twice the time. That’s still probably more than most dedicated RVers will travel in that time, but a better realization of what RV travel is all about.

We gave ourselves a day in Gaylord, three days in northern Michigan at Mackinaw City, seven in the Upper Peninsula in Munising for the superb Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore, one day in Crystal Falls, and then another seven as we crossed over into Minnesota at Duluth and pitched camp in Saginaw, just to the north-west.

The map of our route from Lansing, Michigan, to Saginaw, Minnesota, 14 days of excellent RV travel

That’s where we are right now, prior to our next major move – west through Minnesota and into the “undiscovered country” of North Dakota, Fargo, Bismarck and all. This will be entirely new territory for both of us, and we can’t wait to discover new adventures…

PS: The map shows it would take 11hr 33min (by car, non-stop) to cover the route that took us 2 weeks!

A Return to Ancestral Ground

The Land of Ten Thousand Lakes. Home to wolves, bobcat, coyote, bears, and, a long time ago, woolly mammoths, Minnesota is also the birthplace of Susan’s grandfather, a descendant of Slovenian immigrants seeking life and work in a place similar to home. And that means mining, a distinct accent, and winters harsh enough to freeze your bollocks off.

But our arrival was much more temperate, once we got past Duluth.

Those Steep Grade warnings on our GPS were the first test of our nerve before we head into mountain territory, and while Simon was eager to give it a try (with a healthy dose of respect), Susan was not so sure. Perhaps the person holding the steering wheel with their foot on the gas or the brake has a mental advantage over the helpless passenger.

Whatever the case, the downward grade proved to be a doddle. We’d had worse coming through the Appalachian foothills on our way up from Florida. The upward grade, however, would be a different matter.

Leaving Wisconsin meant crossing the St. Louis River into Duluth, where the unexpected sight of the John A. Blatnik Memorial Bridge brought on the heart-pounding terror of the Mackinaw Bridge crossing for one of us (Susan, obviously), with its massive rise and certain death by drowning if the rig went over.

In the end, it was butt-clenching but do-able, much more so than the Mighty Mack due to its higher sidewall and less visibility straight down to the river.

We could see the uphill Steep Grade we’d been warned about when we reached the end of the bridge. From there, it looked incredibly daunting – a nearly straight-up pitch with its full horror hidden by sweeping upward curves. Simon downshifted into second gear, checked that we were already in Tow Haul mode, and let Fati’s engine take the brunt of it.

We have no photos of it, of course, since Simon’s hands were gripping the wheel and Susan’s hands were gripping the armrests.

Our 11-ton rig performed magnificently, and once we were at the top of the hill we (and she) breathed a sigh of relief. The rest of the trip was pretty and uneventful, though we were immensely curious about the foggy pall that lay over Duluth, a meteorological phenomenon caused by air hitting the warm land after passing over Lake Superior’s deep, notoriously cold waters, which we’d encounter repeatedly over the next few days.

We were thrilled to be upgraded from a 30-amp back-in site to a 50-amp pull-thru when we checked in at Red Pine Campground in Saginaw, Minnesota, about 28 minutes north-west of Duluth. We parked between two fragrant pine trees with an Airstream RV on one side and nobody on the other, hooked up to water, electric, and sewer, then set off to see the sights.

Having learned our lesson with a tick scare on Ruthie after hiking in Michigan, the first order of business was to find some hiking clothes, ideally the kind that has tick and bug repellant built in. Menards – that vast warehouse of all things outdoors in Michigan – wasn’t far away. It also wasn’t anything like the ones in Michigan, and was really a gigantic Home Depot. Strike One. Walmart was Strike Two. In the land of outdoor adventure, either the locals never went outdoors, were far heartier than us, or already had hiking clothes.

Susan refused to go into any more stores that didn’t have the words Sporting Goods on them, and to our great joy we came upon Dick’s. But this wasn’t a big Dick’s. It was a little Dick’s. And no offense intended to anyone, but we were pretty sure we’d hate little Dick’s.

