An Epic Journey

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Just over 3,000 miles, mostly on interstates but a lot – notably in Wyoming, Nebraska, South Dakota, and Iowa – on more minor roads. That’s an oil change’s worth of traveling.

Lots of Uncharted stories to come, obviously. Not necessarily stuff off the beaten track, but some stuff, I believe, well worthwhile to future explorers who want a little advice on whether or not to take the road less traveled. And we certainly did hit some less-traveled roads. If it hadn’t been for that one slow truck we got behind while winding down out of the Big Horn Mountains on US 14 through central Wyoming, for instance, we wouldn’t have seen another soul on that trip. Well worth it, by the way – spectacular views of the mountains, the valleys, lots of snow still on the ground and, at the top in that odd little alpine valley, a roadside spring for refreshment.

And more to see. Now that we’ve traveled those roads, we’ve got more reasons to go back when we have the time and the inclination. Maybe that’s the magic of Uncharted: Knowing where you’re going to go next.

Vacation Creep

We've hit that point in our vacation where our luggage, so small and firmly-packed and neat at the beginning of the trip, is now spilling and bulging all over the vehicle threatening us with avalanche with every twist of the road.

Part of it is the Davidson Pack Rat Factor, which compels all of us to bring items we think we're going to use but never do. My frivolity this trip is a pair of jeans I bought more than a year ago and finally took the tags off of just prior to the trip. I haven't used them at all.

For the kids, this tendency is worse. At first, they wanted to bring no fewer than three bags of coloring books. We talked them down to two, and they haven't cracked the cover of any of them since we left. Add to that the backpacks full of toys that they haven't broken out because they got souvenirs and other stuff on the trip and we've got a fair amount of clutter threatening our lives from the back of the car.

Then there's all the stuff we bought, from Legos to t-shirts to sacks of random Wal-Mart stuff including a loaf of bread that has served the same purpose as bowling alley bumpers in the back of the Pilot. Add to that the enormous bag of dirty laundry that is threatening to go critical even though Michelle's done three loads of laundry while on the road this week and we're a pretty frightening-looking crew.

But we have seen some fun country. Two nights ago we drove through a torrential downpour and pretty brilliant lightning storm in northwestern Missouri as we plied the back roads to avoid flooded interstates. And today -- also avoiding flooded interstates in Nebraska -- we got into some pretty open and desolate country filled with field after field of corn and cows swimming in the ponds where they're supposed to be drinking. I have enjoyed driving through this rolling country, seeing the little churches in nearly every little town and wondering what it would be like to live in some of the places we've seen on the way. I'm sure in some of them we'd go out of our freaking minds because they're so far from civilization, but there are a few we might actually like to live in, if there were such a thing as a decent job to be had there. For a time I contemplated what it would be like to be the sole missionary couple at Far West, Missouri -- they don't have anybody there full-time now, but it might be fun -- as long as I could toilet paper the Community of Christ church across the way and get away with it. But that wouldn't be all that nice, would it? No. So forget I even said it.

Farewell, Nauvoo

A few things first:

Isaac tried to bring home a souvenir pet tick from our trip through Missouri today. We told him we already have a pet and don't need any more. The tick is now swimming with the fishes in the labarynthine Omaha, Nebraska, sewer system. I hope in the future we don't suddenly hear about an attack of mutant giant sewer ticks attacking the city and its populace. If it does happen, let me apologize in advance.

We're out of the humidity and heat. It actually felt cool today in mid-Missouri, with the temperature at about 82 degrees. I never thought I'd regard the low 80s as cool. I guess everything is relative.

To the "The Book of Mormon is a Lie" guy standing in the heat at the southeast corner of the Nauvoo temple lot: With the wonderful message that is Jesus Christ's gospel, don't you think your energies would be better spent teaching people about the goodness of Christ, of his tender mercies for all of us, and of his tolerance and love of his fellow beings, rather than frothing it up and trying to rile up a bunch of solidly Mormon folk whom you think you're going to convince of their errors with your little placards? Oh. I guess not.

Got to thinking about Hyrum Smith tonight, on the way up the river from Liberty Jail. What a remarkable individual, following his younger brother Joseph around as he did. What love he must have had for Joseph, and what courage and strength of conviction to be with him at his side during their trials at Liberty, during their struggles in Kirtland, Independence and Nauvoo, and eventually at the tragedy of Carthage. That is faith and humility in action, much in contrast to the relationship Nephi had with his older brothers, and Joseph had with his. The same goes for Joseph Smith, Sr., who loved his sons and treated the messages Joseph brought into the world through the power of the Holy Ghost with respect and not a small matter of faith.

