Part 3 of 3.

The journey continues.

As the time drew near to leave Wyoming last summer on the road trip to Michigan, I needed to make space somewhere in the car for Dave. I had purged my life in Seattle down to 1 full Honda hatchback with 2 bikes hanging off the back. By emptying 2 big duffle bags, I was able to save space by stuffing the contents into the back of the car 1 piece at a time. I ended up leaving behind a few items. Provides an excuse to return to WY, I suppose. Josh met us at the barn down the road. He had plans to adorn the front of the Honda with a set of antlers for the trip. Nice.

With our ramen and PB&J supplies between Dave’s feet on the passenger side floor, we left under the hot sun and pointed ‘er east. Near as I could figure, we had 20+ hours of driving.

The backroads. Where you’re never quite sure if you’re on the right road. All the better.

It took some miles on the pavement to figure out where many items fit within the car. Every nook and cranny stuffed perfectly. Given the wide open landscape, it didn’t appear that we were getting anywhere fast, but we didn’t care. 80 degrees, 75mph, windows down, hay and barley fields to the right and left.

“Where you’s boys headed”, I heard over my shoulder pumping gas. I started up my best Jerry Reed voice, “eastbound and down, loaded up and truckin”. I turned my head with a half smile hoping for the same. Wish granted. “Guess the Washington plates gave us away, huh?”, I said. “We’re headed toward the Great Lakes State, making a few stops along the way.” “Alllllright!”, he responded. “Love them mid-westerners - have a couple of ‘em in our family. Be safe now, ya hear?!”, he demanded with a nod under his cowboy hat. “You know it”.

Shortly after this friendly exchange, we began our way up a canyon, crisscrossing over a river that was flowing spry with fresh spring run-off. The steep grade and tight turns required 2nd and 3rd gear. Trusty little 4-cylinder was working hard, but our attention lay on the beautiful landscape surrounding us. A roadside park with waterfall in the name beckoned us. We stepped inside the small National park building to inquire about a campground we had in mind. Three 18-year-old girls clad with freshly ironed forestry service tan-and-greens fought to tell us basically nothing. Except, we’d see moose wherever we camped. Thanks. Based on the size of parking lot and park itself, I’d say we’re wasting government dollars paying 3 teenage hosts. Guessing I’m not the first to come to this realization. We spent 30 minutes stretching our legs, soaking in some sun and enjoying the cool air billowing up the steep canyon walls along the river. The sun was catching the mist and casting a small rainbow.

“Moose.”

I’ve seen them before, but it honestly doesn’t get old seeing these massive creatures. We had cleared the steep uphill road and were on the top of a mesa. I could see it far off grazing salix along the river.

Only a couple miles further we found the dry dirt road that would lead us 2 miles to the campground. It’s common courtesy to drive slowly and keep from kicking up dust, but with no one around, it only seemed right to pin it and kick up as much as possible.

Admittedly, I chose the campground based on nothing more than a little green triangle on the road atlas map. It appeared to be both on a river and at elevation, which seemed appealing. Deep enough in the landscape, there was no cell reception. Ideal. We snagged a site backed up to the meadow where we were close enough to hear the river. I think we were the only ones without sunburn or a mullet. Seems we stumbled on an area famous for ATV’s and Razors. They were all done for the day, kicked back in their fancy lawn chairs drinking keystone light. I imagine they were sizing us up as well. “Don’t these guys know there’s no biking around here? Ha! They’re going to eat our dust tomorrow!”

After setting up our tent, we hiked through the meadow and followed the river for a while noticing deer, moose and bear scat. It felt like we were in a movie where you know there’s a scary part coming. Sure enough. Twigs and branches snapped to our right and we could see a moose hoofing away from us. Another stood up ahead, between us and where we wanted to go. Planning our escape route, we got as close as we dared. She paused, stared and looked blankly at us with greens curling over her big lips. They are undeniably intimidating beasts. Making our way back, we paused many times taking in sights, sounds, and smells. Deer, birds, unique trees, bright green and pink lichen, the river, and rainbow trout swimming amongst cool rocks.

Since my Traumatic Brain Injury, all my senses are heightened. It’s like experiencing senses for the first time. Colors look more vibrant, everything smells more pungent, tastes buds are heightened, and it sounds as though you have a permanent whisper-2000 implant in your ear. Out in nature, this hypersensitivity is incredible.