Simon waited in the car with Ruthie (again), while Susan dealt with the little Dick’s. Long story short, it wasn’t a little Dick’s, it was a big shopping mall with a little Dick’s. Apparently, women don’t hike, so half an hour later we both had a set of men’s hiking pants and shirts (and a massive cha-ching on our credit card), and we were off to the North Shore Scenic Drive with Gooseberry Falls as our turn-around point.

First up was a pull-off viewing area that led down to a small river that emptied into Lake Superior where, it seems, something spawns.

Roadside oddity Toms Logging Camp (no apostrophe needed, it seems) was our next discovery, and while they don’t allow dogs on the camp trail, we took a few minutes to explore the wacky gift shop and it’s homespun signs that explained the “décor” on the walls, from the type of timber used to build the shop to the mountain goat’s head and a grim description of how long it took to die after it was shot.

Simon in hat at Toms Logging Camp — *The most gorgeous cowboy in Minnesota!*

Susan had been hoping to find a small bag of long-grain wild rice, and we found it here, then we headed north again. Our packed-lunch stop was the lighthouse in Two Harbors, where the fog on Lake Superior was starting to roll in. We made it to the end and back, but during that walk the temperature dropped by about ten degrees, then rose again when we reached land.

Two Harbors Lighthouse — *You can see the fog in the background, which would be in the foreground soon.*

Even the over-achiever Canadian Goose couple with their 27 (!!) goslings were unimpressed.

Simon had too much blood in his caffeine stream, and we seriously needed warming up, so we popped in at Burlington Station, where he added eight hand-made truffles to the bill without asking how much they were. The total for the truffles and two mocha coffees came to $46, and the look on his face was priceless as he tried to hide his shock and horror.

In all fairness, they are absolutely scrummy, and we’re making them last as long as possible. But damn…that’s some serious cash for a couple of pounds of chocolate. You could buy a whole new check valve for your water pump for that price!

Gooseberry Falls was the most magnificent of all the falls we’d seen so far, so we’ll just let you enjoy them, as we did.

Fog followed us back along the coastline until we turned west and headed home again, where one of us flopped onto their bed, so exhausted by the day they couldn’t even close their mouth all the way before they fell into a deep, contented sleep.

Next up: A surprising and sentimental discovery!

How Northerners Spend Their Time

Lakenenland motorcycle skeleton — The winters here are long and dark

A trip back to Marquette to pick up a prescription was necessary, but a bizarre roadside attraction recommended by our dear friend Julie helped break up the trip, and, ultimately, made the whole journey worthwhile.

Lakenenland’s tongue-twister of a name hints at the quirky nature of the place, and the deliberately placed warning signs before entering the always-open always-free drive leaves no doubt there is a story behind its current location. The smaller sign reads:

“As a result of (8) eight years of continuous harassment from the township of Chocolay, the No Trespassing sign is directed at all local members of planning and zoning boards only. All other members are welcome here 24/7/365. Thank you for stopping and hope you enjoy your visit. Sincerely, Tom Lakenen”

Lakenenland welcome sign — Clearly, there has been some animosity

We’ve never been on those boards, so we spent a happy half-hour driving past various objects the intrepid Mr. Lakenen assembled into works of unusual art.

Tom has opinions, too, and (luckily for our mental health) we agreed with his support of front-line workers, nurses, and people who are currently being maligned by the likes of Florida’s dictator-wannabe. But most of the art is just fun, even when it’s a bit head-scratching.

Lakenenland mechanical band — Mechanical Band

Lakenenland tribute to Ukraine — Mechanical Band

We returned to Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore’s Sand Point for a final walk along the beach and were treated to two water rescue planes (Coastguard, maybe) doing training sessions. This is a photo of them landing in the bay. At least, it would have been if Simon had realized he had the camera’s lens turned to “unintentional selfie.”

Simon unintentional selfie pictured rocks national lakeshore

Even so, the magnificence of the beach and the lake was an ideal “goodbye” to the area, as we prepared for our speedy trip to the pretty Pentoga Park Campground in Crystal Falls, Michigan, where, we were assured, our hot water heater and water pump problems would be solved by mobile RV mechanic, Scott, who we found through our now-familiar go-to company, MyRVResource..

