Wyoming: Oil Wells and Parking Lots, Rainbows and Snow

One of my personal goals for our trip out West was to reset my children’s view of the ‘outside.’ If you ask a typical child in Ohio what ‘outside’ looks like, they will give you a very good description from their three-foot vantage point. They will tell you that there are cars and trees and grass and sidewalks and a road and dirt and bugs (giggle) and worms (giggle giggle) and dead worms (hee hee) and poop (bwaa ha ha ha).

They know exactly what it looks like outside their window.

Some places, like this parking lot in Wyoming, look a lot like Ohio. The children are having a 'dance break.' After the first 1500 miles, you start doing all kinds of silly things.

My children enjoy reading about the National Parks and the United States and other places, so they “know” what other places look like.

It doesn’t look the same in real life. It just doesn’t. My kids need to see very, very different places in books and THEN see them in real life. Because, truly, the pictures in a book are only hints to what a scene feels like and smells like and, well, you get the picture.

It is hard to believe that there is not much grass in India until you have been somewhere without much grass. You expect grass. You might even start thinking that grass is normal.

You might also think that it never snows in June.

You might think that you know which direction a river is flowing just by watching that river. That is, until you realize that the dam is on what you thought was the up side of the river. Trust me, watching a river flowing uphill is very jarring. I will assure you that the Powder River flows uphill – at least from the perspective of a casual observer.

Once you realize grass isn’t a given (or the flow of a river), you might even start to realize that many other expectations are just not to be expected either.

Oil wells might even appear beautiful in the right light.


Eventually, you will realize that the unexpected is sometimes even better than your original plan, if you will only stop to look.

You will also realize that sleeping in Walmart parking lots is free. I've slept at many expensive hotels around the world, except I don't remember that part because my eyes were closed.

A Shaking Bum in a Bad Land

The Badlands (Saturday, June 13th – Day 3)

After we completed our short hike with the Ranger that culminated the year-long wait for their Badland Junior Ranger badges, we did the unthinkable.

We took a drive.

In spite of the interesting scenery, you can well imagine that the children had an interest in another hike.

“Can we please, please, please, climb a mountain, Mom?”

I took Andrew and Gladys up a small ‘badland’ near the campsite, while Jay prepared dinner (and George probably colored at the table). If you are a Ranger reading this, please know that it was that little hill beside the amphitheater that is climbed every evening by evening program watchers. My Junior Rangers would never climb a badland that was outside of a trail. The kids yell at me if I get off the trail to take their picture.

It doesn't really look that steep.

But, it is pretty steep. That is our truck down below.
The hike was very short. I promised them a ‘better hike’ before we left for Yellowstone the next day.

I promise.

Sunday, June 14th – Day 4

We had a full breakfast that morning in the camper. After Gladys and Andrew came back from throwing away the trash, we drove to the Notch Trail.

I probably should have read this sign more carefully before we started. On the other hand, we could have followed the GPS and read our gas gauge as well.


Gladys and Andrew bounded off down the canyon. I ran after them snapping pictures and barely finding my footing. Within minutes, Jay and George were left in our badland dust.

When the fairly narrow canyon took a left and became narrower, the trail turned right up a log-and-wire ladder to the top of the ridge.

Gladys and Andrew scrambled up the ladder.



That is Jay and George at the bottom of the ladder.

I followed fairly close behind Andrew once it became steep, encouraging him up the tall stairs until he was hoisting himself up the log ladder, one rung at a time. He seemed fine. Gladys dangled her legs down at us from the ridge until we made it to her level.

Andrew looked at me with an unusual expression.

“Mom, my bum is shaking,” he said with a nervous giggle.

“Are you a little nervous, Andrew?”

“No. My bum is just shaking.”

“Maybe you should sit down here until it stops,” I recommended.

It was a steep cliff. Andrew was born and raised in the flat lands of Ohio – with a mother who likely pleaded for him to 'please be careful' every 3 minutes for the first couple years of his life.

Now, in spite of his stoic bravery, his bum shook with fear.

He did sit for a moment, but his enthusiasm for the hike and a wellspring of bravery he probably never knew he had kept him pushing just a little farther down the path. We did continue a short distance down the knife-edge cliff, but it soon became very narrow and I became concerned for safety. The rocks were quite loose. Andrew could have fallen from fear (I was concerned he would succumb to it eventually) – Gladys would have fallen due to fearlessness.

