There's No Place Like ... Family

Today we drove about 550 miles. I can't feel my butt anymore.

We left Sioux Falls somewhere around 8:30 this morning, jockeying the line between Iowa and Nebraska down Interstate 29 most of the day. We were hoping to eat steak in Omaha for lunch, but decide the folks at Omaha Steaks are in cahoots with the Mormons. Is there no truth in advertising? I assumed, given the name of the company, that I could get steak in Omaha. Just like I assumed the Tabernacle choir really would open their practice to the public on Thursday evenings as their website indicates. Now I just think it's a ruse they both use to get you to stop in a town you would otherwise have no reason to visit.

To top my steak-less disappointment, Flat Stanley is peeved because we couldn't find the "welcome to" signs for either Iowa or Nebraska. I think that little one-dimentional man is getting a little big for his britches.

Our destination stop for the day is Kansas City, Missouri. I have family there that I haven't seen in quite some time. I get to sleep for about two hours as Mom drives in the morning, and when we switch off, Grandma helps me navigate. But between trying to read the map upside down, and confusing Kansas City with the state of Kansas, we're a little directionally challenged. We do pretty well, but it's still about 4:30 before we arrive.

This is my father's brother's family. I really loved my Uncle Chris. He was a big man with a big personality and an even bigger heart. He died of cancer 20 years ago, and since then, I haven't seen my Aunt Pam or my cousins, Andrea and Kimberly more than once. I wish my parents had made sure we spent more time together, but you know how things go. Two summers ago, their youngest son, Christopher, and I got to hang out. It kind of inspired my desire to form a closer bond with my family. A desire which bore the first stirrings of the idea for this trip.

There's something magical about family. No matter how much time passes, when you get together -- it feels like home. It was so wonderful to catch up and see that despite the distance between us, we still have much in common. Andrea's sense of humor, Kimberly's passion for travel and Christopher's reflective quality ... the things I love most about them are traits I also see in myself. And despite this being my Dad's side of the family (my parents are divorced), we all felt welcome. That's my aunt's charm in action. It was a wonderful way to start celebrating my birthday.

Sadly, we had to get back on the road to make the three hour drive to Springfield to stay on target with getting back home before my plane leaves Sunday. My brother, Ryan, wishes me a happy birthday on the phone, then proceeds to go into graphic detail about how I was "made". Graphic is an understatement, and I have to say -- there is something about considering your parents actually doing it that gives me the heebie-jeebies. Thankfully, my mother reassures me that I was indeed immaculately conceived.

The streets south of Kansas City are all named with letters, like "O" and "AA". Very original. The problerm is, it's causing me road hypnosis. Zzzzzzzzzzzz. When we take a wrong turn that requires us to cut across a very dark and rural country road to get back on track, we play a game using the alphabet to help keep awake and alert. The first person comes up with two words using the first two letters of the alphabet. The next person uses the last word and adds another starting with the next letter of the alphabet.

For example ... "Apple Butter" becomes "Butter Cookies".

But we get more creative, and then it's all "Dog Fart" and "Fart Growing" and "Growing Hard". This may not seem funny as you're reading this post, but when your 86-year-old Grandmother comes up with some of the stuff she comes up with -- laughing so hard she can barely get the words out -- it's pretty comical. What makes it hysterical is when Mom stops laughing and tells us to knock it off.

Because if she keeps laughing ... she's going to have an accident.

If there's anything I've learned on this trip so far, it's that the bond between family is incredibly strong. Who else can make you want to kill them one minute, and then make you laugh so hard you think you'll pee your pants the next?

Sprint Sucks ... and Other Oddities

I'm sad to say there were no bison out my window this morning. Mom says I'm turning into a bison junkie. She's right. I just can't get enough ... in my eyes or my mouth.

Tasty tasty, pretty bison.

We do see a few while driving out of the park. This one didn't look so pretty. Kind of scraggly. Mom said it looked like a young one. Grandma said old. I just think it had mad bison or chronic wasting disease.

Just ahead, there are a few more. I'm in bison heaven. These big shaggy beasts walking down the side of the road. It's so cool. But it makes Mom nervous. I think she might get sick every time we pull up next to one.

Looking for wildlife with her and Gram is a trip in itself. They are having a hard time seeing. Yesterday, Mom tried to convince me that a large brown box on the side of the road was actually a group of deer. Both the girls point out deer "stumps" in the woods so often that I start pointing them out to like they're some new novelty.

Look ... a wild black stump!

People would think we were nuts if they heard half the conversations that go on in this car. Like the one today about Grandma's colonoscopy. I'm supposed to have one when I get home and wondered what it's like. What I'm really wondering about is the anesthesia. It's my first time, and I'm a bit anxious. She goes into a 10 minute graphic -- and I mean graphic -- conversation about the entire process. She didn't have anesthesia, so she remembers all the gory details.