With such a short distance to drive to the campground, we stopped in the impossibly tiny town of Alpha, where we found The Village Longhouse, a cash-only coffee-and-cake stop that would waste an hour or so, allowing us to arrive at the campground right at check-in time.

While we were sitting in the shade with coffees and a piece of cake to split, one of the locals came out and asked if he could join us, saying, “I’m used to the people inside. I like it when there’s new blood I can talk to.”

In the U.S.’s current political division, we had some concerns about how this was going to go, but it seems we met a somewhat rare liberal in Upper Michigan, and the next hour passed quickly as we shared stories of travel and politics. Finally, it was time to leave, and in a short time we were pulling into the campsite, where the friendly camp host shared photos of her dog and let us scope out a site that was as level as possible.

Pantoga Park campground Crystal Falls Michigan — Pantoga Park campground

If you’ve been following us on Facebook, you already know the outcome of our hot water heater issue. The heights of joy, and the crushing next-day disappointment. Susan’s much-needed hot shower, and Simon’s agonizing path to cleanliness. We laugh about it now, as we hope you will, and we accept the hard-earned titles of “total twonks.”

Calm restored, we left Michigan the next morning and drove through America’s Dairyland on our way to our Minnesota campground. It had become our habit to do a wildlife count as we drove, and so far the tally was meager, with only one deer, several wild turkeys, and the hugely surprising sight of a gray wolf crossing the road just outside Marquette.

Perhaps the most surprising sight of all came when we stopped at a gas station in the middle of god-knows-where, only to discover what we thought was a convenience store was really a bar filled with ATV-ers swilling back Michelob and cocktails before “hitting the dust” again. The massive Frontier Bar sign on the front of the building was a hint, but, as we’ve so often done, we didn’t take it.

Frotier Bar Wisconsin — This photo is worth clicking on for some Up North humor

Frontier Bar sign — This photo is worth clicking on for some Up North humor

We did take a chicken strips basket to-go and split it in the rig, then made the rest of the journey into Minnesota while our GPS flashed the warning signs for a 6-degree Steep Grade going downhill and a second Steep Grade of 6-9 degrees going up.

Next up: Whoa!!! That’s one hellofa Steep Grade!

A Year On The Road – The First Week; 1,289 miles, and counting

The first week of our grand “Year On The Road” adventure – and a LOT of miles!

Considering how far we’ve come in the initial phase of our great American road trip by RV, we thought it was worth highlighting our route, and how much ground we covered.

In reality, the first week of our ‘Year On The Road’ was effectively the “shakedown cruise,” the testing ground for our ability to actually drive this remarkable vehicle (that’s Indefatigable, or Fati for short, plus our tow vehicle or ‘toad’, Nippy).

Our initial route, through Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky and Indiana, before arriving in Michigan

In all we covered 1,289 miles through the first seven days, traveling from our home base in Orlando to Lansing, Michigan. That’s a LOT of miles for an RV in such a short time, and we had some challenges along the way but, in general terms, Fati handled it with aplomb.

Our first target was to reach Michigan, to set up the second phase of our route, which will take us into the Northwest of the country, via Minnesota and the Dakotas. Realistically, we achieved our main target and have got the hang of the driving and setting up camp at each location.

Normally, regular RVers wouldn’t travel and set up camp every day, but we wanted to see if we could manage a tough schedule before moving on to Phase 2. We certainly have a few issues to deal with (including the lack of hot water!), and we’ve had to consult various RV authorities, including the excellent MyRVResource.com, but we’re happy that we’ve grasped some of the essential principles of RV travel, and we’re ready for more adventures in the weeks and months ahead!

Mission: Marquette

Simon in Pictured Rocks forest — Discover the forest, discover yourself

Armed with actual information we actually bothered to look up, we headed out on Saturday for a day in Marquette, Michigan, nestled on the shore of Lake Superior just 38 miles west of our campground. Highway 28 afforded a tantalizing view of the great lake nearly all the way.

We stopped at several overlooks along the way, one of which led down to a beach, where we met a couple from Wisconsin who were knee-deep in the calm, freezing-cold water searching for agates, those pretty, banded rocks that, when shined up, make lovely jewelry. We didn’t know at that time that it’s (say it quietly) illegal to collect rocks along the lakeshore, so after a pleasant chat we wished them good luck in their endeavor.