Good thing is, though I'm no Joseph, I have brothers like this. I hope I'm a brother like that as well.

Campers of Doom

Truth be told, I've had worse camping spots. At Warm River, the little dumpy spot we got was sandwiched between the water pump and the parking lot. We had no grass, just a little patch of gravel a picnic bench and a fire pit.

So the spot we had today was better. Grass. A nice big willow tree. A picnic table. Rather nice. But as it was behind an automobile dealership where we were stranded with the camper because on the way to Heise the truck's brakes locked up for no good reason. We sat there -- had a picnic; used the stove in the camper to boil water for hotdogs and had some baked beans -- for two hours as they fiddled with the truck. It was nice of them to fit us in. But they couldn't find anything wrong. At all. And wanted us to spend $400 for something or other which might or might not have solved the problem they couldn't find. So we drove home and will take the truck to Iona on Monday.

I have this cloud of doom that follows me, that's what it is. We've just been cursed for camping this year. First time was at Warm River and we ran out of propane and the battery died. Second time was to Wolf Flats and we had a heck of a time finding a new battery and the canopy fell off enroute. Then today. So I think I'm done camping for the year.

England, Professor. ENGLAND!

Several years ago, my wife Michelle and I spent three weeks touring England, barely scratching the surface of this magnificent nation and finally infecting me with the travel bug that's since had me visit Europe another time or two, plus several traverses across my own home country of the United States.

I recently posted some photos of that trip at Uncharted, focusing first on Stratford-on-Avon, birthplace of William Shakespeare, and then on Holy Island, one of the cradles of Christendom in England.

Visit and enjoy. More importantly, go see these places for yourselves. Click on the pictures to go straight to the photosets.

Chunk Emulation Begins . . . NOW

Because February is a month in which you need a sliver of hope to cling to, lest the drear of winter penetrate the deepest cavities of your brain and cause permanent damage, I spent a lot of time this weekend thinking about the vacation we're planning for later this year at Cannon Beach, Oregon. (Note the inspirational art here, of Haystack Rock at Cannon Beach, which has all the things I yearn for: Rocks, caves, water, drippy places to hide, possibly sand and starfish.) I just can't wait to go. I've wanted to vacation there for several years, but we kept utting it off, thinking the kids were too young to enjoy it. Now they're not. So we're going.

I'm planning a lot of side trips. Clatsop County is, fromwhat I hear, slightly more on the picturesque side than other places I've visited. Plus there's Astoria nearby, where I can engage in a Goonies remembrance tour and possibly engage in the Truffle Shuffle in front of Mikey's house. Will bring the video camera -- and a Hawaiian shirt and loud pants -- for that one.

And, yes, there will come a few Uncharted stories out of the whole mess. That's a side benefit. The real reason we're going: We did not take a vacation last year because we just couldn't afford it. This year, we're going.

Fair Fatigue

As we drove home Monday from the East Idaho State Fair, my wife and I wished for something: A button on the radio that would let us bypass any Fair-related commercials for the next week, since we’ve already done our bit and taken our kids to Blackfoot. This desire is especially keen whenever one of Bish’s ads comes up. For those of you not familiar with Bish’s, it’s a local RV dealership that every year produces hillbilly-themed fair ads. Their current iteration runs about two minutes a pop – very, very long for a radio commercial. Sadists not living in the local area can hear it on the live Web stream of KLCE, a local radio station. I don’t advise it.

Yes, we went to the fair. First stop, the pig barn, where associated odors reminded me of the summer we spent with three pigs in our back yard because Mom caved in to Dad’s life-long aspiration to be a farmer. I hated those pigs, and enjoyed eating them when their time was come.

Then the horses, where our six-year-old daughter cast longing looks at all the manes and hooves, and got to pet a miniature pony named, uh, named . . . something cliché horseish, like Destiny or something like that. (I ever get a horse, its name is Bill. Even if it’s a mare. Good ol’ Bill.) I can’t remember. She (our daughter, since the antecedent is now long-buried) also got to spin wool into yarn, thanks to the local weaving guild, which set up a booth near the sheep pens. Her most vivid memory, however: Leaving behind somewhere at the fair an “Operation Lifesaver” bag containing a ring and a $2 pink pony set her Grampa Griffin bought. Trauma, trauma, trauma. She may indeed be scarred for life.

