The Factotum's Factotal

From the home office in Kensington, Maryland:

The Monroetorhome Monarch, the Soujourning Sovereign, the Ranchette's Registrar reports the following fascinating and fiddling figures of most petty and picayune persuasion:

Total mileage: 8,168
Average mpg: 8.66
Occupant days in motorhome: 105
Cost per person, per day: $59.90

So, if we were to take as our model the good people of Packwood, Iowa, the Monroetorhome 2008 Cross-country Excursion rates a score of 8341.56 degrees of awesomeness. If you don't understand the Packwood reference, scroll down, click on the link labeled "July", take off your shoes, get something substantial to eat, and start reading.

To quote Earl in the entirety of his speech at the 2002 Branson Reunion, "It's been a pleasure."

Signing off.

In conclusion...

Long before Earl and Barbara set off on July 4^th to cruise the country, Earl sent Barbara and me a detailed itinerary prefaced by a cover letter. A portion of that letter reads:

The trip includes majestic mountains, fantastic forests, limpid lakes, gorgeous geology, ancestral abodes, shifting sands, restless relatives, and a liberal dose of America Deserta – central Nevada. It should be fun.

Mountains. Upon my arrival we dove headlong into the Gallatins, Big Belt, Bitterroot, and the Cascades. Down the road we found the Coastal Range, the Basin and Range, the Colorado Plateau, the San Juans, Colorado Rockies, to name very, very few. Each majestic indeed.

And the forests! The subalpine forests with their lush understory of ferns just daring the firs to block out the sunlight. The alpine forests whose moist but crunchy bed of decomposed needles and cones crinkle and sink under your feet at the same time. The severe ridges and valleys of the Great Basin host sagebrush, needlegrass, and pinyon pines that look thousands of years old. You wonder where they get the water that sustains them, and then you realize that only the human race lives but on the surface of the planet, with little idea of what lies under foot.

Lakes that make you tear up they’re so beautiful. Lake McGregor in MT has not one house, dock, or tire swing among it. It makes you want to have one of each just to yourself. Pend Oreille Lake in ID teems with activity, but its restless beauty is not diminished in the slightest. Crater Lake in OR typifies that the most violent acts in nature often inspire photographs that we use to soothe our spirits. Lake Powell, one of the innumerable man-made lakes provides for millions. Yet how many treasures have we lost in the canyon country as a result of its capture?

Geology. Don’t get me started.

The ancestral abodes of the clan Monroe. Ours, like many families, is peppered with delightful stories and terribly sad ones. The interweaving of these is what makes families stick together, split apart, empathize and criticize. But in the end, each home, apartment, office building, boarding house, scout camp, airstrip, college campus, medical practice, ranch house, and Quonset hut that the Monroe boys and their parents called home adds its own ingredient the unique Monroe flavor.

The shifting sands of the Columbia and the San Juan Islands are just a prelude to what you see in the Desert Southwest of Utah, Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado. You see these shores in the rock record from the California Sierras all the way to the ancient, eroded, folded, and faulted Appalachians. The Great Sand Dunes National Park of today is the petrified sand dune of Canyonlands National Park from hundreds of millions of years ago. Is that Elton John’s “Circle of Life” I hear playing in the background?

Restless relatives, after all, are the reason for this excursion in the first place. We’re blessed that we are so fond of each other that we come back, whether it’s three or five years, every time the clarion calls for another Monroe Reunion. Let’s consider Earl’s plea to focus less on the day trips (guilty as charged) and more on spending time as community, cooking and eating, reminiscing or getting to know one another, enjoying memories of the past, but also focusing on one another’s present and future. Monroe Reunion 2013 is just around the corner. Work on your GORP recipe. We’re going camping.

Earl looked for a specific subset of people to join him on this enterprise. He didn’t pick Barbara and me because he likes us. He picked us because we’re unemployed (me during the summer and Mom until the dividends stop paying). So, you could say that we are in a special position to take this sort of trip where others are limited to vacations of limited duration. Whatever your case, if you’re ever offered the opportunity to criss-cross the country with family, my advice is to not think twice. Just go. I never imagined myself being able to have a three-hour conversation with my grandfather that ranged from the stock market to differential erosion, but by God, it happened, and it kept me up way past my bedtime! And it was great!

In Earl’s cover letter to us, he also mentioned the “meek and manicured West.” I must respectfully disagree with my grandfather on this point. The west that I’ve come to know both on this trip as well as while teaching the Field Geology course, is anything but meek. In fact many parts of it are coiled in suspended animation. We put up sign posts and build catwalks and fences in the name of safety and stewardship. But it is not at all difficult to imagine this land as raw and undressed and primordially violent as it once was, and no doubt will eventually be again. After all, as our friend on the DVDs Dr. James Renton is fond of saying, “in geologic time, time is irrelevant.” So, though it may be a bit manicured, to me it’s still the “bold and bountiful” west, the “pure and powerful” west, the “noble and natural” west.

So, there it is. The Monroetorhome 2008 blog has come to an end. The next reunion will be on the East Coast, so it is doubtful that I will be saddling up for another cross country motorhome trip for the next one, that is unless I feel like taking the long way to NC, or VA, or wherever it takes us. Oh, wait. Mom and I are planning the next one. Well, I guess I’d better wrap this up and call Mom. Thanks for tuning in, all three of you! It was a pleasure recounting our travels, and thank you for allowing me my indulgences, as faulty and inaccurate as many of them may be. Maybe for the 2013 Monroe Reunion we can set up a wiki, that is, a blog in which all participants post (instead of being relegated to the “Comments” section). We’ll see. We’ve got five years to come up with ideas.

Another talent show anyone?

And the winner is...

Congratulations to the Cerar's on their Gold and Silver medal finish in this, the first and final competition of the Monroetorhome 2008 Blog Inane Trivia Contest. Since there was no Bronze medal finisher, I declare myself the 2nd runner-up, and therefore keep the highly valued third place prize, the blazed orange Parking Violation warning sticker that the National Park Service places on all illegally parked vehicles at scenic overlooks. Yes, the Monroetorhomers were virtual outlaws, terrorizing Bryce Canyon National Park visitors by parking in parking spaces reserved for TOURIST BUSES. Have they no sense of decency??

However, after 15 rounds of arduous testing, the 1st runner-up, having answered 7 of the 15 questions correctly, is Jean Cerar. [applause]

And the winner of the Monroetorhome 2008 trivia contest, scoring 9 of 15 possible points, Charlie Cerar!!! [ovations and laurels descend toward the rostrum]

Jean and Charlie will receive prizes for their efforts just as soon as the Prize Selection Committee can convene to determine what those prizes are, just as soon as he finishes grading this set of quizzes sitting next to him.

Now, given my obtuse testing format, it'll probably be easier for all if I adopt Jean and Charlie's scoring method to show the correct answers.

Before I divulge the answers, might I mention how impressed I was that both respondents answered correctly that Barbara (and not Ted) is the one drinking "Moose Drool" beer during cocktail hour. This goes to show you how well they know their cousin Barbara as the bourgeois, ignoble, beer-swilling delinquent that we all know her to be. Either that or they just think that I'm an east-coast, gin and tonic, private school, fancy pants liberal.

Either way, they couldn't be more right.

The correct answers are as follows:

#1 The morning begins
B,E,T

#2 Start the morning
E,T,B

#3 Indulge in
T,B,E

#4 Following breakfast
E,B,T

#5 Before departing
B & T, E

#6 At the wheel
E,B,T

#7 Always with a sense of
T,E,B

#8 As a passenger
B,T,E

#9 I take
B,T,E

#10 I wear
T,B,E

#11 I enjoy
B,T,E

#12 Following lunch
T,B,E

#13 I sit down and enjoy my
E,T,B

#14 During which I
T,B,E

#15 As the final geology lecture ends I
E,B,T

I will give you a day or two to soak in the correct answers. I will return in a few days with some final thoughts, and officially conclude the blog.