As we returned to the campground, we looked back across the meadow. A unique sunset with clouds that looked like bubbles sitting on top of each other. The silhouette of the tall evergreens framed underneath.

Peggy, the host, confirmed bear mulling about the campground on a regular basis. All I could think about was the similarities we’d be to a Reese’s peanut butter cup in our tent. Thin layered outside, rich and tasty on the inside.

I made top cuisine ramen while Dave got the fire going. After our fine dining experience at the picnic table, we enjoyed the crackling hot fire as the stars got brighter and brighter. What a display.

We settled into our mummy bags for a crisp cold night. I only had to water the bushes once during the night, my headlamp at max output, scanning the woods for hungry eyes.

The brightness and heat of the sun awoke us.

As the ATV’s left the campground single file, we made oatmeal and tore down camp. Before leaving, we both jumped in the river. An invigorating, ice-cold experience. One that left us feeling alive and stoked for the day ahead.

Having researched hikes and high points in the area days before, we discovered a fire lookout tower. Packing only a couple snacks and water, we ascended quickly. The plan was to do a decent hike before putting in some hours behind the wheel. Dave had the bear spray clipped to his belt just in case. Though a short hike, it was steep and full of switchbacks near the peak. Our motors were working hard, much like the Honda the previous day.

Once at the top, we circled the deck of the boarded-up fire tower. After a few clicks of the camera, we decided to sit down and hydrate for a few minutes. I sat 3 feet to the left of Dave, downwind. A mistake, I would soon realize. It’s not what you’re thinking. Worse. I heard what sounded like a paint can spraying. Only milliseconds later, I was in agony. As he sat down, the safety somehow came off the nozzle of the bear spray and the thick cloud of terror made its way into my face. As I gagged and teared up immediately, I turned over on my stomach leaning over the edge of the tower. I couldn’t breathe and thought I was going blind at the same time. The burn. Oh my gosh, the burn. “Water!”, I exclaimed, “I need water!”. I rinsed out my mouth a few times and then turned on my back asking Dave to rinse out my eyes. Each time I tried to open them, it felt worse. More burning. After a few rinses and realizing I would survive, we laughed. Hard. So hard, I cried again, and man, did that feel good.

Once back on the road, we enjoyed the drive over mountains and through the greenest valleys chock full of wildflowers. We passed through touristy towns selling wood carvings, t-shirts, and ice cream. Families on vacation all dressed in tie-dye shirts mixed in with cavalries of Harley riders. Good people watching. We had Devil’s Tower in our sights and only stopped for gas.

It seems odd when you get to the tower. It’s a massive tall rock in the middle of nowhere. A climber’s paradise. With only a little light left in the day, we walked up to the base to snap a few pics and enjoy the view. As we departed, a storm rolled in. We pulled over and watched clouds tumble over on themselves, white to gray to darker gray. In these parts of the country, you can see everything developing from miles away. We were committed. An incredible electrical lightning show ensued. We tried outrunning the storm, but it was too late. The wind began whipping so hard that my car started swaying as we drove. Between the hard rain, hail, and foggy windows, we couldn’t see anything. We turned back. There was an RV park near the tower, so we parked and waited for the worst of it to pass over. I wondered how my car would survive if the hail turned golf ball size like the radio was predicting. The plan to camp that night seemed like a dumb idea. After 30 minutes or so, we drove cautiously through the back end of the storm, admiring the lightning display in the distance. We found a hotel an hour away and rested well that night knowing we weren’t bear snacks.

Mt. Rushmore is a chiseled masterpiece. One I wasn’t interested in seeing. Dave thought we should since we were in the area, so I caved and we joined all the other sweaty tourists with crying kids. After parking the car, we walked up, marveled, took a photo, used the restroom and were back in the car within 20 minutes. We both agreed it was worth the photo.

The badlands sounded like more fun. We took the backroads again and enjoyed the dusty back entrance. Another perfect road to open ‘er up and let the dust fly. We timed it perfectly without knowing. The bright yellow sweetclover flowers were in bloom everywhere. Buffalo, big horn sheep, deer, and raptors were checking us out from all angles.

We met Harry and Suzie while shooting a few roadside images. They were riding their Harley from Alaska to the east coast. Friendly folks. We asked about sore butts. “First few days, yeah, but you get used to it”, Harry responded. I instantly thought of my high school teacher, Mr. Backus. He always looked like he was permanently sitting on a Harley, legs and knees fully bowed out. Wonder if he was a Harley guy.