Health note: You may see people wandering the fairgrounds, chewing on enormous turkey legs. No matter how hungry you get or how good they look, DO NOT get one. No matter if you have a hidden desire to chew and rip grease like Charles Laughton imitating Henry the Eighth. DO NOT get one. They’re greasy, tough as leather and, how shall I say this, full of chewy tendons. I ate one. Gnawed on one. Never again. My souvenir from the fair is the gas from lunch. I was so ill I didn’t even get a tiger ear. Of course, the tiger ear line stretched back to Spain, so I probably didn’t miss much. (Note to future fair-goers: When you’re in the food area fighting the crowds, the one thing NOT to do if you want to get through the crowd is stop and wait for an opening. Openings never come. I got behind some folks like this as we were taking our kids to the petting zoo. Also, be on the lookout for a shortish, balding man holding an enormous bag of kettle corn. (a.k.a. Grandpa). Every time we stopped, he shoved the bag in our faces, urging more popcorn on us. I, of course, was too polite to refuse.)

We also got rained out – torrentially. Clouds burst at about 3 pm during the tiny tyke tractor races (photos and video to be posted soon), and did not let up even at 4, when we decided to flee.

Most amusing time: Watching fair goers, laden with food, desperately trying to sit on the bench snapped in half by a previous sittee, despite multiple warnings from people (like me) who sat nearby, desperately hoping for people to ignore our warnings so we could watch them fall into the detritus of French fries, melted ice cream, popcorn, and turkey-leg grease drippings awaiting them on the ground. Some people tried the counterbalance approach, trying to balance their weight sitting on either side of the spots where the bench plank was still attached to the table, but to no avail.

Then the commercial buildings. The Culligan Water fountain, where gleeful Culliganites still pass out the cardboard Indian headdresses. (Only Lexie wanted one this year). The, uh, I think it’s storm door booth where I always see one of my older brother’s childhood friends, hawking wares. The annual, reverent tip-toe around The Living Scriptures booth where the ideal is Death Before Eye Contact, lest they try to sucker you into buying their Mormon-themed DVD cartoons. (I’m LDS, so it’s not that I’m doctrinally opposed to what they sell; it’s just that they use religion to sell it. “You’re better off having your kids watch these movies than the stuff they make in Hollywood,” they say. Help.) And Operation Lifesaver, the education program meant to remind us all not to be killed by trains. The kids always get a coloring book. And that’s right next to the piano salesman and the three female teenagers who hang out at the booth playing every song they’ve ever learned at piano lessons. At least they’re better than the folks over at the karaoke booth near the food court, where their incessant off-key wailings annoy us while we eat. And the “Make A Fair Bear” booth with the machine spinning the cotton-fluff bear innards for everyone to see. That always is a bit unsettling.

The fair is oddly changed since I was a kid. The barnyard smells, of course, are still there. But no longer can you find the foam alligators on a wire, the ones you cleverly “walked” in front of you. Nor can you find the whistling bird whistles that burble and chirrup when you fill them with water. I miss them. They bring back memories of childhood when we went to the fair and didn’t do anything once we got there because it was too hot and Dad wouldn’t let us ride the rides. (That sounds familiar; I won’t let my kids ride the rides either. Too expensive. Besides, there are cows, horses and bunnies to be seen. For free.)

Somehow, I always resent that my extended Labor Day weekend ends with the fair. I’d rather go the Saturday previous, but the argument always is that on opening day it’ll be busiest. Then again, it’s always busy on Labor Day.

Batching It

For the past few days, I've had full charge of the household, as Michelle is off to Krupp Scout Hollow for some training in relation to her calling as Cub master. The household entails three children under eight, one wiener dog and three goldfish. So far, the goldfish win on the easy maintenance part, and that even takes into consideration that I had to clean their bowl yesterday.

So what have we done with our Freedom from Mommy?

• Collected two loads of firewood.
• Visited the Rexburg Water Park.
• Bought some used books at the DI.
• Picked a bowl of raspberries.
• Watched Nim's Island.
• Went to McDonald's.
• Survived a thunderstorm with torrential rains. That was one whopper of a storm.
• Talked on the phone with Alan on the subject of Uncharted. For a very long time.
• Wrote an Uncharted story that'll be posted here shortly.
• Washed dishes.
• Did two loads of laundry.
• Helped the boys clean their room.
  

That's about it. Obviously, I've forgotten what it means to be a bachelor.

Scunthorpe!

Just a quick message today. Trying out the laptop on a wireless network; I've got to get one working at home. It's just a lot of fun. And also helps me keep up with the security updates and such on this thing.

We're in Salt Lake today. Yesterday, we spent the entire day driving all over the valley with Michelle's friend Carol from England (Scunthorpe, to be exact. That's fun to type. Scunthorpe. Scunthorpe. Scunthorpe.). Did a lot of shopping. We even went to a Wal-Mart, which she thought was fabulous. I just thought it was weird to go to a Wal-Mart with a parking garage. Weird.

Conference starts again. Now I leave.