Last chance for FREE STUFF!!

Well, things have settled down enough for me to at least upload the remaining “best of” pics, and to share with you this last bit of “life in the motorhome with an Old Fogey, a Yahoo, and a Whipper Snapper.” But there’s a catch…

Now’s your chance to show how much you know about your relatives, the Monroetorhomers. You are about to read an account of a typical day on the Roaming Ranchette. You will find that the narrative is periodically interrupted by three choices in parentheses. One applies to Earl, the other to Barbara, the other to Ted. In some cases, one answer will apply to multiple people, in which case, only two choices exist. If you guess the most, you win the prize. Read the first comment for instructions on how to answer. Then, to submit your answers, post a comment. Submit answers in the following fashion:

Where E=Earl, B=Barbara, T=Ted, designate initial in the order in which it appears in the parentheses, for example number 1 might be (E, B, T) while number two might be (T, E, B). If there are only two answers, indicate a shared answer with an ampersand (&). For example, since #5 only has two answers, you might indicate (E & B, T).

Game on.

The morning begins (at the crack of dawn / whenever I feel like it / when everyone else starts making noise). I start the morning with (calisthenics / a 2-3 mile run / a 15 minute walk) followed by a light breakfast. Typically I indulge in (yogurt and cereal / oatmeal / raisin bread) which tides me over until lunch. Following breakfast I (spy on neighboring campers through my binoculars / read literature on the sites of the day / recharge electronics) until it is time to shove off. Before departing I (unhook water, electric, and sewer / retract the leveling jacks).

Once on the road, we take turns driving. For my part, when I’m at the wheel I drive (without glasses / with glasses / with sunglasses) and always with a sense of (confidence / purpose / nervous caution). As a passenger I typically (look out the window with awe / follow the map wondering, “Where does that river lead to” / read road signs aloud). When we stop at a particular site of interest, I take (pictures / video / my time), enjoying the scenery. During most of the day, I wear (flip flops / sneakers / walking shoes), except on challenging terrain.

We break for lunch at some time around noon, and stop at a rest area, park or other such spot. I enjoy (a salad / a sandwich with cold cuts / 1 cup cottage cheese and one half banana). Following lunch I (wash dishes / dry dishes / watch while cracking jokes about having hired help) and continue to enjoy the scenery for a short while. At some point in the afternoon, after four to six hours of driving, we arrive at our destination. After hooking up the motorhome, cocktail hour begins! I sit down and enjoy my (martini / gin and tonic / “Moose Drool” beer) and we all chat about the day’s events, scenery, or family history. Some nights we decide to watch another episode of the geology lectures, during which I (nod in and out / fall fast asleep / remain awake and alert).

Finally, as the final geology lecture ends I (fall into my ready-made queen size bed / convert the sofa to my full size bed / convert the dinette to my full size bed) and drift away to sleep. In the morning we repeat the process all over again.

Due to my prolonged silence, many may have assumed that I've abandoned the blog. So, we will give several days for you to post your response. I'll be back next weekend to give the answers, announce the winners, and give my final thoughts on the Monroetorhome trip, the family reunion, and the American West.

Ehem...check, check...

So, I thought that once I got back to civilization, I would be able to resume with business as usual. However, it turns out that after a month's absence, our internet connection has gone dormant. It requires speaking with a representative at AT&T, so I guess I'll see you guys at the next reunion.

Truth be told, I've come to the end of my voyage. I flew home on Friday and Julie and I spent a relaxing weekend doing as little as possible. However, I do want to put a Coda on the Monroetorhome blog. School started up today; completing the entries, of which I imagine three remain, may take a few days. So, check in from time to time.

M.I.A.

It’s been some time since we’ve been heard from. I suppose one goes to southern Utah or northern Arizona in order to not be found, so why bother with things like WiFi and cell phone. I can dig that. So, as the title indicates, we have been M.I.A. for some days. That is, Motorhoming In Arizona.

Some thoughts from the last few days:

Take an overripe tomato out of your fridge. Step on it. Set it on fire. Once the heat has sucked all the moisture out of the crispy pulp and flake of the tomato, stomp on it again. Congratulations. You’ve just recreated a scale model of southern Utah.

We’ve had quite a time making our way around the Grand Staircase/Escalante National Monument. It took us about two days and 50,000 feet of vertical displacement, but we made it to Mexican Hat, UT near the border with Arizona. On the 4^th we left Bryce Canyon bound for Torrey, near the northern end of the Escalante. The ups and downs of this terrain, a jumble of sandstones and shales with the occasional volcanic remnant, rival the eastern Washington whatever-the-hell-that-was in terms of the topography. (Actually, you would do yourself a service by reading Jean’s comment from several days ago. She corrects my false assumption about how the landscape was formed. She even footnotes her stuff, whereas I just make mine up. Thanks for the info, Jean.) We enjoyed stunning scenery of a new breed of sandstone. Wait, wait. Don’t “X” out yet, this geology lecture will be S-H-O-R-T.

The sandstones we traveled through in these areas showed evidence of cross-bedding, a curious trait you will find if you were to cut a vertical slice out of a sand dune on the beach. Indicative of shifting winds and their effects on sand deposits, cross-bedding looks similar to a series of random brush strokes, perhaps that faux paint effect you tried out in your guest bathroom. Yes, we were driving through miles upon miles of petrified sand dunes, some of which were (when they were still sand rather than sandstone) up to 3000 ft tall. In comparison, the tallest sand dunes of the day are between 150 and 300 ft tall, some character said on one of the movies or tour buses, or something or other. Not sure if it’s true. Throughout the drive I pushed back the urge to sing “Kokomo” by the Beach Boys. It would have been embarrassingly anachronistic. After all, those guys are way older than these sand dunes.

End of geo-spat. See, that wasn’t too painful, was it?

So, we twisted and turned and became well-acquainted with our two lower gears until we arrived at the town of Torrey. We found a delightful oasis in which to park the RV, and the next morning had our brakes checked because we heard a curious sound toward the end of the day of driving. The RV park had a service center attached to it, so a gentleman by the name of “Biggie” checked out our brakes, and gave us a clean bill of health. Yes, I said that his name was “Biggie.” It’s not a typo.

On to Capitol Reef NP, where Barbara and I asked a ranger a series of questions (freshly confident from our recent geology lessons on DVD). By our questions, she realized we had no idea what we were talking about, and she sort of gave up on us. She walked us toward the raised relief model, then ran off to help someone else. We just don’t get it. The park is here mainly because of a formation called the Waterpocket Fold, a 100 mile “wrinkle” in the Earth’s crust. We tried to get our heads around it, but we couldn’t, and the questions we were asking didn’t seem to make much sense to the lady. So we greedily stamped our National Parks Service passports and ran away, counting coup on yet another national park.

The next few hours of driving were decent and swift, but about 30 miles south of Hanksville, UT on US-95, we began to hear scraping again. But it wasn’t our brakes. It was our jaws dragging along the ground as we looked out at an indescribable combination of landscapes that left us all agog. First more red sandstone cliffs, but more a vermillion color than before-some sections reminiscent of Zion, others of Arches. This terrain led us down to Lake Powell and the Colorado River, and upon climbing out of the canyon, we entered into another formation of petrified sand dunes called White Canyon. More cross-bedded sandstones, these rock had been effectively scoured by what we assume to be the White River, and in the process created canyons, gulleys, ravines, and washes that tickle the imagination (what you’re imagining, of course is you intrepidly exploring these things for days and days…with a helicopter resupply crew following your every move so you don’t die of heat exhaustion, dehydration, desert mania, scorpion stings, rattlesnake bites, javelina attacks, or simply, starvation).

