A trip to the East raised quite a few doubts:
A journey that may fail the test
What if we really don't like it at all
And want to return to the West?
We'll have to traverse the entire Midwest region
Crowded cities out there do abound
The mountains are short, and the toll roads are long
And no Real Mountains will ever be found
Yet maybe the scenery will be verdant and green
Or maybe fall colors are waiting
Whatever the outcome, we're off very soon
And we'll cease all this East-West debating
As we traveled East we each kept a log
Of impressions, reactions and rhyme
What follows below is comprised of them both
Combined and condensed to save time
Some of what follows is Stephanie's pen
And Tom's keyed his in as well
It's now blended and mixed so completely
That what's His and what's Hers WE can't tell!
'Tis a story 'bout us -- our competing perceptions
And some notions of "East" not too kind
Would we stubbornly cling to our time honored views
Or respond to the facts that we'd find?
Tom & Stephanie
Fall, 1994
After much discussion, map gathering, and general route planning, we were off today on a new adventure. We had decided to forsake our usual Western trips and travel to the Northeast, all the way to Maine. But we were having quite a few misgivings about this particular trip. Go somewhere, yes. Take a trip, yes. But East? However, we might see some of the fabled fall colors. And perhaps we would travel even beyond Maine -- maybe as far as Prince Edward Island or Nova Scotia.
We planned to travel through the northern part of the country, staying away from such attractions as Chicago and Detroit and try to find whatever part of the Northeast two Westerners might enjoy.
On our first full day off-island, we managed only an Ellensburg destination -- much less than we'd anticipated. Some of the worst construction delays we've ever seen on I-90 slowed things down considerably. The Department of Transportation seems to delight in cordoning off lanes of highway, miles before you come to a small area of construction. And then there may be no active construction at all. The combination of traffic aggravation and more heat than we're used to produced some counterproductive attitudes in both of us. It made sense to just take an early leave of the highways, and seek some cool and calm to readjust our perspectives.
The next day, attitudes restored to the positive, we approached the end of the arid stretch between Vantage and Spokane. Rolling hills and pine forest replaced the desert, and we put 150 miles behind us by 10:15 in the morning. We've been completely flexible about our route over the next few days. Prudence would have had us schedule this departure for next week -- after the Labor Day weekend. But no, as usual we were too excited about being "On the Road Again" to wait. We'd thought about continuing east on I 90, staying tonight (Thursday before the long weekend) perhaps in Missoula. That would get us somewhere into the middle or eastern part of the State by Friday night -- likely into a much less touristy area. But we opted instead to turn north at Coeur d'Alene and head for the KOA there. There will be some interesting decisions about where to be for at least the following two nights. Our route will take us into the Glacier/Flathead area, which is likely to be teeming with visitors on this last weekend of summer. But somehow we'll figure all that out. This is the best thing about our trips: We have no plan that cannot be altered, and no mileage quota to accomplish.
As for me, while I love the process of traveling via RV, I have mixed feelings about a destination which is in the unfamiliar (to us) Northeast US. From past experience I know that whenever I get East of something that feels like "West," my inclination is to do a 180 and go back in the "right" direction. I'm not sure what it is about the "East" that causes this trepidation. It's not likely that where we're going we'll find ourselves in endless areas of heavy industry. And maybe there really won't even be vast hordes of people per square mile in New England. My expectation is that the "mountains" will be hills; that the whole scene will not be as RV-friendly as our out-West routes; that the weather will either be to hot or too cold (and in any case too humid); that the "scenic attractions" will be either or both (i) too crowded and/or (ii) composed of old houses that someone wants to charge a toll for me to see. Somehow I'm inclined to think you can take me out of the West, but you can't take the West out of me.
Sometimes I think it's strange indeed, that I should travel East
My home's the West where things are best
Why should I trade the Most for Least?