"And then my lower bowel ... "

Mom and I are both trying to tune her out. Why is it that older people think their personal body functions are a worthy topic of conversation?


We stop by Mt. Rushmore again since I want to get the most out of our shiny new $10 annual parking pass. Just kidding -- I think the light might be better ON the monument instead of behind it like it was last night. I'm right, but you can decide for yourself. Here is a pic from today, and I've posted one on yesterday's blog, too.

We drive through Needles Highway (GREAT suggestion, Dr. Selva!) We really enjoyed the winding road and beautiful rock formations.

Next up ... Wall Drugs. This place is a stitch. On a 45-mile stretch of road between where we get back on I-90 and off in Wall, South Dakota, there are at least 50 signs for this roadside attraction that consumes an entire city block. From what we gather reading these signs, this place offers free ice water, a new T-Rex, a six-foot jackalope and coffee for 5 cents. Although veterans and newlyweds get theirs free. With a doughnut.

Then it's on to the Badlands. Mom is terrified of heights. And when I say terrified, I mean really terrified.

I made this poor woman accompany me a few years ago when I went bungee jumping. I didn't understand the severity of her fear until I jumped ... and she screamed. I can't lean over walls, and when I was trying to take a picture in Yellowstone a few days ago and sat on an embankment wall, she started knocking furiously on the window until I got back in the car.

At the Bandlands, there is a five-foot wide walkway leading out to an overlook. She clutches my arm and closes her eyes the entire walk out. She says when she was a kid, she walked out there by herself. They didn't have railings then, so she got out pretty far. Then she looked over the edge and froze. My uncle had to go out and collect her. My brother inherited this fear, but I can't wait to go skydiving.

Just don't get me near any small spaces.

Like the back of this damn Rav-4. I finally get a chance to take a nap, which seems to coincide nicely with Mom blaring her music on the stereo. I bury my head deeper into the pillow and scrunch up in a slightly less uncomfortable position. And I mean slightly ... I'm nearly six feet tall, so I'm knees to nose back here. Then Mom starts making phone calls at a decibel not found in normal conversation. We haven't had cell phone service for two days. No contact with the outside world, which means we've had to actually talk to each other.

Lord, help us.

Mom finally broke down today and put her roaming on. I refuse, but guarantee Sprint and I will have a heart-to-heart when I get back home. How can they not have coverage across an entire STATE?

Sadly, it's too late to see the inside of the Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota, when we arrive. But their corn corn rendition of Mt. Rushmore on the outside of the building was fabulous. I leave you tonight with this question -- do you think global warming could ever make it hot enough to turn the corn palace into popcorn?

Pass the salt and butter.

Where The Road Never Ends

Today we drove ... and drove ... AND DROVE. To my surprise, Mom got behind the wheel first.

But before you get all excited about me being wrong in last night's post ... we got in the car at 8:30 am. Mom pulls over three hours later and asks me to drive. I'm playing captain until we stop at 7:30 pm.

Anyway, we roll into Buffalo, Wyoming (named after the city in New York State, not the animal), and we pass a highway -- only I don't catch if it's 25 or 90. We're looking for 90. There's a lot of construction, so it's a bit confusing. I'm looking at the map and giving Mom directions, but so is Grandma with her own map. That's upped the ante on confusing, and I calmly ask if there is any way just one person can be the navigator.

Grandma loses her cool a little. She says she'll just shut up. And she does -- for just about the rest of the day. You could have heard a pin drop in the car.

Do you know how bad it sucks when your sweet-as-pie Grandmother gives you the silent treatment?

There's a small period of thawing when we stop at Fort Devil's Tower Bar & Restaurant for lunch. This place is GREAT. It's a log cabin style building, with a loft view of Devil's Tower National monument. It's literally a one-man operation this time of year. The owner, Rick Nelson, takes our order, cooks our food, and brings the yummy tex-mex style bison burgers out to the table. When he asks what we want to drink, Grandma asks for coffee. I ask him to put a shot of whiskey in it. She says I probably want to put arsenic in it. I explain to Rick that Gram is mad at me right now, and he says he can't believe I cause any trouble. The girls start cracking up.

Obviously, he doesn't know "trouble" is my middle name.

While we wait for our food, we start chatting with the only other folks in the place when we arrive. They're classic car enthusiasts from Arizona that have joined about 30 others to drive their cars about 3,000 miles to spots near Mt. Rushmore. Jan tells me a story about Guam's legendary mermaid, "Sirena". To read about the legend, CLICK HERE.