So, we plodded through the Colorado River Valley and all of its subsequent canyons, and some hours later came to a sign: “CAUTION! 10% Grade, Gravel with Switchbacks.” We had come upon some monstrosity called the “Moki Dugway.” I assume that this road, if I can call it that, was originally constructed, if I can call it that, for horses. However, between then and the invention of the combustion engine, no one thought to update it for vehicle traffic. I exaggerate, it was plenty wide for our coach to make the switchback turns, but not wide enough for two-way traffic. Fortunately, there was little two-way traffic at this time in the Utah desert. Surprise, surprise. I happened to be on shift for this leg of the journey, so I got to wiggle the Ranchette down the road while Earl and Barbara informed me when it was safe to traverse the next switchback. After completing the climb down some 1000 feet of sheer, vertical cliff, Barbara exhaled, and we continued on to Mexican Hat, UT, so named because of the hoodoo bearing the appearance of a sombrero that is located nearby. Before we arrived in town for the evening, however, we made a stop to Goosenecks State Park. Earl has fond memories of flying over these formations in his Prescott days, and wanted to see them from the ground. The San Juan River once meandered through this countryside much like the Mississippi does in her own valley back East. When the Colorado Plateau uplifted, the San Juan began digging toward sea level, as rivers do, and so the river is now “entrenched” in its same course from 60 million some years ago. Logically, this kind of feature is called an “entrenched meander.”

While in Mexican Hat (population 40 or 42, they’re not sure) we indulged in three geology lectures and talked for about an hour about the mountain ridge that stood outside our west-facing window. It’s a stunning, vexing piece of rock that we’re all dying to find out about. (Christmas gift idea!!: Roadside Geology of Utah).

The next day we packed up and headed for Arizona, whose only destination on the itinerary is Canyon de Chelly in Chinle, AZ. Unlike several of the previous days, the drive itself was only about two hours. So, we explored the north and south rims of the canyon, and of course the Visitor Center to stamp our passports, then headed next door for the National Park Service’s campsite. The campsite itself was a charming jumble of boulders (delineating sites and roads) with huge cottonwood trees providing shade to almost every site. As dusk fell, wild dogs began to populate the campground. The monument and this campground, like anything within 50-100 miles, is on the Navajo Reservation. The Navajo Nation does not allow the penning of animals, so cows and sheep wander along roadways downtown, and in the case of this campground, dogs come to lay in the sun and chase one another through the tall grasses. After taking a walk, I heard barking and howling, followed by a higher pitched bark coming from our motorhome. Upon returning to the RV, it was confirmed that Earl was “communicating with nature” from the dinette table. It made for interesting after-dinner conversation. Then the intermittent rains came, and the campground became dreamlike. It’s great when your day ends on a note like that.

That brings us to today, Thursday, July 7. I’m exhausted, so I’ll leave that for tomorrow.

You may be wondering where all the recent pictures are. The last few internet connections were bunk. I barely got the blog posted. So, when I get home (3:00 tomorrow afternoon), I’ll re-introduce my trusty little laptop to a DSL connection.

Zion, Cedar, and Bryce--oh my!

Congratulations to Doug Sadtler (no relation) for winning the trivia question from a few days ago. The highest elevation that the Monroetorhome has achieved was driving around the rim of Crater Lake NP. Doug’s first answer (read his comment attached to the 8/1 post) was the Basin and Range. However, he did posit a second guess, and that guess is correct. And since he’s the only one to have answered the question correctly, he wins the day’s prize! A keychain from Cedar Breaks National Monument. This 1 ½ inch “Impact” keychain features a panoramic picture of the Cedar Breaks topography, as well as a compass and thermometer, perfect since Doug is always complaining about the temperature and can never find his keys!! (I’ll let you all think about that last one for a minute.) Congrats to Doug and fie on all of you who didn’t even bother to answer a multiple choice question! Jean, I don’t think they took your bullying seriously.

I’m sure if we took a poll to see which is the “crown jewel” in the National Park Service , I’m sure that many people would say Yellowstone--and for good reason. It is by far among the most varied, scenic, and iconic. For my money, I would have said Arches, but out of mere sentimentality. That is, until I hopped on the free shuttle bound for the Temple of Sinawava and The Narrows in Zion National Park. Before I go into our events for the day, let me explain Zion.

Zion is a canyon composed entirely of sedimentary rock carved almost exclusively by the Virgin River, the one I frolicked in two days ago. There are two routes entering the park, the South Entrance and the North Entrance. It is possible to drive these routes, however, both are patrolled by a fleet of propane-fueled shuttle buses which stop at every stop, and encourage passengers to embark and disembark at their whimsy.

What makes Zion singularly superior to all other parks (it has herewith been so determined, sorry Yellowstone fans) is the combination of the scenery, the variety of activities, and above all, the community atmosphere brought about by the use of the shuttle system. A journey to Zion National Park is a SHARED experience. There is very much a sense that we are all in this together. You run into the same groups over and over again, whether it’s two miles into The Narrows, or in the line for soft serve at Zion Lodge. Part of the experience you share externally (hike together, talk with one another), and part of it is shared internally (the mutual acknowledgement that you want this to be a personal experience, wish to hike/eat/read/gawk in silence). By the time I left, I wished I could see the German couple, the two Italian couples, the veteran in a wheelchair, and the four teachers one last time so I could say “Goodbye” and “Enjoy the rest of you trip.” Finally, the most charming element to Zion is the large lawn (with the most immense and beautiful cottonwood tree right in the center) outside Zion Lodge. There people ate, relaxed, threw Frisbees and baseballs. Whether this was the intended effect, when you step off the bus from your satisfactorily exhausting hike, you feel like you have reached “home base,” even if you aren’t staying there. This atmosphere of community, rather than competitive advantage, makes Zion, in my experience, unique among all other parks.

Now, the rocks. While on the shuttle, you are treated to a recorded narration by a park naturalist. It is very well done and very well synched to each viewpoint, drop-off, and turn in the road. From this narration, I learned that Zion represents the “mid-point” in the geologic lifespan of what is known as the “Grand Staircase of the Colorado Plateau.” During the last several hundreds of millions of years, a shallow sea, then a desert covered the western US from Wyoming to California. At some point, the sediment laid down during that time was covered by water, compacted, physically and chemically bonded to form various sedimentary rocks (sandstone, shale, limestone, conglomerate, mainly). Then one day about 70 million years ago, a large chunk of this former desert began to uplift. I don’t know what caused it, but since the Rocky Mountains are 75 million years old, I have to suspect that the two events are related. Anyway, a large portion of the western US (which looked nothing like it does now) began to uplift slowly. So slowly, in fact, that one river was able to keep pace with the uplift, and throughout millions of years continue its path to the sea while carving into the uplifting rock, fulfilling its course from the northeast corner of this uplift, from present day Rocky Mountain National Park, all the way through the southwestern edge of the plateau to the Sea of Cortez in Mexico. Why the “Colorado Plateau,” you ask? After all, most of the plateau is in Utah. The river that cuts through this plateau from start to finish was named by the Spaniards for the bright red rocks they encountered in her canyons. They named it the “Red River” or “Río Colorado.”

So, back to the narration. The “Grand Staircase” is just what it sounds like: a series of cliffs whose lowest “step” is the Grand Canyon, middle “step” is Zion Canyon, and upper “step” is Bryce Canyon. In fact, if you’ve been to the Grand Canyon, you may have heard that the Kaibab Limestone formation serves as the rimrock for the canyon. The dry conditions in the desert make it difficult for the limestone to erode, so it holds the whole thing in place. It turns out that the Kaibab Limestone is the bottom-most formation in Zion NP. The tippy-top layer in Zion is the Navajo Sandstone. Guess what serves as the floor of Bryce Canyon? You got it—Navajo Sandstone. So, the highest formation in GCNP is the lowest In ZNP. The highest formation in ZNP is the lowest in BCNP. Part of this gradation is probably due to the uplift of the the plateau (and several secondary plateaus on top of the main one. But added to this drama are several normal faults that cause additional displacement of once-contiguous rock formations.