I've not discovered what it is, that gives me hesitation
Until I'm shown what's now unknown
I'll still have doubts and trepidation
E'en though we're barely started, already sad am I
I really care about clean air
About real mountains, and Big Sky
I'm trading in tranquility, for a crowded eastern coast
Who belongs in crowded throngs
It's in the West I'll always like it most
But the trip has started even though, I've stated my objection
The shortest term will sure confirm
Our course will lead the wrong direction
Given Tom's representation of his views of this trip, I had to state my side. And so:
East is East and West is West,
And I want to see them both
Who cares which one is better,
They each have got a coast.
The way Tom paints his pictures,
We're never coming back
But we'll stay East forever
On some Atlantic track.
Yet this is just vacation,
We're off to see the sights,
Of toll roads & short mountains,
And not the Northern Lights.
It won't be long 'til we come home
And do some Western playing
But our trip East will long survive
In exaggerated sayings.
And knowing us, we won't complain
If the East we do not tout
We'll rate the trip "terrific"
Which is what it's all about.
Into Sandpoint, where we found to our delight that on the Thursday night before Labor Day weekend, there were virtually no crowds at all.
I went exploring/shopping, (not Tom's preference) so he stayed in the KOA with Missy. Driving up to Schweitzer Ski Basin, I found the area to be quite casual and without the super developed look of a Whistler or Aspen. The runs appeared to be evenly divided between "I might be able to handle that" and "Not on your (my) life." If we ever take up skiing again, this would be a good area to consider.
One of the few other campers in the Sandpoint KOA was a chap I surmised was in at least the semi-retired bracket. He had an older Dodge turbo diesel, and was pulling a 14,000 pound double slider. Of course I couldn't resist "talking Dodge" with him, since our new one was parked close by. His turned out to be 5 years old with over 100,000 miles on it. And, like most of the Dodge truck owners we've encountered, he's a card-carrying, flag-waving supporter of the Cummins engine. These guys aren't just half hearted in their praise for their Dodge product: They're committed! Seems he gets over 12 mpg pulling that much weight, and except for changing the oil every 3K, and the fuel filter every 10K, he's had no problems whatever.
It turns out he has one of the oddest "occupations" I've yet seen. His company produces the little maps for campgrounds, such as KOA's, and then sells the ads that adorn them. Apparently the Sandpoint KOA had engaged him under his typical contract. This provides that he will get a free full service site for up to 21 days while he sketches a map of the campground, and about 7-10 days more selling ads on it to local vendors of goods and services. The KOA gets its supply of maps, together with a product which presumably helps cause people to find things to do in the local area (and thus extend their stays or return again), and the local merchants have a good exposure to every new person who registers with the campground. Meanwhile, this guy and his company pocket the ad revenues as compensation for their time and service in creating the maps, producing and selling the ads. The scale of all this is astounding. 9 years ago he was one of 7 persons in his company. That's all they do -- make these little maps for campgrounds. Now they have over 100 persons on their staff. They are only in the "top 10" of companies which do this as their primary line of business!
Dinner in Sandpoint, as always, was superb. We opted for the Hydra, which is one of our favorites. I especially enjoyed it because just before dinner we watched part of the first half of the first Pac-10 football game -- Arizona at Georgia Tech. Then as we were leaving the restaurant, we saw in the lounge the game was still going, with Arizona trying for a desperate come-from-behind win. We bought a draft beer and watched the final minutes, as the Pac 10 team did in fact manage to squeak by.
September 2 found us on a short trip through Bonners Ferry and into Montana. This area has been very heavily burned -- we actually drove through a large area where trees were still smoldering. The air in and around Troy was very smoky, enough to irritate eyes & lungs.
We have a reservation for tomorrow night in Kalispell, as it's the Saturday night on the Labor Day weekend. But we had no particular plans for today. By early afternoon we were about 40 miles west of Kalispell, when we came upon Logan Lake State Park. While the amenities are nominal, the sites are both private and large, with wonderful views of the lake and surrounding mountains. I keep feeling this may be my last chance for some time to see real mountains, and real trees. With a good portion of the afternoon to do as we might, we had a pleasant time walking the dog, and even giving the trail bike some exercise. I managed to log about 10 miles over some totally new-to-me terrain. The highlight of the excursion was a white tail doe standing right in my path. She absolutely froze in position, and wasn't about to move. Happily I was not traveling fast, and came to a stop almost nose to nose with her. Slowly she moved off the path and into some brush about 20 feet from me. Her fawn, now about six months old and with the last spots almost completely faded, was much spookier, and bounded up the hill. After staring at me for several moments, she bounded away as well.