Rick sits down with us for a spell to chat while we eat. He's selling shares in his business for $1000 a share and a minimum of ten shares. He'd like to expand. During the motorcycle rally at nearby Sturgis, he says he gets 60,000 bikers through his doors. There's one thing Rick says that I just love:

"You stop moving, you get complacent. Then you get more complacent. Then you die."

He's 69 and says he plans to live another 200 years.

We roll by Devil's Tower and check out the prairie dog colony at it's base. Really makes me want to play Whack-A-Mole.



Next, it's off to Mt. Rushmore, where Grandma is thoroughly disgusted by the commercialism. She says when she was here last, none of the stuff was built. The parking garage ... the gift shops ... the ampitheatre. It's all new. She says it takes away from the magnitude of the experience, and I can see what she means. It's more like an exhibit than an experience. I imagine what it would be like to be hiking here in the Black Hills Forest and look up to see these huge stone faces staring out from the mountainside. And I will say this is the first national park that charged for parking ($10). It was a little off-putting.

We head down the road to the Crazy Horse Monument, but since they want $27, plus additional for the ride around to see the face, we skip it. I take a profile picture as we turn around. Once you've see one face carved in stone, you've seen them all. I'll come back when it's finished.

Then it's on to Custer State Park. They're supposed to have LOT'S of bison, so I'm psyched. Our twilight tour through the park is eventful -- with tons of deer eating dinner roadside, wild turkey escorting their chicks across the road, and bison hiding in the trees.

I hoped we could stay in the park, if there was a room available. As we pull up to the lodge, we are absolutely dumbfounded to see at least five bison roaming around the grounds munching their grassy dinner. I almost feel like I'm at a Walt Disney World attraction. They are so close they don't seem real. We take pics, and Mom seems to loosen up a little around the big shaggy beasts. We get our very own cabin -- complete with fireplace. I won't tell the girls how much we paid for it until they see it. They're convinced we'll have to sleep in the car the rest of the trip given how absolutely fabulous it is. Must be expensive. They just about faint when I tell them I got it for $100 bucks.

After dinner at the lodge, where I have bison meatloaf, Grandma tells us a story about how the cook of a wagon train. She says he would carry sourdough bread in his shirt to keep it warm and continue the fermentation process. They would use some of it to make biscuits that day, and the rest for starter. Eeeew. I ask her how she knows this, because frankly I think it's just plain unhygienic and wrong. She says, to Mom and I, "Don't you two read anything?"

Mom ignores her. She says it's because Grandma was there. It was right before they moved the Alamo.

Poor Gram. We really do tease her a LOT.

We're heading back to the room. I have a surprise -- smores to cook in the fireplace in the room.

I hope I get to see more buffalo when I wake up in the morning. Bison.

Whatever.

We Want To Hear From YOU!

Friend, or foe ... new acquaintance or old ... we want to hear from you.  Please comment on the blog or send us an email at mermaidstograceland@gmail.com. We've enjoyed meeting folks all over the United States on our travels, from our Texas gals (Joanna, Kay and Taste No Evil Muffins' Karisa), to our Montana cowboy Jim -- and one special friend we haven't even met yet, but hope to someday -- Rex from England.  Rex, we'll give you a special shout out when we reach Graceland!

Enjoying the blog? 

If so, and even if not, please feel free to share the site with others.  I'm writing a book about this experience and word-of-mouth is the best advertising.  Hey, grassroots organizing got President Obama elected! Can you blame me?

We'll have a way for you to join our mailing list posted on the website soon.

Thanks for sharing our journey!

Amy & the Girls

Rest Your Weary Head

You might think this is funny.  Two nights ago when we couldn’t find a hotel in Yellowstone, the girls suggested we sleep in the car.  Mind you, this is after out wild west buffalo experience. After seeing elk with horns as wide as the car and about three feet tall.  The same elk I might ad, that we were warned are very aggressive this time of year – if you catch my drift. Armed with the knowledge that bears and wolves and mountain lions all live in this park ... they want to sleep in the CAR.

Now, I was driving.  The windshield was littered with bugs, so many that it’s almost like trying to drive while looking though a kaleidoscope -- in the pitch black darkness. After driving all day -- about 400 miles -- we stop around 9:00 pm.

Today, Mom’s driven about half the miles, is complaining about the bugs on the windshield in broad daylight, and at 6:30, she thinks we should stop for the night.  Her argument is valid for three reasons.

1. She’s tired.
   
2. Grandma’s tired.
3. I’m tired.

But we’re still more than 200 miles short of our goal -- Newcastle, Wyoming.  And guess who I bet is driving much of the day tomorrow?

Tisk, tisk … I’m such a bad daughter.

Let me tell you what booking rooms is like.  The girls set a budget of $70 per night.  That’s $70 total. Do you know how hard it is to find a place you would want your own Mother – let alone Grandmother – to sleep for seventy bucks?  I mean, I have standards, but I’ve also been to India, where the carpet is wet and the bed bugs bite and leave welts.  There’s a strange correlation here with Grandma’s insistence that they moved the Alamo. 

