Cyber Trucks, Mountain Tops and Whisky Shots

The last thing I expected upon arrival at our pristine boondocking site nestled in the Rocky Mountains in Estes Park, beside a small windmill from the 1930s, was an invitation to take a ride in a Cybertruck. Within minutes of checking in, the silver stealth machine rolled in. The owner -- spry, seventy-plus-year-old Ernie, our host for the night--asked us if we wanted to take a drive. 

Ernie's Cybertruck 

I have to admit, I have judged those trucks (and their owners) without ever bothering to really learn about them. So I was humbled to take a self-driven trip to the local Safeway, with Ivan at the wheel (though not touching it), while Ernie explained the truck safety features, upcoming advancements and Elon's plans for cyber truck sharing (think Uber, but with self driving cars). 

 Surprising facts: there is no dashboard, only a computer screen. The exterior isn't even painted, to save upkeep. The car has three driving styles, "chill", "normal" and "hurry". (Even though Ernie had nowhere particular to go, he said he preferred hurry mode, which had the truck taking the mountain corners pretty tightly.)

Inside the Cybertruck

We also chatted with his car's AI, who explained Canada's reversal on taxing the tech giants, and gave advice on how best to manage employees who keep putting their hands in their pockets and get attitude when disciplined. 

While the car was impressive, Ernie was an inspiration. Like many people, I've been getting down these past few months with all the doom-scrolling. I've been reading so much negative news and hearing so much fearmongering about AI and the state of the world that I was frankly sick of all of it. Yet here was Ernie, over seventy, excited by all the disruption. He's running his Outdoor Gear businesses, RV'ing through Labrador with his girlfriend, driving his cybertruck through town while also restoring his old Ford truck from the 40s, straddling the old and the new without fear -- only excitement for what might come next. 

The old Ford truck Ernie restored and which still runs

From cybertrucks, we moved on to mountain tops, hitting Rocky Mountain National park early the next morning. Owing to the shutdown, there were no park fees, though all the trails and shuttles were working. For our first major hike, we decided to hike from Glacial trailhead to frozen lake, a steeply climbing trail that passed a few lakes upwards to a gigantic glacial basin.

Ivan crossing a bridge on Glacial Trail

Climbing higher

One of many stunning falls

I was using Alltrails, and saw that the trail was described as "hard". I had recently trained for a 10k, so thought I would be fine. I was wrong. While the hike itself wasn't that challenging technically, the altitude really kicked my ass. Lesson learned the hard way. At the top, scrambling to the peak, I had to bend over to stop the dizziness and each step required intense focus. Though we managed to get all the way up to frozen lake, the sleet had started and getting down took intense focus. 

Near the summit - and nearly out of oxygen

But it was all worth it, every second. If I had one word to describe the Rocky Mountains, it would be iconic. If Disneyland designed a "park", it would be this one. The beauty takes your breath away. And the smell! It makes you wish you could live forever.

Mill Lake

Feeling zapped from the altitude, we drove out of town about an hour away to stay at Harvest Host Spirit Hound Distillers. They produced craft spirits, with award winning whisky and gin made with Rocky Mountain botanicals. We both had a flight of whisky and listened to live music performed by Yarrow Band (instagram @yarrowband). Locals came in with their own bottles to fill up for cheap. Two men in cowboy hats spun cocktails while the singers sang nineties covers. A man at the bar brought in his wolf-coyote mix, who rolled over for belly rubs from everyone coming in and out. A great night.

Spirit Hound Bar

Whisky Flights

More Rocky Mountain the next day, though an easier path from Bierstadt Lake to Bear Lake. The lake was full of beautiful birds who swooped close by your head, and Ivan started a grouse in the bush. 

Fall colours

Steller's Jay

Bierstadt lake

One image I won't be able to forget but wasn't able to capture was a bull elk who walked right out into the middle of the major intersection of town, and began bugling, stopping traffic. 

Bull elk walking alongside the road

I'm writing this post at a camp in Utah at a picnic table beside a cowboy fire under a pitch black sky with no stars. Thinking of you all this Thanksgiving, and especially Cohen, stuck in Hamilton eating leftover Chinese food while waiting for the Subaru to get fixed. Wish we could whisk you here.

We miss you all. Hope you are enjoying friends and family today!

In the Badlands

Today we got up, made instant coffees, sat in our Canadian Tire chairs in the howling wind and watched the sun rise over the buttes. It rose super fast, like it had somewhere to be. Seems everybody else did, too. Soon as that sun slipped over the horizons, the vans and RVs started their engines. Then it was a mad dash over the rutted roads to get an early start on the trails.

Ivan and I ready to go

No one was taking park fees, owing to the shut down, though rangers were still circling the park. And the bus tours kept coming and going all day.