Tomorrow we'll be in Kalispell. Given the remote route we'll likely take across the northern tier of States, it may be sort of like a last exposure to Western Civilization before trekking further east.
We came into Kalispell in increasing rain. There have been massive fires throughout Montana as in much of the rest of the West, so rain is welcome to Montanans and I suppose, to us also. Rain is due to last for a while though, and we will have to use care not to get ahead of the front and have it catch us again.
Today, Tom started a tradition that was to exist throughout the trip; if it is Saturday, one of us, (guess which one), watches college football. I suffer from the delusion that if I watch the Huskies, they will lose, so I spent the day avoiding the UW game (they lost anyway). I even did the laundry to avoid watching. We stayed at Glacier Pines RV Park, which was a good place to be in the rain -- no dirt to track inside (something very useful to know when you are in charge of cleaning an RV).
Between games, we made a circle drive through Columbia Falls, Whitefish & back. Whitefish is a particularly attractive town. Maybe that's what Ketchum used to be like before it was fully discovered by an odd class of homogeneous persons who have an incurable impulse to big enormous "second homes" of strange architectural design, which are apparently to be admired according to the number of separate chimneys which they can accommodate.. Not so in Whitefish. The homes are small, but extremely neat. There's even a small "city beach" on the edge of Whitefish Lake. The whole place manages to maintain a small town atmosphere, even though the obvious attraction is tourism -- and in particular winter skiing at "the Big Mountain."
We stopped for breakfast this Saturday morning of the Labor Day weekend in West Glacier. They'd had their first rain for a long time here overnight, and the locals were greatly relieved to finally see the first signs of seasonal change. To our surprise, the little village of West Glacier was barely moving -- it seems the season must have been deemed "over" here some time before Labor Day. And while the first rains may have driven out some of the faint hearted, clearly the High Season here has ended. The village of West Glacier looks exactly as one would hope it might. No fast food stands, neon signs, or other evidence of undue commercial intrusion. The comparison of West Glacier to West Yellowstone is like comparing Chicago to Stanley, Idaho.
We spotted several hunting parties as we traveled through Glacier; it appears that bow season has started here. This is surely the reason we saw no animals.
It wasn't long before we topped the Divide at a fairly low 5200 feet, some 10 miles west of East Glacier. And, just as the terrain changes sharply on this same Highway 2 as one tops the North Cascades summit eastbound, the clouds and mist which had followed us from Kalispell just disappeared. We suddenly found ourselves staring endlessly into the Great Plains. I was suddenly conscious once again that I was headed the "wrong way"-- East.
The little towns that barely dot the flattened landscape for the next couple of hours are interesting, but not exactly destinations of choice. To the north, probably across the Canadian border, high mountains are still following us east. But they, too, soon disappear. I guess we're no longer in the "Intermountain West." But we're still in the West!
Montana, what a land of contrasts
From the mighty mountain peaks, to the rolling golden plain
Of forest greens and flowing golden fields
Of shim'ring waters, and vast expanse which knows no rain
To think about your history, and imagine times gone by
To wonder of what happened here, and sometimes wonder why
Trav'ling here is going home. And you're never just a guest
Montana becomes part of you. And it symbolizes West
Tom was writing this morning and I was driving through some very gusty winds, so I passed the time memorizing my second attempt at poetry for later scribing. (Actually, driving our 5th wheel in the wind is not nearly as difficult as I tried to make it seem.)
Golden fields in early fall
Elevators stark & tall
Winds come screaming down the plain
I'm not driving THIS again
Small towns huddle in the valleys
From the gusty, windblown sallies
Overhead a big blue sky
Where the clouds come flying by