We could see Jay and George looking down the canyon, but I don't believe you can pick them out in the picture above. That is the trail we hiked.

"Daddy's waiting with George, let's go back."

We returned to the ladder. Andrew seemed a little nervous, in spite of his claims to the contrary, so I backed down the ladder in front of him one rung at a time. I went back up for Gladys and helped her down in the same way. She had to hang from one knee in order to reach all the way to the next rung with her other foot.

They bounded back down the trail, proud of their ascent to the summit.

It was 11am in South Dakota. Our next stop longer than 20 minutes would be in Western Wyoming, long after dark.

While we were on the cliff, George had fun with his Dad. He jumped streams, found flowers, animal tracks, and discovered some unusual cliff-dwelling birds.

Paternal Insanity - in a naturalist sort of way

As we approached Chicago on June 12th (Day 2), we had a choice. We could take the “southern route” in I-80 and arrive at Jackson, WY as quickly as possible according to our GPS. Or, we could take the “northern route” via I-90 through South Dakota. We were planning to return via I-80, but we also realized that we probably would be screaming back to Ohio with little time to take in the sights.

It wasn’t much of a decision. After our trip to South Dakota last year, we had returned without the coveted Junior Range Badge from the Badlands. The Badlands required that the children attend a specific Ranger Program that we could not make happen. My children love the Badlands (remember Andrew’s birthday party last year?). And, they also take a tremendous pride in their collection of Junior Ranger badges.

We took I-90.

Of course, you cannot take I-90 through Wisconsin, Minnesota and South Dakota without experiencing the roadside culture. That would be disgraceful.

In Wisconsin, you must visit the Great Cow of Ehrenbacher’s Cheese Haus.

In Minnesota, one should never miss the Jolly Green Giant in Blue Earth.

And, if you are going to stop, you should take in a gourmet meal from the DQ. We wouldn’t miss it, I assure you.

Before the close of business in Minnesota, I called the Badlands.

“The next Junior Ranger Program is at 10:30am tomorrow?” I repeated it back to the Ranger on the phone.

“That’s right.”

“Thank you.”

I looked at Jay, who pondered the information. “I only really need six hours of sleep. We’ll sleep in the car and I’ll set an alarm.”

I nodded my head. I expected as much. You would think we were on a road trip chasing down a rock band. I am sure people have been branded as ridiculous for merely standing in line for tickets to see a Disney princess. We hauled our trailer across three states and slept in the car in two truck stops (same night) so our kids could receive their Junior Ranger badges in the Badlands.

I’ll call it paternal insanity, knowing I am guilty as a full accomplice.

I never relish sleeping in a passenger seat in a truck stop. I suspect I am too old for such ridiculous behavior, and probably even setting a bad example for my brood.

On the other hand, I recall reading somewhere that the Western Prairie is often poetically described as a ‘sea of land.’ I have driven across the prairie a few times, and flown over it many, and I never truly understood the analogy. It is pretty flat like an ocean, sort of. If you see grain, it does ‘wave’ like an ocean – well, sort of. I always thought it was a poetic exaggeration.

I saw it with my own eyes at about 5:30 am. My pictures do not do it justice. When it comes to the emotion of a landscape, no camera will ever do. The picture is merely a bookmark for my memory. A 360 degree sea of fog with small hills that look like islands or even waves.

It is so difficult to describe, but I won't forget it.

It almost made me forget that I slept in a truck stop.

From then on we watched the sunrise unfold.

After our incredible morning, we found we had made good time, so we stopped at a diner for breakfast. Since there were eight Ford trucks in the parking lot, we were sure we had made it to the right place. The folks inside confirmed that for us quickly.

And, yes, we made it to the Badlands National Park in time for the kids to receive their badges – before noon on Saturday. George will show you his badge.

"See!"

Gladys looks cool and nonchalant. After all, it is barely noon on Saturday and we just left on Thursday evening. All she had to do was eat snacks and sleep in her car seat - and she even got a badge.

Life is soo good.

Day 2 - Automotive Engineering Shame (June 12th)

When you see this,

You call one of these.

If you don’t make the call, then you must participate in the ultimate “Fuel Systems Engineering Walk of Shame.”

At 8:51am, on I-80 in Indiana, we made the embarrassing call.

“Hello. BP Service.”

“Hi. Goodmorning.”

“Can we help you?”

“Yeah, I’m on I-80 in an F-150 truck and trailer with my kids and we’ve run out of gas.”