Entrance to the Badlands

Our first hike was Castle Trail, a 17km, 3.5 hour easy hike through the edge of the badlands past eerily people-shaped hoodoos, buttes, and mesas. Fun fact I just learned: these badlands here have a very short lifespan--only 1 million years, and are eroding at a rate of an inch a year. By comparison, a nearby mountain range is eroding at 1 inch every10,000 years. Come here in 500,000 years and they will be gone. 

Castles on the Hill

Some of the formations at the top of the hills looked like ancient castles--hence the name (at least that's our guess). Others looked like big breasted women, or waves smashing up after hitting a rock. Some looked like lions, and one even looked like the Sphinx. 

Panorama

The view from the "Door"

As we passed through the entrance to the badlands, the wind picked up, swirling dust around our legs (I came back with a full coat of grey sand on my legs.) While hiking, we heard the warning whistles of the prairie dogs, but couldn't see them. The only other signs of life were: yellow-breasted birds called western meadowlarks, which swooped when we got too close to their nests; a magpie who tried to eat our lunch as we were packing it up; one red ant; a single ladybug; and a terrifying but slow-to-respond wasp-like vespid the size of a pointer finger that appeared to nest in the mud of the badlands but really, really, really wanted inside our car. (We had to pull over twice on our way to the park to tease two separate wasps clinging to our visors out the open window, and narrowly missed getting another wasp trapped on our way out).

Glad we didn't see these guys

After the Castle trail, we hiked the famous Notch Trail. A tougher trail, Notch required not only confident hiking and a good knowledge of left from right (not my best skill, and I almost ended up over the cliff), but also the ability to climb a log ladder both up and down a very steep incline. J

A view of the Notch Trail ladder

Just the site of that ladder gave me flashbacks to when Cohen and Ivan convinced me to hike the Via Ferrata in Switzerland. I really thought I'd never get off that mountain.

 

Going down...

But the reward--a view for miles over the badlands--was worth all the fear.

The view from the notch

Foot sore and dusty as hell we stopped by the famous Wall Drug store in the town of Wall, just a few miles from the entrance to the park, for a homemade ice cream and its famous "free ice water".

Full view of the Wall Drug

Selling Wranglers

Western Periodicals at Wall Drugs. Not sure why that outfit with those books...

Now we're back at Nomad's view for the night, watching an orange moon rise across the badlands. Our  poor van is shaking like a houseboat on an ocean as the winds whip around us. Temperatures are dropping, and we're heading to bed for an early night and early departure south to Rocky Mountain tomorrow. Thinking about you all and write to you soon!

Lovely SPAM™! Wonderful SPAM™!

We saw the sign about a half hour outside of Austin, Minnesota: "The SPAM™ Museum: For those hungry for history". By the time we realized it wasn't a joke, we were worried that we'd missed it. But we got there via a detour and were fed "SPAM™ples" (three flavors!) proffered by self-identified "SPAM™bassadors".

Our first SPAM™bassador

The museum was crowded. I mean it was a cloudy Monday, the entry was free, with free fried meat product on pretzel sticks being offered on silver trays like hors d'oeuvres at an art gallery opening. But still, it was hard to get our heads around the number of people visiting the one-floor Lego™-colored display room.

We would soon learn from the central display case, however, that the SPAM™ museum is a mecca for SPAM™ fans. People go on dates here. Couples fall in love here. Some get married here and have wedding cakes decorated like SPAM™ cans.

We met one such a super fan in the "international room". I noted that I wasn't aware SPAM™ was in Australia, and he said "oh you bet it is". Then he launched into a story about how his mother used to make fried rice with spam and when she'd open the lid, and that unmistakable processed pork smell wafted out, "it was like a light shone out of that pan like a light from heaven". 

The bike that ran on bacon fat.

Five cool facts: 

 1. The company made a motorbike that ran on bacon fat. 

 2. There are 12 flavors of Spam available. Check them out! 

3. They make over 550,000 cans of Spam a day. 

4. In Korea, they give fancy black gift boxes of Spam with gold lettering as gifts at Christmas. 

5. You can add spam to almost any recipe. If you don't believe me, check out this SPAM Buttercotch Cookie Recipe 

 Full of saturated fats and processed meat facts, we left Austin and headed to Sioux Falls in South Dakota, where we ran along the "Greenway" from Falls Park to the end of the regenerated downtown. While the Falls were stunning, despite the low water levels, what I remember most is the smells of the factories we passed, beginning with a meat processing plant, then some sour malty smell from a bottling plant. Throughout the nearly vacated waterfront were historical plaques memorializing various settlement struggles (floods, massacres, industries come and gone), a constant stream of colonial history cast in metal signs that you had to read both sides, front and back, to get the whole story. Seemed a lot coming from a country where we try to cram it all in on one side and in two languages.

The view of Sioux Falls from the lookout tower at Falls Park.