The park had a campground with first come, first serve campsites. We pulled in behind 1 car. They got the last site. “Newman!” We left our phone number with the Ranger and hoped to score a cancellation.

After a lot of driving, it was time to move the blood around. We found a short hike with a vista on the map. We parked and gathered a few items. Before we could open the car door, a family passed in front of the car. The eldest woman caught her pant leg on the antlers that adorned the bumper. “Got one”. We couldn’t help but laugh.

The hike led us through hollowed-out portions of layered rock in a variety of colors. It was challenging keeping our eyes off the views, but rattlesnake caution signs reminded us to look down every 2 seconds. While we were out there, I received a call from Ranger Rick confirming a campsite for us. Newman had canceled. Perfect.

It was hardly an excuse for a campsite. It was the typical concrete circle with small grass plots identified by a number on a piece of wood in the ground. There was 1 large tree in the middle. Though it wasn’t a campsite, we set up under the tree taking advantage of the 1 shady spot in the entire campground catching stares from those nearby.

The evening unveiled another star show we wouldn’t forget. From our campsite, we walked 15 minutes to an amphitheater where the national park service provided educational presentations. They had 3 hubble telescopes to look through. Not really hubbles, but they were high powered enough to show us Saturn, her moons, and Jupiter. Ranger Rick explained it had a GPS in it, which allowed the telescope to follow the planets as they moved across the sky. Unreal.

A guy who stumbled up late cut in line to use the scope, much like the kid in 2ndgrade that no one cared for. He squinted one eye for all he was worth, wrinkling all the skin on his face. He was dressed in full denim, mid 50s, weathered face with a thick mustache. “Pfff, I’ve seen better ‘n that”, he blurts out. “Don’t waste your time in line waiting for this view, y’all!” he exclaims and walks off into the dark night. His antics provided some good belly laughs.

We got a decent night of sleep preparing for the 12 hour jaunt to Chicago. Before leaving the next morning, we waited 40 minutes for the Minutemen exhibit to open. If you’re unfamiliar, as we were, Minutemen showcases the history of nuclear missiles stationed underground in silo’s during the cold war. Rumor had it, you could stand over one of the silos and look down in at the unarmed missile. Wow.

As we sat in the parking lot snacking on clementine’s, a Mustang raced in the lot and parked conveniently over the yellow line in 2 spots. A girl in her early 20’s jumped hastily out of the car in park service threads, pulling her hair back in a pony tail. It was clear she’d been late one too many times.

Shortly after, she and 2 other young women made their way out to the flagpole, carefully raising the stars n stripes. Having read a lot of non-fiction war stories over the last 10 years, I have so much more love, appreciation, and respect for this simple task. We followed them into the exhibit and poked around for a few minutes. Having enough of the postcards, Life magazine covers and old Zenith TV’s showing 1950’s news, I was ready for the missile. I approached the counter where 4 National Park staff stood. Again, why 4? Do we need 4 people to man the exhibit in case someone turns one of the tv channels? I didn’t ask. Maybe I should’ve. Instead, I asked about the missile. “Yeah, that’s an hour west of here at the missile site”, she said with a smile. I stood expressionless. Seemed logical. I mean, why put the exhibit building close to the missile? Only thing I could come up with was, maybe it was still secretly armed and they didn’t want to be near in case all hell broke loose and one of these things fired. I think I pushed the exhibit exit door a little hard on my way out.

Chicago and more time with close friends were calling. Good conversations, podcasts, PB&J’s, and tea made a day on the road go by nicely.

Once there, we’d experience guided fly-fishing on the Du Page River by our friend, Graham. Between tangles and knots, we’d hook into some nice smallmouth bass. Getting up before the fish are even awake proved worthwhile. Usually is. The next day, a 93 degree scorcher, we spent in the pool with our friends and their kids. More quality time with my godson, an honor I’ll never grow tired of.

The 2-hour drive around the bottom of Lake Michigan completed the trip. I may have sped at one point. It only seemed right to end the trip that way, besides a hug from my Mom awaited.

I know not how many miles the trip was, but it doesn’t matter. It’s cliché, but it’s all about the journey. Each of us is on a unique and beautiful journey through life.