“Okay, Honey. I’ll send someone out as soon as I can."

She called me "Honey." They were very nice. I didn’t mention that my husband was driving. I didn’t point out the $150k we’ve spent on higher education - that might stand in humorous contrast to our apparent lack of common sense.

I didn’t mention that we have over 20 years of Ford engineering experience in our vehicle, mostly in fuel systems.

I sat there with a sweet smile on my face, looking at my husband, wondering if he was thinking what I was thinking.

He laughed. “I guess they finally fired him.”

“Yes,” I agreed immediately. “I certainly hope so.”

We were both on the same wavelength, continuing an ongoing conversation that has resurfaced occasionally over the past 15 years of our relationship. Without lowering myself to the depths of severe character defamation in print, let us just say that we knew an engineer at Ford that didn’t deserve the title of ‘engineer.’ And, it so happened, that this fellow worked in the fuel gauge department.

He believed that fuel gauges should read what a person wished them to show, rather than simply conveying a true measurement. You don’t really want to know that you don’t have a full tank anymore, right? That might make you sad. (This belief transferred into all parts of his character, which is rather incongruent with being an engineer. I’ll have to refrain from details, I promised to avoid severe character defamation.)

I can assure you that none of the fuel gauges in Ford vehicles I have owned have been accurate. I can also assure you that designing a reasonably accurate gauge is not a huge engineering feat.

Our F-150 has a very, very accurate fuel gauge. We have data to prove it. (We also have data regarding our gas mileage for the entire trip, but those results truly ARE shameful and resulted in our exclaiming “Holy Carbon Footprint!” See another mommy-of-MIT's post explaining how to help.)

And so, two fuel systems engineers sat on the side I-80 in Indiana, laughing and happy because Ford has finally fixed the fuel gauge problem.

With a certain sense of pride, fewer dollars in our pocket, and a mere hour lost, we once again continued down the road. The rest of the day brought only mild surprises.

There was the white plastic sheet that blew onto our windshield. Nice.

There was the half-dead deer at the semi-truck side of the rest stop. Gladys, George and I waited outside our locked truck for a few minutes watching policemen hovering around the wounded animal. They did not want to ‘put it down’ until we left. We couldn’t go anywhere until Jay returned. Lovely.

Then, there was the decision in Chicago between I-80 or I-90 to Jackson, Wyoming. The GPS claimed that one way was a full hour longer than the other.

Giddy from experiencing the rigid accuracy of our fuel gauge, we lost all sense of logic.

We took the long way and never looked back.

Day 1 - Evening Departure on Thursday, June 11th

A journey of 6,425 miles starts with one step – and sometimes that is indeed the most difficult. I had told a friend that we would leave on Thursday, even if we only made it as far as her driveway - a mere two miles closer to the Interstate. I wasn’t exactly kidding.

At some point, you have to fire all the planners, throw away the lists, and simply leave. At 6:35pm, we did just that.

Of course, at 6:35pm the children hadn’t eaten (nor had we). We needed ice. We needed gas. So, John stopped at Sheets and I ran across the street to the McDonalds in the rain.

The trailer did not fit in the parking lot.

On my way back across, arms loaded with dinner and drinks for five, I saw our fully loaded truck and trailer at the gas station. The bikes on the rear rack hinted at the size of its occupants, and anticipated their adventures to come.

Still, I couldn’t believe that this is us – our family.

Jay pulled around. Realizing the precariousness of my load, he jumped out of the F-150 and ran around to open the door. The rain seemed to pause for a moment, giving way to his chivalry.

Indeed. My family. Our trailer. My husband. He was rewarded with a kiss as I hopped into the truck.

The children played car bingo and shape games until they fell asleep around 10pm. We drove on until midnight, finally stopping at a KOA somewhere in Indiana.

The picture above shows our happy children, the so-called ‘pit crew’ helping to ready the camper for our departure early Friday morning.

An hour or so later, we would experience a very, very embarrassing setback.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. You'll have to enjoy their smiles until Day 2.

Home Again Home Again

We are back. We rolled in last night, the 4th of July, at 11:30pm.

The last few hundred miles in the car, we pointed out the fireworks to each other as our final ‘car game.’ It was after 10pm and I heard Andrew and Gladys talking.

“I remember everything that is in our house,” Andrew boasted.

“I remember everything too,” Gladys agreed quickly.

“I hope there is really ripe fruit at home now. I can’t wait to see!”

“Ripe fruit!” George agreed.