Last night we splurged to stay at a KOA campground outside of Sioux Falls for the joy of a hot shower and a campfire. Beside us, we had a trailer park and out of it came a family of 10 - eight blond kids, all seemingly under the age of 10, and two parents, who somehow managed to get everyone piled into tents and asleep before 10 pm curfew.

Tonight we're writing from the famous boondocking site called Nomad's view overlooking the badlands.

Badlands, SD

Moonrise over Badlands

The moon is hanging over the buttes, so bright you almost struggle to see the stars. The quiet here is immense. 

Watching the sunset from Nomad view

We met a man in an Omeo wheelchair that could spin 360 degrees on the spot in seconds and could whip over the gravel parking area at 20 km/hr. He was accompanied by a greying great Dane that I almost mistook for a pony, who leaned hard against us while we fussed him and made me miss Jess. The man told us he'd been on the road for over four years now. Four years across the country driving an RV and walking his dog in his wheelchair--crazy impressive. The man beside us, Taggart, was on his way to develop a retreat in New Mexico. Somewhere you could get away and connect with God, "or whatever", as he explained it. He was a property developer in a puffy jacket and hooded sweatshirt. And yes, his van was fancy and popped up to house up to four people!

Hope everyone is having a good time at home. We're settling into van life and starting to know where we put the odds and ends we stuffed in here before leaving. Not too many mechanical problems so far (knock on wood). Sleep well!

On our way

Fourth night since we left Ottawa. We're in a gravel parking lot behind a brew pub in the Industrial end of La Crosse, Wisconsin, staring into a darkening sky, sweating and swatting mosquitos, waiting for the storm to break.

Tonight's view

Every day, it's been roads and roads of billboard signs. Gigantic billboards. Mostly for injury lawyers. Or bankruptcy lawyers. Or Jesus. I did see one where they mentioned some Catholic patron saint--unfortunately I forgot her name--for challenging times. I thought that one was nice.

Sian and I are off on our travels!

We started a day late (I had been sick), heading first to Peterborough on October 2 to see my Uncle, Aunt and Cousin, then to Hamilton on the 3rd to see Cohen for a hike and an Ethiopian feast with Marla. Lovely night, witnessing only one police shakedown. We slept on the street outside Cohen's apartment, which was very peaceful for the most part, the calm broken only by the 5 am shift workers and the "Hamilton Church Bells" (sirens), which started nice and early. 

Hamilton - Devil's Punchbowl

Ivan and Cohen in the punchbowl

October 4 was our day to cross the border, which we did in freakishly minimal time. 

I remember seeing a sign when we drove onto the Ambassador Bridge that read "border crossing -expect delays", and noticed that it was a permanent sign--not one of those electric signs--which essentially means they never expected anything but delays since they put the border in. But it was so slow that Saturday that we had only to wait for one car, have one quick conversation (he liked the van fit up!), and then we were in the US.

Weirdness continued with the crazy heatwave. It was 29 degrees once we got to Benton Harbor, on the shores of Lake Michigan. Coming into town there was even more Jesus than on the road, only this Jesus was poorer and black. We passed empty stores and torn down buildings and not a living soul around. In all honesty , we weren't sure we going to stay, but then we hit the retirement golf course and the nearby rich retirement area and our destination - a parking lot overlooking the golfing greens - and it was all white pants and polo shirts. The nearby beach was pristine white sands with long, slow walk-in sand bar and the water was still beautifully clear and tepid even though it was October. Our host for the night ran a brewery and a smoke house, so we followed our swim with enough protein to last us a week.

The wetland we parked by in Benton Falls

Beach at Benton Harbor

The North Pier, Benton Harbor

This evening is La Crosse. We ran a trail run in the Hexley Forest (by yet another golf course), then cooked our first in van dinner - black bean chili with sweet potato -  and are waiting out the rain with me posting and Ivan hanging up his cousin's Italian pottery tiles over the sink. 

First van dinner!

Just saw lightening - have to pull in the sky link. I hope everyone is well and we'll post soon!

Bye-Bye Jessie...

 

Day 0. Final packing up of our van, BoVanny, and "unpacking" of the love of my life, Jessica. 

While we had originally wanted to take our puppy, our girl has made it clear that nobody puts Jessie in a box, or sticks her double-coated ass in humid tropical heat. She has "decided" instead to take on a temporary live-in assignment as part-time trainer and entertainer of Charlie, the lovely puppy of my niece, Daryja, and nephew-in-law, Vince, in return for a fenced backyard, automatic ball thrower, Main Coon cat/tiger, daily 5-km walks, and lots of cuddles.

Gonna miss Jess, but know that she'll have more fun in the snow than the desert. As for our human child, relatives and everyone else, we'll miss you, too, but will keep you up-to-date as much as possible through this blog. We've left comments on. But I vet them. So be nice. 

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Two days until we cross the border. One day until we find out whether the US parks will still be open when we get there.

Oh, to travel in interesting times...