My vague recollection from my trip to GCNP in 2002 is that 1 billion of the earth’s geologic history is exposed in the Grand Canyon. If you add the strata found in Zion and Bryce, you’re probably talking about 1.25 or 1.5 billion more years added to the rock record. And all of it uplifted, tilted, faulted and now slowly eroding, creating formations that even the mind cannot conjure.

Since the Zion shuttle encourages independent travel, the Monroetorhomers decided to strike out independently. Mom took the Riverside hike, then walked out on the rocks at the beginning of The Narrows. Then she cased out Zion Lodge (she’s compiling an exhaustive survey entitled, “Comfort of and View from Leather Chairs in National Park Lodge Great Rooms”, due to be published when she can sit no longer). Following her stint of analytical sitting, she hiked to the Lower Emerald Pool. On her way down the canyon she stopped at the Natural History museum and took in the movie and a ranger talk. As she was about to board the bus for home, her obnoxious son jumped out of a bus fresh from a hike, and annoyed her into attending another ranger talk (ask us about the horsehair worm). After the talk, she went back to the RV.

Earl took his time on the shuttle ride, taking the round trip, then headed back to the RV in time for lunch, and sank into one of the captain’s chairs to engage in what has become one of our most favorite guilty pleasures—people watching. His observations about RV campground behavior are insightful. I encourage you to pry details out of him.

I headed out early for a hike in The Narrows, which is a canyon about 100 feet wide at its mouth. The exercise involves walking upstream in water that can be anywhere from a few inches deep to shoulder deep. The 16-mile canyon requires a backcountry permit, and a death wish. So I wandered upstream until the canyon reached its minimum width, about 20 feet. After 2 miles and 2.5 hours I decided enough was enough, and covering the return distance in only an hour. At the mouth of the Narrows, under the curious and watchful eye of a bunch of Germans, I took a dozen or so pictures of my shoes in celebration (see slideshow).

I headed for the museum where my mother ran over to me, embarrassing me in front of all these people, and made me attend a ranger talk and watch a movie. Following the movie I hiked the Emerald Pools, returning Zion Lodge for a hot dog (pic o’ the day?) and an ice cream cone. While lying in the grass under the cottonwood tree, I decided to abandon ambitions of my third intended hike (Watchman trail, affording views of the canyon, and Springdale below). I returned to the Visitor Center, purchased a large can of Budweiser (doing it for the family, Earl owns Anheuser stock). Although late to cocktail hour, arriving around 7:30, I was not truant.

Today we went park hopping. Leaving Zion, we descended the Colorado Plateau, only to climb it again in the northern section of the park called Kolob Canyons. A nice driving tour offering more great examples of erosional retreat was the highlight, although several hikes are possible. After Kolob, we got off the plateau, headed north and back up the plateau to Cedar Breaks National Monument. Here we achieved our all-time altitude record: 10,350 feet. The folks at Ford deserve props; this little V8 engine has weathered lots of “ups and downs,” literally. Cedar Breaks is an amphitheater of eroded sedimentary rock, famous for hoodoos and spires, much the same stuff that we will see tomorrow at Bryce.

We are now in Bryce Canyon, UT at Ruby’s Inn, a ticky-tacky complex of campgrounds, hotels, ersatz villages and such. Tomorrow we’ll case out Bryce Canyon NP, and make our way over the north side of the Grand Staircase, touching down in Escalante or Torrey, UT, on our way to Mexican Hat and eventually Chinle, AZ.

Vox Clamantis in Deserto

Southwestern Utah. Canyon Country. Abbey's Country. The Rimrock. The Desert Southwest. Drive down any one of the criss-crossing roads in southern Utah, northern Arizona, southwestern Colorado, or northwestern New Mexico, and you will be treated to an innumerable combinations of shape, shade, size, color, and texture. No single minute is the same as the one previous, especially in your automobile doing 75 down I-15.

But would you believe me that if you slowed down, perhaps even got out of your car and walked around, the scenery would change even MORE often? It’s paradoxical, but true. The sandstone and shale cliffs of this region are immense, but not the least bit uniform. The closer you look, the longer you look, the more you will see, and the more the rock will reveal itself to you.

This region is special to me because it taught me a great lesson in humility at the age of 25. After undergrad and grad school, then teaching for a few years, I had pretty much surmised that I knew everything that was worth knowing. In 2001 I agreed to chaperone a summer course at Westminster called “Field Geology.” It was a good fit since I considered myself a hiker and outdoorsman, and it paid me to travel. Offered to rising 9^th graders, the course, through its many iterations covered geology, ecology, biology, botany, meteorology, astrology (etc.) in one form or another, but geology was the focus. The course consisted of a 3-4 week trip out west through Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, and Utah. In a caravan of passenger vans, armed with steno pads and walkie-talkies, students would conduct a “mobile classroom” including lecture, discussion, and field problems. To this day, this high school geology course, of which I was merely a spectator, comprises the greatest educational experience I have ever known. My everyday life, from the books that I read to the hikes that I take, is affected by my experiences with the students and teachers that were involved in this course. I wound up coordinating the trip the next year, then for the following two years I dabbled in teaching sections (the easy ones). It’s been four years since my last stint with Field Geology, and it’s good to be back in the “classroom.”

Anywho, we departed Ely, Nevada yesterday morning and had a delightful drive through the waning ranges of the Nevada desert, and quickly found ourselves in a decidedly different element! At first the vegetation thinned out. The only substantial vegetation left was that which clung to southwest-facing slopes (more moisture and sunlight). At varying points on our journey nothing remained but sage and needlegrass for miles around. And then shades of red began to appear in certain rock strata high up in the mountains. You wouldn’t notice it unless you were expecting it, and even then it might appear as shadow play. We crossed the Utah border, came out of the Needle Range that straddles the state line, and there at the bottom of this long, downward sloping grade rose a jumble of red, pink, yellow, brown and green rock that (feel free to corroborate or contradict me on this, cuz I’d really like to know) HAD to be the western border of the Colorado Plateau. THE COLORADO PLATEAU!! That massive expanse of uplifted earth that covers four sizeable states actually has a beginning and end, and this may be one of them!!! From then on, the scenery just got better, and better, and better.

The rock got redder, the angles more peculiar, the formations more curious. We missed our exit on I-15 for Springdale, and thank Heaven we did. It led us to Exit 16, Utah Rte. 9, which passes through Hurricane and Rockville before it reaches Springdale. As soon as we turned the corner off the exit we entered an anticline, a formation in which an uplifted rock erodes in the middle, leaving only the upward and opposite pointing remnants at the base. Another hand gesture activity. hold your hands out in front of you, facing each other, palms facing down. Now raise both hands as if they are pointing to an imaginary point above. Draw with your eye an imaginary curved line connecting both hands. All that imaginary stuff in the middle has eroded away, been picked up and moved toward the ocean. What remains (your hands and all the rock under your hands) is called an anticline. The strata of the rock is identical, yet nothing but thin air between (or in the case of Hurricane, UT, a Wal-Mart is there).