“I don’t think so,” my husband replied, “or at least I hope not.”

I chuckled to myself. “I threw away all the fruit on the counter before we left. There won’t be any food at home, much less any over-ripe fruit.”

“No, Dad, I meant the raspberries!” Andrew explained.

Ah, yes, the raspberries in the backyard. They were ripening when we left. I had told the kids they might be ready when we returned home.

After 23 days, nine National Parks, 11 states, and 6,425 miles, one might think five reasonably intelligent humans would come to understand each other implicitly.

No, of course not. We are who we are.

I do think we all grew a little closer. We wrote another chapter of shared history. We made some new connections. We all learned something new every day.

And, we made a really, really big mess of the truck. (Which, as I reminded my husband, is WHY.WE.BOUGHT.THE.TRUCK - yes, we bought the truck to use it. And, boy-oh-boy did we use the truck - inside and out.)

We had a really, really good time. And, I am going to tell you all about it, page by page from my journal – the highlights, the changed plans, the minor calamities, and even a few dead animals.

My several memory cards are downloading as I write.

I am not sure what to say about not having internet access for 24 days. That is probably a post in itself, but I will say that I devoured the posts written by my guest-bloggers like a starved animal wandering out of the desert. Wondering what my friends would write left me anticipating home more than anything else.

I loved them all, every last post – every word. They made me nod and smile and even brought a tear to the eye now and then. Yes, I have my googlereader set up to show me my favorite blogs – but having my blog full of posts from my friends was better than ten sacks full of birthday cards.

Thank you all. Sincerely.

I already commented on all of them.

Tomorrow I will begin transcribing my epic tale.

We conquered the mess before sunset tonight. The memories will last forever.

Locks of Love

After staring at my computer screen for twenty minutes straight, I finally came up with a couple ideas to guest blog with. I'm MIT Mommy's niece, guest blogging for her while she goes on vacation with three of my cute, adorable little cousins, and of course my uncle. I am the oldest cousin on this side of my family, at only 14 (and a half!) years old, standing at a mere 5'1'', and with extremely curly, reddish-brown hair. My youngest girl cousin, Gladys, also has the same (slightly thinner) curly hair in a peachy-blonde color. I thought I'd write an open letter to her, discussing this topic: hair.

Dear Gladys:
You know how people say that one will always want whatever they do not already have? People usually repeat this phrase when, say, their teenage children MUST ABSOLUTELY HAVE those shoes or when comparing everyday things. Well, Gladys, I've learned that this phrase also applies to hair.
Both you and I swam in the gene pool and took with us the one gene that gave us this mass of hair that gets us branded as: "spunky! flirty! wild!" in all the fashion magazines. This much is true; however, you must learn to love those curls.
When I was a little bit older than you, I danced ballet. One day, my mom made me a little white skirt with black flowers on it to go over my black leotard. She had some fabric left over, so she made a little scrunchie to match. I remember twirling around in my new skirt, adoring it, much like you do with shoes. But then I took a look in the mirror, and saw little frizzy curls popping out of the ponytail that was pulled back with the new scrunchie.
Now, at this point in time, there was a television show called "Wishbone", and one of the main characters had beautiful, long, blonde, straight hair. All I wanted was to have my hair look like hers someday. When she put her hair in a ponytail, it never frizzed up like mine. So my solution? Cut off the frizz.
So there I am, sitting in the closet, chopping off all the hair that stuck out of the ponytail. (Do NOT attempt at home, kids.) At that time, I thought it looked better. But while it grew out (for the next five years), I was miserable.
The moral of this story? Gladys, I know there will be times where you HATE your hair. You will want to cut it all off and start brand new. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. There will be times where you cry over your hair. You will, at one point, straighten your hair.
But then, one day, you'll realize: none of that is really you. No matter what you try to do to comb it out, straighten it, gel it down; none of it will ever satisfy you. Your hair was meant to be curly, and deep down, you'll figure out that you actually love your hair. My mother always told me how lucky I was to have the hair she always dreamed of having, and that I would grow into it eventually. My reaction to this was always, "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Ma." But someday in the future, you will find this to be true, and believe me: when that day comes, you'll be thankful that you landed that gene. No more ponytails, buns, clip after clip after clip holding back the frizz. Leave it. Be proud with that self-described spunky, flirty, wild hair. Curly sisters unite!
I love you Gladys! Have fun on your trip!
Locks of Love, Rebecca :D