Rock hunting at Lake Superior beach — We marveled at how still the water was, and could only imagine it at its most wintertime angry.

Marquette itself is a city, but also not a city; bigger than a town, but still entirely approachable, with a few streets that make up the downtown area. It can call itself a city because it has a cathedral, but we were here for its fabled dog-friendly nature, with Presque Isle Park as our goal.

Downtown Marquette MI — Downtown Marquette.
Apologies for the windshield glare

Downtown Marquette.
Apologies for the windshield glare

Iron ore was the main economic driver in the area, starting in 1911, and the massive ore dock in the harbor is still in use today. We stopped for a quick photo of this impressive piece of engineering, and that’s when we saw the first of many, many NO DOGS signs.

Marquette ore dock — The ore dock loads freighters up for moving taconite (iron ore pellets) from Marquette to distant places

You can’t fight city hall, especially when you’re a tourist, so we drove around the park, then searched for any lakeside parking area that didn’t forbid our sweet Ruthie. None found, we decided to pick up some fresh produce at the Saturday Farmers Market, which also had the glaring red circle with a slash through it, superimposed over the image of a dog.

Marquette Presque Isle Park — All we could enjoy at Presque Isle Park

Marquette Farmers Market — All we could enjoy at Presque Isle Park

In the end, we simply enjoyed the downtown architecture, which was impressive, and started our search for a dog-friendly lunch stop.

Of the five options outlined by the Visitor Center’s leaflet, one was closed, one had no outdoor seating, two had just a couple of tables outdoors, all of which were filled, and the fifth we never found. But none of that mattered when we found the Co-Op Grocery, Marquette’s answer to Whole Foods.

Three little pasta-based salads, an iced coffee, and a sparkling water later (with a scone thrown in for good luck) we ventured over to the sadly-named Dead Lake (so called not because it’s dead, or people who use it get dead, but because the Native people here recognized it as a place where their ancestors dwell), and after a small false start we came upon Tourist Park, a cozy picnic table in the sun, and a little girl named Amelia who fell in love with Ruthie. Lunchtime perfection!

With so much success in the wake of failure, we agreed another trip out to Pictured Rocks State Park was in order the next day, this time with actual knowledge of its location as our guide. And what a pay-off! We took short hikes, we walked on beaches, and we saw magnificent waterfalls, the final one being the majestic Miners Falls.

Minors Falls Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore — You can’t really get the size of this majestic falls, so check out the video Simon posted on our Veness Travel Media Facebook page

It was during this hike that we realized most of our photos were of the forests, and it really hit home how starved we’d been for nature. Florida has plenty of fascinating natural features, some of which hold a deep desire to kill you, but there’s something about a forest – deep and dappled and filled with the promise of frolicking deer and racoons – that touches a heartstring and plays a soul-stirring tune.

Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore forest with river — Life is good with a forest and a river as your companions

Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore forest with wildflowers — Life is good with a forest and a river as your companions

Lunch this day – the 18^th anniversary of the day we married – was in the remarkable Grand Marais on the far eastern edge of Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. The Midwestern version of a wild west town, it had a single street that made up the downtown area, with just a handful of shops and dining outlets.

Dog-friendly patio? Check! Stunning view of Lake Superior? Check! Lots of Midwesterners and their amusing accents? Double check, with a heaping helping of off-road vehicles and a pint or two of beer for all of the over-21s. Chilly temperatures that required a run back to the car for our sweatshirts? That happened, too.

ATVs Grand Marais — How the cool kids get around

But none of the inconvenience mattered when we found Lake Perch on the menu. It’s Susan’s childhood in a basket, along with sides of coleslaw and French fries, and, with a pint each of local beer to toast our massive good fortune, we celebrated our anniversary to the strains of country music with lyrics that mentioned sex on a pontoon boat (“a slow-motion party”), sexy girls on tractors, and something about one man’s distain for another man’s testicles, complete with that word actually sung for all to hear.

Grand Marais lake perch — Cold, but happily splitting an Anniversary basket of Lake Perch with her beloved

Tomorrow: What in the name of all that is holy is that banging sound?