We checked in to our campground and were thrilled to discover that we were but feet from the Virgin River, one of the main rivers that flows through Zion NP upstream. The 102 degree heat did little to dampen our enthusiasm because our campsite, and basically everything within a few miles is surrounded by gorgeous redrock! See the pics in the slideshow below for a visual. While Earl and Barbara relaxed in the RV’s air-conditioning, I headed up to the laundromat for some household duties. How to kill 45 minutes while you’re waiting for your laundry? Strap on your Keens and head for the river. The Virgin River is about twenty feet wide and no more than 2-2.5 feet deep in any location. It burbles along at a decent pace losing a foot of elevation every few hundred feet. A few outfits rent innertubes so you can float down the river. But since I had my Keens, I just sat in the middle of the river and let the world float by me. It was the perfect relief from the heat. After a changing of the laundry, I returned to my spot on the river and chose to lay rather than sit. The river carried me some fifty yards or so until it dumped me on a rock that I found too comfortable to pass up. So I remained there, people watching and playing with the sand and silt that I dredged up with my hand. “Did you enjoy Zion National Park?” I asked this handful of goo. It didn’t reply. I can assume that it’s taken hundreds if not thousands of years for it to get this far, and therefore has no recollection of the parkso it opted for silence.

Tomorrow we will get to explore the park ourselves, and if so inclined, we will consult some silt that is better informed.

Ely, Nevada: 368 miles round-trip from the nearest Wal-Mart

Sorry for the prolonged absence. One word: Nevada.

Actually, our last post came from Diamond Lake, OR as we prepared for our visit to Crater Lake. We were just a few minutes’ walk from Diamond Lake, a pristine mountain lake nestled between Diamond Peak and Mt. Thielsen. The day at Crater Lake was sublime. When the weather is right, so they say, the water in Crater Lake is cobalt blue. Ask them why and the rangers will whip out their crinkled posterboard display and tell you all about it. If I may borrow from 1980’s songstress Debbie Gibson (she goes by Deborah now that she’s on Broadway), the water was “electric blue.” I’m usually the type to put away my camera while I hike, but I just couldn’t stop taking pictures of this otherworldly scene. I was convinced that the sun would set or the clouds would shift, causing this rare brand of blue to fade. Alas, from 10:30 until 3:00 with varying cloud cover, Crater Lake’s 2000 ft deep waters (the deepest in the nation) remained an inimitable shade of deep, bright blue. While Ted hiked Garfield Peak, Earl and Barbara visited the lodge and attended a ranger talk. Both yield high marks. And Earl and Barbara are a discerning audience.

Departing Crater Lake, the drive to Klamath Falls was pleasant enough, but we were probably on sensory overload from the lake. The day prior we tottered around Mt St Helens, so we are all about volcanoes now. However, since we lost two days of WiFi access, I’ll spare you my diatribe on why I love volcanoes so much. (Thanks, Julie for warning everyone about my “geology talks.”) I will simply tell you that volcanoes are sneaky little bastards. Pliny the Younger (or Elder, whichever) called Vesuvius long before it buried Pompeii and Herculaneum several meters of ash, but sometimes you just can’t tell what they’re going to do. Mt St Helens caused quite a fuss in the 80’s, but that was predicted a month or two ahead of time, yet 50 some people still perished. Crater Lake, however, was not caused by an eruption, rather a collapse.

Mt. Mazama was a massive (read dozens of miles in diameter) stratovolcano (the nasty kind) that did begin erupting 7000 years ago. Accounts still exist in Native American oral tradition of the event. Several vents formed and the volcano belched and erupted over a long period of time. At some point the volcano evacuated so much of the magma stored below, that the entire mountain collapsed under its own weight. The caldera that remained filled with water, hence Crater Lake. A rover was recently deployed to the depths of the lake where they found beds of moss 20 ft thick and at the very bottom (dun, dun, dun, dun…) a bubbling, broiling hot spring. Sneaky little bastard.

But surely the grandpappy of all sinister volcanoes is Yellowstone. Unleashing cataclysmic eruptions every 600,000 years or so, the last one was 600,000 years ago. Visit the park sooner than later.

Well, after getting our kicks fantasizing about the relative destruction of the Northwest (nothing against you guys up in Washington and Idaho, but it’s just too cool not to contemplate), we headed south into Nevada and the Basin and Range. The Basin and Range is as it is described, a series of mountain ranges alternated with a series of basins. (A basin is a valley whose waters do not reach an ocean, but you can interpret “basin” as “valley.”) The Basin and Range, in form, is no different than the ranges in the U.S. (The Boise crowd can probably recite the MT/ID ranges in order, but among them are the Bitterroot, Sawtooth, etc., all interrupted by river valleys) or the many Appalachian ranges (in central Applachia for example, the Taconics rise up from the Catoctin which rise from the Allegheny, etc.). What makes the Basin and Range unique is the forces that created them.

Typically, a mountain range is formed by compression, that is, the smashing together of the earth’s crust. Wanna make a mountain? Here’s a fun experiment: Hold your hands out so that your fingertips are touching and your palms are facing the ground. Now, with millions of pounds per square inch at the ready, start to push your hands together. Ah, ah, ah! Both fingertips can’t go up. That’s cheating. Instead, push your hands together until your left hand begins to push beneath the other. That hand wins. It’s now a mountain builder. What becomes of the right hand? Does it just slide along the top? Nonsense! Your fingernails probably got in the way. No, the left hand that pushed under the right hand, in the process of doing so, dragged the right hand with it. The fingers of the right hand begin to curl, gnarl, get twisted and bent. But wait! Look at your knuckles! They’re pointing up! Quick name them before some twitchy British explorer gives them a name from his boat far off the shore (I’m looking at you, Vancouver). If you gave names to those little pointy things, then you have just named various peaks in a range of mountains created by a process known as subduction. Oh, and try to come up with something more creative than “One Little Piggy, Two Little Piggy…”

This is how the vast majority of mountains came into being: an oceanic plate (Pacific) subducted under a continental plate (North American plate), and VOILA! In the case of the Himalayas, it was two terrestrial plates (Indian and Asian), but the result was the same.

Now to the Basin and Range. To the best of my recollection (the reading of “Basin and Range” by John McPhee some five or six years ago, so my rendering may in no way reflect modern geologic theory, but hey, I'm sitting in a motorhome in the middle of the desert, so I'll make it up), the Basin and Range is formed when the terrestrial plate “relaxes.” Now, keep in mind that throughout geologic history, nothing really “stops,” it just puts its energy elsewhere. In the case of the North American Plate, at some point it extended, stretched, probably as a reaction to hundreds of millions of years of being compressed (I think it’s called isostatic or isometric rebound, and it’s akin to what happens when you press down on a couch cushion—it lurches back up). So, when the earth’s crust “stretched,” gaps were formed. Gaps in crust are called faults, and you probably remember from Junior High Physical Science that faults cause mountains (displacement, uplift, however you wish to define it), one part of the crust goes this way, and the other part of the crust goes that way. And you now have a mountain range.

If you were to Google “physiographic map of the US”, you would probably be prompted to a USGS or NOAA site that has physiographic maps (a map that shows differences in elevation). If you were to look to the west, you’d see the following: Pacific coast/Coastal Range/California’s Central Valley/Sierra Mountains. Then, to the east of the Sierras, you would see what looks like a small army of snakes oriented to the northeast, as if they were trying to invade the Snake River Plain in southern Idaho. (funny side note: When our beloved late Wray Monroe visited Marilyn in Boise in the 80’s, he traveled via southern Idaho. According to the story I heard, she opened the door and he said, “This is the ugliest state I’ve ever seen!.” Marilyn challenged him to come back another time and she’d show him northern Idaho. With that, the “Mostly Monroe” adventures had begun.)

Anyway, these snakes slithering through Nevada are, in fact, the alternating ranges and basins of the creatively named Basin and Range. You know what, after I submit this post, I’ll see if I can google it, and if I can find it, I’ll post the map in the slideshow (for those of you new to the blog, there’s a slideshow of pictures to the bottom right. It hasn’t been updated for sometime due to upload restrictions on the WiFi connections at these campgrounds.

