Close Encounter of The Buffalo Kind

For the first time on the trip, I wake up before the girls. We have a long drive today since Grandma suggests adding on Jackson Hole, and that means traveling through the Grand Tetons to get to our big destination for the day -- Yellowstone.

We get the car all packed up and on the road. Our first stop is Craters of the Moon National Monument. We pass signs for two roadside attractions -- one an ice cave, the other --mammoth caves. In the middle of a plain. Not a hill anywhere in the general vicinity. I'm not sure how caves work here, but they're usually under some kind of hill-like structure in my world. See for yourself:


When we arrive at Craters of the Moon, we discover the reasoning behind the naming convention. It's the strangest thing I've ever seen. Suddenly, in the middle of sweet little potato-loving Idaho, the flat grassy plains give way to fields of porous black volcanic rock. Lava tubes, spatter and cinder cones contrast against brilliant yellow flowers. Frilly-looking white lichen dot the stark landscape. It's really something.

And it sounds like walking on corn flakes when you step on it.


There are little teeny tiny chipmunks whizzing across the road. It reminds Grandma of a story from when her and my Grandfather lived in Northern Michigan. Grandpa (who I called Grumpy) had a chipmunk friend nicknamed "Chippy."

Grandma says little chippy would crawl up his pant leg to get at the nuts.

Ok, I know that sounds alarming, but that's how she tells the story. Turns out it wasn't so nefarious. Chippy crawled up the OUTSIDE of the pant leg ... for the nuts in his SHIRT POCKET.

Rolling out of Idaho, we spot the second best billboard I've ever seen in my life (as compared to the vasectomy billboard in Vegas.) Take a look:


I'm behind the wheel all day, but several stops for retail therapy keep us sane until we roll into Jackson -- while listening to the Johnny Cash song of the same title. Love it, love it, love it here. Such a cute little town. I now have three places on my list of those I'd like to return to: Austin, Sedona ... and Jackson Hole. The Grand Tetons are also fabulous, though the view of them obscured a bit by wildfire smoke. The caps of the mountains are just barely dusted with snow, and I am somewhat surprised -- I thought the range line would be longer.


I will admit that getting through to Yellowstone takes some time. Maybe it's the construction where the road is unpaved and the girls knuckles are white. But when we arrive, I decide almost immediately that Yellowstone is awesome. I think it's my favorite park yet. There's a little bit of everything -- wildlife, winding rivers, breathtaking scenery -- and of course, the geysers. I am saddened by the visible evidence of wildfire devastation, but at the same time hopeful in seeing new growth struggling skyward. It's a good metaphor for life and the changes it brings. This trip is about learning from these women I travel with, learning from their mistakes -- and my own -- to burn out old ways of being and bring forth something new. Having faith that things keep replenishing in the face loss is a big part of that process.


Since it's too dark to see Old Faithful tonight and we've barely missed hitting two huge elk one with a rack big enough that I could sit in it -- crossing the road. It scrambles up the embankment too quickly for me to get a picture, but we hear him bugling at the top of the hill. It's so cool, but also a little scary as far as continuing the drive is concerned. We decide to try and stay in the park, but are in trouble ... there's no room at the inn, or at dinner. We hike up our reserves and head for the West entrance to the park.

I'm driving carefully, but this guy behind me is totally riding my butt, making it hard to see with his headlights in my eyes. I finally stop in the middle of the road. He flies by me, AND the huge shadowy figure lurking on the side of the road just a few hundred yards ahead of us. As we pass, I hear my Mom gasp ... then in a high pitched, but eerily calm voice, repeat over and over:

Buffalo ... buffalo ... buffalo.

Mother of God -- this thing is as big as the car. I drive past and whip the car around. I've never seen a buffalo before. Well, in person. We drive past it really slowly and I roll the window down to get a better look. I ask Grandma for my camera. Mom is terrified. She thinks the flash will make the buffalo charge the car. I'll admit he's snorting quite a bit. I can't get the camera to take the picture, and with Mom just about crying, "We're going to die ... we're going to die," we drive past.

I turn around again so we can keep heading out of the park. When we re-orientate, the buffalo is walking down the middle of the damn road. Ironically, Mom tells me to pass him, but now I'm a little freaked out. So we just crawl along behind the thing.

I'm driving behind a buffalo.

When I see another car approaching, I put the flashers on and wave my hands wildly out the window. These crazy people don't slow down, and now are trying to pass me. I hang out the window pointing furiously. They roll theirs down and I say, "Do you see it? Do you see it? I'm trying to keep you from hitting that buffalo!" They look ahead and their eyes get wide. They stop. The big guy wanders off the road.

That was so amazingl.

Once again on our trip something that appears to be bad luck turns out to be a gift in disguise. EVERYTHING happens for a reason. We got to see a buffalo, up close and personal. We may have saved it from being hit. And although I didn't think we'd make Montana, we end up spending the night in the state at this really cool place called Three Bear Lodge.

The best part is, despite it being the most expensive place we've stayed, we all have our own bed. And I get a door to close to shut out Grandma's snoring.

Thank you, God.

The Grandma Delay

When we get on the road, I’m amazed at how yellow everything is in Northern Utah. Not just yellow ... curry yellow. It's so different from the fiery red we've passed through in the last few states. I mention it to the girls. Mom says it’s jaundice.

And then I notice something strange – the Grandma Delay.