They moved the hotel prices!

The hotels where we’ve stayed that fell in the target price range were definitely frill-free, but not bug free.  With the exception, of course, of that GREAT place in Deming that was about the same price Gram paid for a top-of-the-line place when they went out West half a century ago.  And the only reason we got it for that price was because there was no working TV in the room.  Apparently, to the average clientele, a TV is worth about $25.  Frankly, I’d rather not have one at all.

I’m off subject.  My point is – it’s a pain in the butt to try and get a decent hotel for under $100.  First, I call Hotels.com.  They have a loyalty program where you stay 10 nights and you get one free.  I thought it would be a great way to get us a free night somewhere. But it’s not always cheaper.  So I cross-reference it with the hotel itself. If neither of those prices is close, we pull over so I can pirate someone’s internet.  That’s definitely a crap shoot worthy of thousands in Vegas.  

Will Amy get on line, or won’t she? Place your bets ...

Tonight, Hotels.com has a Comfort Inn located in Worland, Wyoming for $109 per night.  The hotel quotes the same price.  After three attempts, I get internet access and find that Priceline is offering the same $109, so I try their bidding option starting at $50.  Nothing.  I call the hotel back and negotiate $93.99.  We save $15. 

Not bad, considering that at my current stress level, I’ll need a $100 massage to get back to normal. Or a martini, but I think this is the sort of town where you’d get shot if you ordered one in a bar.

I'll settle for a muscle relaxer and a nine-hour love affair with my ear plugs.

Yellowstone, How I Love Thee -- Let Me Count The Ways

For your video pleasure ... an overview of my new burning obsession.

We get a slow start, rolling back into the park.  We stop at the Eagle Chevron station near the hotel.  There's no credit card machine at the pump, so I go in (ugh ... modern day inconveniences!)  Jim says these pumps are thirty years old.  I can't even put a dollar amount on the pump because they don't stop automatically.  I tell Jim I'll leave him my credit card if he'll just open the pump up.  He says he just got out of the state pen and I should take it with me.  

I think he calls me baby doll.  I like Montana.

When we get into the park, our first stop is a bison sighting.  We stop and watch from the side of the road, though about a dozen people climb down the embankment to get closer.  These animals spook easily and run at speeds up to 30 miles per hour. Sadly, there's no cure for stupid.  I wait for a while thinking maybe somebody will get gored, and then I'll get the better pics. But this is a patient bison, so we move on.

We stop at the first big string of geysers.  It smells like rotten eggs.  We see a little kid trying to reach down to touch the water.  And older woman says "NO" to him, then apologizes to the parents for correcting their son.  It used to take a village, but now the village is full of idiots.  

And the idiots are breeding.

Then it's on to Old Faithful, where we have to wait only about a half hour for lift off.  Flat Stanley can hardly sit still.  There's another geyser -- the beehive -- that goes off just before.  It's quite a display, but only goes off once a day.  When the main event blows, Mom says it's kind of anti-climactic.  She's seen it before and swears it was bigger last time.  Everything looks bigger when you're a kid.

It's way later than we planned when we head out, and it's a long haul out of the park.  

On the way, there's just one thing I have to add.  You can't possibly grasp the long lasting devastation brought on by forest fires. Every time I see people smoking in the park I want to punch them.  I've never hit anyone in my life.  Near Lake Yellowstone, we drive for miles with one sight on either side of the car.  

Mountains that look as if they are covered with sticks.  Trees stripped of their glory, the bark still bearing the black blisters of fires that ravaged their needles -- and life -- away.  It's just acre after acre of lifeless desolate forest. 

Depressing.

The Difference Between Bison and Buffalo

What we saw yesterday was a BISON ... not a buffalo. Here's the difference on a five-point scale:

BISON

1. Have beards.  I'm not much for facial hair -- but it looks good on Bison.
   
2. Sharp, small horns -- all the better to gore you with, my dear.
3. There are 300,000 or less in existence.
4. Large hump.  My humps, my humps ... my lovely Bison lumps. Check it out. (half of you have no idea what I'm going on about ...  CLICK HERE)
5. Thick fur ... everywhere ...

BUFFALO (of the water persuasion)

1. Beardless.  
2. Horns ... not sharp, but long.  Bison have horn envy.
3. About 150 million remain.  Strength in numbers.
4. No hump.  No bump.  No lump.
5. Thin hair. Less sweat.

But here's the deal ... after our run in last night, I ate a delicious delicious bison ribeye.  It was kind of retribution for that bastard scaring the daylights out of Mom.

Not really.  I just like steak.