Well, Julie, as it turns out I did babble on about geology. Sorry everyone, but I think it was Wallace Stegner who said (and I paraphrase), being surrounded by nature and not learning of its origins is akin to walking through a great museum with all of the paintings facing the wall.*

“Why didn’t you write about what you guys did during the last two days?” you might ask. I did. We drove. The end.

Tomorrow we’re on to Zion National Park, and from there we hit a spate of state and national parks (“spate” is the technical term for more than one public park). Among them are Cedar Breaks, Bryce Canyon, and maybe Capitol Reef NP. Please feel encouraged to post a comment on these parks, as we know very little about them from personal experience.

I will leave you with a trivia question. The first person to post their answer wins the first of many prizes!!

Question:

At what site did the Monroetorhome achieve its highest elevation?

a. Glacier National Park

b. A mountain pass in the Idaho Rockies

c. Crater Lake National Park

d. A mountain pass in the Basin and Range

The answer in tomorrow’s post.

*Editorial Note: Fellow Field Geology teacher and resident know-it-all Clark Meyer was good enough to point out that this quote is attributed to Thomas Henry Huxley, not Wallace Stegner. Thanks for keeping me honest.

On the Road Again

Top 10 Things I learned at the Monroe Reunion:

10. Of all the generations, to the best of our figuring, there is not a single lawyer among us. Take that as you may.

9. The Monroe’s are so frugal, when Jean sent out her questionnaire, everyone in Building 16 opted out of the “hot water upcharge.” I wish I’d known about that.

8. D Monroe one-upped us all by using his rental car as a hotel room. Well played, D.

7. The only two places left that Ron and Anne Dahl have not visited are Detroit and outer space. Since they must choose between the two, they have completed flight simulation exercises and will graduate to zero-gravity training shortly.

6. Due to the use of coupons, “buy 1 get 1 free” promotions, and group discounts, the City of Port Townsend has actually lost money on our reunion.

5. According to Jean’s instructions on “How am I related,” I seem to be an HWB₀C₁². If I recollect my high school chemistry, I am highly reactive to caffeine, sugar, and fermented hops. I have two isotopes, both of which carry negative charges. I assume they are named “Bob” and Doug.”

4. Upon check-out, Mark Monroe’s Toyota Corolla rental car had 8 miles on it and was considered to be in “Excellent” condition. Upon its return, the car had numerous scratches, four dents, the upholstery in the back seat was missing, as was the car’s manifold and left rear door. The car’s odometer read, “Error.” Mark’s response: “Damned Japanese cars.”

3. Gretchen Higbee walks 10,000 footsteps every day! This is particularly impressive considering the fact that she is living in an RV while doing so. After living in Earl’s RV for 10 days, I’m averaging 241 ½ footsteps per day. Where did the ½ step come from, you ask? The commode in the RV has a foot-activated lever. It turns out you shouldn’t have asked.

2. Anne Dahl’s DVD rendered the entire Monroe clan speechless. The publishers at Guinness have been notified.

And the number one thing that I learned during the Monroe 2008 Reunion:

1. At some point in the last couple of weeks, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie had twins. I think I’ll go back to the RV now.

It was wonderful to see everyone, and unfortunate that we couldn’t see EVERYONE. It turns out that the REM’s, under the leadership of Barbara, will take on the task of coordinating the next reunion. We were so excited talking about it last night (in Woodland, WA, just south of Mt St Helens) that we actually started making tentative plans.

Today we made a brief stop in Salem, OR where we took a spin around the state capitol, and Earl caught out of the corner of his eye the Oregon State Office Building where he worked for the Selective Service. In his words, “the best way to make sure I didn’t go to war was to be proficient at determining who did go to war.” We made an illegal stop, snapped a photo, and proceeded west two blocks to the boarding house where he stayed while working in Salem. The adorable bungalow at 1410 Court Street was beautifully maintained, much to Earl’s satisfaction.

We are now passing through Eugene on our way to Crater Lake. Since we are now straddling the eastern edge of the so-called “Ring of Fire,” tomorrow we’ll muse about one of my favorite topics in geology: volcanoes.

Port Townsend, ho!!!!!!!!!!

I know a thing or two about farmland. For example, the Mountainside house had a vegetable garden. In ’91 I took a bus from Richmond, VA to Colorado Springs and saw a whole lot of farmland. I’ve spent time in Illinois, Wisconsin, even the Central Valley of California. The point here is that I’ve seen farmland before. It’s usually uniform in color, depending on the crop of choice, devoid of trees, with curious mechanized monsters plodding around grinding, processing, fertilizing, or spraying things. Sometimes it’s flat, and sometimes it’s wavy. Remember Katharine Lee Bates’ immortal phrase, “Amber waves of grain?” A hike up Pike’s Peak inspired those words. Well, if Bates were in the Blue Mountains in southeastern Washington rather than central Colorado, her verse might have been something like, “Amber waves of HOLY HELL, THESE WAVES ARE HUUUUGE!”

This is not your Uncle Clem’s farmland. The “amber waves” of eastern Washington are actually tsunamis—somewhat literally (I’ll explain in a minute). South of Spokane the farmland is impressively wavy. So much so, I asked Barbara to take a picture (I was driving). This marks the first time I’ve ever requested a photograph of grain. The landscape is enchanting to say the least. Young wheat is an iridescent green. Adult wheat is a robust green. Mature wheat has a golden hue so bright that it out-shines the cloudless sky above it. However, the farther we headed south, hilly terrain transformed into cavernous swells (much to the frustration of the Monroetorhome’s cruise control. The Rocky Mountains had little effect on our V8 engine. Driving through this terrain, I was questioning if I was close to overheating the engine.) Once we pulled into Dayton, WA, I was sad to see the roller coaster ride end. However, the high winds, twisty turns, and ever-changing grade was exhausting from the perspective of the driver.

You will have to verify this since we don’t have a geology text on board. My knowledge is limited to a foggy recollection of a book (“Cataclysms on the Columbia”) that Barbara (I can call her Mom when referring to a birthday present she once gave me) found while on one of her Mostly Monroe trips to this area. Barbara suggested that these massive “waves of grain” are actually deposits from an ancient flood caused when the Missoula Dam broke. The Missoula Dam no longer exists, and the Army Corps of Engineers had nothing to do with it. Toward the end of the last ice age, as glaciers scoured this region, one of them came to an end near the present-day town of Missoula. Surface water melted to form a lake, while the glacier’s terminus remained, forming an ice dam. The ice dam broke periodically, releasing an unimaginable (not even Michael Bay’s best disaster film could capture this kind of deluge) amount of water, thousands of feet high. The resulting ebb and flow (imagine sand in the bottom of a sloshing bathtub) created these criss-crossing ripples in Washington’s landscape, forming the now coined “amber tsunamis of grain.”

The bouncy terrain did finally subside as we approached Walla Walla, the town where Earl spent some of his formative years, and to which he returned with the Army Air Corps. Earl found that little remains of the Walla Walla of his youth, however, we did manage to locate his school, and the park in which he used to play. (Even one of the canons placed there to commemorate WWI was still there.)

The drive from Walla Walla to Mt Rainier NP was a breeze, relative to the “farmland” of eastern WA. We crossed the Snake River, and bid adieu to the Columbia for a week or so, then came upon two massive snow-capped peaks on the horizon: to the left (south), Mt. Adams at over 12,000 ft. Straight ahead, Mt. Rainier at 14+. And that was the best glimpse we would get of her. As we approached, clouds and drizzle came in from the coast, and as we climbed to the Paradise Visitor Center, visibility diminished (to about 100ft). Alas, our photo album of this trip will not include picturesque vistas of Rainier, but I did get one of Barbara looking out into the clouds! We stayed the night at Mountain Haven Campground, one of the most idyllic spots I think I might have ever seen. It’s like Narnia, only without the Wicked Witch and the tiger that thinks he’s Jesus. (I know, I know, not quite how the story goes. I haven’t read it in two decades, and haven’t bothered to see the movie.) We hated to leave it, but that goes to show how fond we are of you all. We cannot wait to get to Port Townsend.