Mom and I can have an entire conversation in the car and then like five minutes later, Grandma either adds something to the conversation, or has the same conversation over again. We say we’re taking Highway 15. Nothing. There’s silence in the backseat for 5 minutes. Then Grandma says we should take Highway 15. Still, that’s not half as bad as the random commentary coming from the back seat. Every once in a while you’ll hear something completely unrelated to anything we’re talking about ... like, “There’s an Applebees” or “Space kittens need love.”

Ok, I added the last bit in there for dramatic effect – but it really is that bad.

Grandma has always been a tough lady. For as long as I can remember, she's been strength incarnate. She cared for my great aunt, my grandfather's mother and stepmother, and then my grandfather until they passed. She makes more baked good at Christmas than Hostess or Little Debbie. At 86, she STILL works ... from 4 pm to midnight. This is an amazing woman, and I know she's having a hard time with us telling her to put her feet up constantly, not to try and carry anything – doing everything so she doesn't have to. It's such a role reversal.

Today, we're on our way to a friend of my Mom's house. Ray and my mother met ten years ago. When he kissed her, she looked at him and said, "No bells and whistles." When he got home, he set Grandma something in the mail, including a special package for Mom ... a box of bells an whistles.

Very romantic, but it didn't work. They've been great friends ever since.

When we arrive, we kid Ray about how bad we smell due to the copious amounts of dirty laundry we're carting around. He says no, but when Grandma bends down to pet his little dog, Rascal, she growls. I hit the laundry room. On the way to see Shoshone Falls, we drop Mom’s car off for an oil change and headlight polishing at Walmart. They’ll later try and convince me the tab is more than $100 dollars. Yeah, right. I just about have a coronary and we pay about half that.

The falls are really beautiful – like the Grand Canyon, but dark and porous volcanic rock. There’s a small rainbow hovering over the spray from the water coming over the damn.

Ray gives me a pic of what the falls look like on a good day. It's often called the "Niagra of the West":

And here's the one I today:

Ray explains to me a little about how they capture the energy, though from the later picture, the falls look like they're harnessing about as much energy as me these days!

We drive past an area used as a Japanese internment camp during WWII on the way back to pick up the car and then to Ray’s. He makes us our first home cooked meal in two weeks -- beef stew and garlic bread. It’s like warm hot love in my tummy. Or maybe that’s the drinks he’s been feeding me. This guy obviously reads the blog, because there’s a pitcher of Bloody Mary’s waiting for me and a pitcher of margaritas waiting for Mom. She says she can’t even feel her face, so I try and steal her garlic bread. She’s not that drunk – she nearly rips my arm off trying to get it back.

Yum.

Two margaritas later, she can barely stand up. I love that when she gets tipsy, her nose turns red. It’s so cute. I call her Rudolph. But then she asks me why the room is moving.

I think it’s time for bed.

This is the first time I've gone to bed before about 1 or 2 am since we left. I've died and gone to heaven.

We got the camera from Vegas delivered to Ray's today. Scroll back over previous posts for some pics and hysterical video.

Land of Mormon: Part Two

As we're driving, we see a big lime green trash truck on the side of the road. The sign on the side truck reads, "Got Crap?" Mom asks if that means it's a shit load.

Sorry, it was so funny and I couldn't resist.

We roll into Salt Lake City around 6:00 pm. We're planning to go see the Tabernacle Choir practice in the heart of the Land of Mormon. But since we have time for a bite, we head over to One World Cafe.

Their philosophy is -- everybody eats, nobody wastes. They have little slips of paper with amounts on it. You pick the amount you can afford and that's what you pay. If you can't afford anything, you select a special piece of paper that entitles you to soup or rice. The owner/head chef/manager/server/bus boy Giovanni Bourberbal is a gem. This man has talent in the kitchen. There's not a microwave or a deep fryer in sight, nothing frozen, and the cafe even grows some of it's own food. It's organic, free-range ... and absolutely delicious. For $10, Mom, Grandma and I share a heaping plate of delicious yams, quiche, beef stew, brown rice, kale & cabbage, zucchini and more. I recorded audio, so check out the story soon.

Then it's on to Temple Square, where we discover that the choir is in a private recording session this evening. Mom says it was the same story when she was here ten years ago, so I'm starting to think it's a Mormon conspiracy.  Get them in the door and recruit ...

That thought is only intensified by the fact that every Mormon at the facility we pass greets us with huge smiles and unnatural warmth. I think they need to lay off the Kool-Aid a little. The women are perfectly coiffed, with pearl earrings and long straight skirts. I keep pulling my own skirt down over my knees and a failed attempt at modesty.

We stop by the genealogy archives. Mormons have an extensive database where I'm hoping to settle an ongoing argument with my father by perusing. He insists we're not Polish. Dad, I hate to tell you -- in the 1930 census records, Nellie, your grandmother, listed Poland as her place of birth and Polish as her native tongue. 

I win.

When we leave, I tell Mom I'm thinking of converting. She tells me I wouldn't be a Mormon, just a moron. Grandma says we should watch it, and I tell Mom to duck -- here comes the fire (Secretly, I think her hearing aids have a special "selective hearing" setting. She can hear us just fine ... when we don't want her to.) So I turn around and start signing the conversation for her. She doesn't think I'm funny and says she doesn't have her hearing aids in. Mom and I start shouting the conversation at each other, and Grandma says we don't have to yell.

We're laughing so hard as we get back on the highway that I feel I can make it another hour toward Idaho. The greatest thing about family is that you can feel like you want to kill each other one day, but are laughing your arses off TOGETHER the next.