By the time you’ve read this you’ve probably returned home from the reunion, so it was nice to see you all, and I hope we can all forget the embarrassing episode regarding “you know who.” Wouldn’t it be great if this cryptic, prognosticative reference might actually apply to someone??? Can’t wait to find out!! Well, we’re about thirty minutes from Port Townsend, so I’m going to sign off until Monday.

Don’t forget to check back in on the Monroetorhome 2008 blog after the reunion!! Coming up:
· A day in the life on the Monroetorhome (with a chance to win prizes!)
· Find out at what point we all blow up at each other.
· Figure out how many days Ted can tolerate eating Fig Newtons as a snack (going on 10).
Stay tuned!

A Good Day for Earl

What a day we had in Chewelah! The drive through western Idaho and into Washington was scenic, but it’s kind of like leaving the MOMA and heading to “Crazy Eddie’s Wicked Good Museum of Art.” Your basis of comparison is all out of whack. As we left Idaho and entered Washington through the town of Newport, we were still talking about the towns of Ponderay and Sandpoint, ID. Nonetheless, the journey was pleasing to the eye and it was wonderful hearing Earl’s remembrances of the region, whether it be from childhood or from a field trip he took while completing his graduate degree at MSU.

It seems that once we cleared the Cabinet Mountains the terrain took on a different aspect. The pine trees thinned out and dust clouds kicked up where the land was not being irrigated. We crossed the Kanisku National Forest on a picturesque road that led us around the shoulder of Chewelah Mtn., el. 5775 ft. On the way down the mountain into the valley we passed the Pioneer Cemetery, and Barbara asked, “Do you suppose Harold and Vin are buried there?”

The town of Chewelah, where DD Monroe set up shop in 1912 and served as mayor for one year, now boasts a population of just under 1800. A very pleasant park which sits on land donated by Coronel Jenkins (the man from whom DDM rented the home in which Earl was born) covers several city blocks and straddles Chewelah Creek, whose charming but swift current has become a popular attraction with Chewelah’s children. Our first stop was the Chewelah Library, where the town history shows no record of a DD Monroe as either a doctor or mayor. However, the librarian was able to furnish Earl with a recent map of the town. We broke for lunch, consulted the map, and discussed other possible sources of information on this nebulous time in Monroe lore (it was Saturday, and the Chamber of Commerce and City Hall were both closed).

Earl hit the jackpot at the Chewelah Museum, an outfit run by one lady whose love for Chewelah history made for hours of good conversation. Mom found in the records a book of minutes from the Stevens County Medical Society. One note of the November 6, 1912 meeting reads, “Communication of Dr DD Monroe of Chewelah relative to membership read and filed.” Although not yet a member, he was herewith officially “on the books.” About six months later, said application was accepted. In the years that followed the minutes reflect that DDM was very active in the Society, serving as its president “for year 1915.” The final entry to mention his name is dated May 7, 1917, at which he “gave an interesting discourse on Ear Ache.” Earl sat in a chair for about an hour, reading these accounts, and noting pages in which his name was mentioned.

While he and Barbara were engrossed at the museum, I took a walk through the park, and noticed a house with very interesting beveled masonry. Earl had shown me the picture of his birthplace, and although it was a different color, and the façade look different, I walked around it to investigate. Apparently I was looking at the back of the home (which faced the street), because when I walked around to the front, I immediately noticed the curved walls on the second floor. The owners of what is now the Nordlig Motel were in the front yard gardening. I asked them if this house was owned by Cor. Jenkins, to which they replied affirmatively. I asked if it was rented by a DD Monroe, to which the man responded, “He was a doctor of some sort.” EUREKA!! We chatted for a bit. They were more than happy to chat with Earl if he wanted to pass by after his stint at the museum.

When I returned to the museum, Earl and the museum “curator” were making copies of the documents that they had found, as well as an index of all headlines from the local newspaper archive (several of the children are mentioned in various articles). Earl practically jogged over to the Nordlig Motel, where they invited us in to see the home, and share what history they know. Incredibly, Clarence’s drawing of the home (including the spiral staircase and water fountain that adorned the foyer) were a spot on match for the real thing. Earl walked upstairs and wondered in which room was he born. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome (there was no chance of that happening—they were thrilled, and their daughter is a history buff who just this year completed a history project on Col. Jenkins.), so we stayed about 10 minutes, showered the family with thanks, then headed off, amazed at the amount of information we had come across in just a few short hours.

(By the way, that swift creek mentioned above is, indeed, the creek in which little Vin Monroe drowned in 1916. No one but our family seems to have any record of the incident. Both the curator and the motel proprietors were grateful to learn that bit of history. The road improvements have rerouted the creek, and the island that Vin was trying to reach no longer exists.)

The final stop for the day was to that Pioneer Cemetery on the hill east of Chewelah. The blueprint index was poorly drawn, so Barbara and I spent a good 45 minutes scrambling up and down dry, dusty hills (read cliffs) trying to find the Monroe plot. Barbara triangulated the location by locating multiple obvious markers, and eventually we found the plot. Harold (stillborn, 1915) and Vin (drowned age 3, 1916) are memorialized with beautiful red marble headstones. The markers, as well as the larger Monroe marker, have weathered a bit these 90 some years, and lichen have gained purchase on the smooth, polished face, but otherwise they in very nice condition.

The Chewelah RV site did not have internet, so we are closing on the end of the next day, the 20^th. We are outside of Spokane, at what appears to be the RV owner’s version of a timeshare. For that reason, the Ponderosa RV Resort has less of the “mom and pop” appeal that the previous venues had; however, their accommodations still rank third to the KOA's in Bozeman and Glacier.

Tomorrow we drive about a mile to the RV service location where we will resolve the issue with the leveling jack. Wish us luck that we’re out of there by lunch time!! Then it's off to Walla Walla, which should be a 4+ hour trip.

“Mr. Monroe, it’s Murphy on line 1”

Well, as we were about to depart for our second day of frolicking in Glacier, we discovered a malfunction with the right, rear leveling jack. Two problems: how do we get this fixed, and how do we stop that horrible beeping coming from the dashboard. With the help from Earl’s “executive tool kit,” the second problem was easy to resolve…we disabled the damn thing. The first problem led us to leave West Glacier one day early and make our way to Spokane, where, thanks to persistence in calling different RV dealerships, we found a service rep that could get us a replacement jack by Monday. So, rather than zipping through Chewelah and Walla Walla, WA, we will take it at a slightly more relaxed pace.

I came on board this exercise with only one condition: that we stop at all state lines, when safe and legally arguable, to get my picture taken at each state line. It’s what I do instead of collecting snowglobes. So, at the Idaho/Montana line, we stopped in the parking lot of State Line Bar and Casino, and all three of us got in a picture before the Montana state line, three generations of Monroes commemorating their visit to the town where Barbara grew up, Earl spent some of the happiest years of his life, and Ted plans to move to once he can convince Julie to do so.

The repair detour has led us to an unexpected stay in Sandpoint, ID. This reminds me. Julie, if you don’t want to move to northern Montana, how about northern Idaho? (Marriage is all about compromise.) However, our spirits are still high. Although repairs are neither convenient nor fun, particularly for the one paying the repair bill, little seems affected in regard to our itinerary.

We dined in the Ranchette this evening on a two-course meal: cheese fondue as an entree and a York Peppermint Patty for dessert. Our lust for luxury knows no bounds. Continuing the geology video series will serve as the evening's entertainment.

Tomorrow its off to Chewelah, WA, birthplace of Robert Earl Monroe.

Keen on Keens

I will preface by saying that I am in no way affiliated with the company that manufactures Keens. However, if a representative of said company is reading this, I do accept endorsement deals of any sort.

(The "Pic of the Day" associated with this post, as with all other POD's, and additional pics of the trip, are featured down and to the right in the slideshow. Watch the glacially rotating thumbnail images, or do yourself a favor, and click on the picture.)

Keens are AWESOME!! They are a hybrid hiking boot and river sandal. Julie and I spent last week hiking, kayaking, and lounging in Michigan, both clad in Keens (shout out to the Northwestern Univ. crew who are all “krazy” for Keens!), but I was dubious as to whether or not they could handle snow. My hike today took me from Logan Pass on the Continental Divide in Glacier NP, over a saddle, around a ridge, and down to Hidden Lake. The rangers cancelled the ranger hikes for the week due to “trail conditions.” Snow still covered a good portion of the trail, and hikers were advised to hike “at their own risk.” When I saw that World War II veterans and children under the age of 5 were braving the hike, I decided that I could not be dissuaded. So, I plodded the three (very slow) miles through snow/slush/ice to the most delightful lake tucked between Reynolds and Clements Mountains. Half of the lake was still iced over, but the other half is cobalt blue, and iridescent when the sun is shining. Along the way I befriended a family of mountain goats, a mama and baby marmot, and a number of other critters. The goats and marmots on this hike are not at all shy, and in some cases, play with passers by.

Earl, Barbara, and I climbed the Going to the Sun Road together on the free park shuttle, which goes as far as Logan Pass (6000+ ft. in elev.) Barbara and I cased out the Visitor Center, cancelled our National Park Passports (one of the many geeky exercises that you will hear about) and posed for some pictures. The ride itself is about 1.5 hours in duration, with construction adding a variable, so Earl and Barbara soon headed back down to Apgar Village to rest, snack, people-watch, and await my return.

Glacier is obviously well-known for her many glaciers, which at one time numbered in the hundreds. Now, however fewer than 20 exist, and they are all in a state of retreat. In fact, Barbara made as one of her few requests that we stop in Glacier, in her words, “while there are any glaciers left.” Perhaps some day soon they will have to change the name to Glaciated National Park, lest they be accused of false advertising. Glaciers or not, the terrain is something to behold: cirques, arêtes, U shaped valleys, moraines of several sorts, hanging valleys, and so many other glacial features. In fact, on our way up the road, I noticed a hanging valley that seems to have been carved not once, but twice by two glacial events! If someone wanted to take pictures for an illustrated textbook on glaciers, you could do a lot worse than Glacier NP.

My ride down was interrupted by road debris, halting no one but my shuttle bus driver, prompting me to hop off my shuttle, and hitchhike back to the parking lot. It only took two cars before a nice family from Flathead Lake, MT picked me up. We had a wonderful conversation on the way down about airplanes (the man was a pilot), Montana (the man was from Montana), motorcycles (the man has owned A LOT of motorcycles), and my job and hometown (the man asks a lot of questions). They dropped me off at the RV doorstep, where I told Earl and Barbara of my adventures, and we whipped up some delicious andouille sausage (thanks, Molly!) with peppers, onions, and zucchini.

Tomorrow, more hiking, some paddling on Lake McDonald, and perhaps a ranger –led boat tour.

Thanks to Jean Cerar for solving the “Enabling Act” mystery (read comment below). Now for the next brain teaser: On my hike today, as I crossed the saddle between Reynolds and Clements Mountains, my cell phone asked me if I wanted to convert my calendar for the new time zone. It then asked me the same question as I crossed back to Logan Pass. I assumed that the Continental Divide also serves as the border between Mountain and Pacific Time. However, when I got home, and told Earl and Barbara of this occurrence, they furrowed their brows, and objected. “The Continental Divide does not straddle a time zone!” they cried. They sprung into action, grabbing the first map/atlas/gazetteer that they could find (there are only about 30 in the motorhome), and confirmed that lo, the time zone changes at the Montana/Idaho border (witness geeky exercise #2). So, I put it to you Monroe clan, et al. If the Mountain and Pacific time zones straddle the Montana/Idaho border, why did my cell phone believe otherwise??

Make it snappy. We’re only here for two more nights.

Three Dopes in Three Forks

As you can see by today’s “fun fact,” not a lot going on in Bozeman. However, we thoroughly enjoyed our day in Bozeman. We nodded off to sleep watching Chapters 12 & 13 of a geology video series that Earl purchased so as to entertain us in the evening after the scenery has faded to black. Also, in his view, nothing on television is worth watching. We learned about the volcanic nature of the Hawaiian and Yellowstone hot spots.

This morning was downright lackadaisical. Earl projected an 11am departure for Helena, and we were all ready by 9:00. We were so happy chit-chatting that Barbara and I had forgotten to go on our walk/run (respectively.) We hit the road at our leisure, and I got my first introduction to conducting 17,000 lbs of steel, foam, and formica down a two-lane highway. I was surprised at how easy-going it was. A half-hour down the road yielded and unplanned visit to Madison Buffalo Jump State Park. A five mile, rutted, gravel road leads to intermittent cliffs, one of which was used by Shoshone Indians as a buffalo jump. The interpretive displays were FANTASTIC. They clued us into the strategy behind the process, how the hunters used the collected carcasses, and our favorite part was a detailed description of the seasonal lives of Native Americans. Very well laid out.

Missouri Headwaters State Park in Three Forks, MT was the main event of the day. The Jefferson, Madison, and Gallatin Rivers confluence to form the longest river in the continental US. Earl and Barbara dropped me off at the first stop (confluence of the Jefferson and Madison), and they proceeded on to the main picnic area for lunch. I took a brief hike (30 minutes, with stops) to a few overlooks of the Gallatin River, the surrounding mountains, and Lewis Rock, the overlook that Meriweather Lewis climbed to survey the land, and to decide which river might be the Missouri. Imagine what went through his head, climbing to the top, surrounded by mountains, realizing that he was not far from the Continental Divide. If memory serves, he believed himself to be within 100 miles of the headwaters (of what he considered the Missouri, in this case the Jefferson). In fact, he was much closer.

Earl took the wheel after Three Forks, and chauffeured us to Helena. Mom’s goal of visiting all the state capitol buildings en route was “capital” in our minds. Parking the motorhome in this hilly, downtown area was a bit of a challenge, but Earl’s patience paid off, landing us just two blocks from the bronze(?)-domed building. With great suggestions from the entry guard, we saw the House and Senate chambers, and were actually able to enter the Old Supreme Court chamber. We had a great time looking at the murals throughout, trying to guess what landmark “Montana moment” they were trying to depict. One painting still perplexes us. “The Signing of the Enabling Act” seems (underscore “seems”) to feature Wilson, T Roosevelt, and Taft signing something. After a little probing, we discovered that Montana gained statehood in 1889, so there was NO WAY that those three guys were signing anything pertaining to Montana statehood. (And given relations between the three, do you think that any three of them would want anything to do with one another???) So, all you readers out there!! Get on Wikipedia and make something up about the Enabling Act so that Barbara and I can satisfy our curiosity.

The paintings throughout the building were impressive, expressive of the frontier mentality of the typical Montanan (I can’t say “Joe” Montana, lest it be misunderstood as THE Joe Montana). In fact, the painting adorning the House Lobby is the very same painting on the front cover of my copy of “Undaunted Courage”, Paxson’s “Lewis and Clark at Three Forks.” What struck us both about the capitol is the vibrant colors throughout the main arcade: green, red, and gold. The gold, perhaps for much-prized Montana Gold, but Barbara suggested that the bright colors give it a “Wild West saloon” feel. Whether that was their intention or not, her description is on the money.

We are spending the night in Helena, next to a Class A (the big kind of motorhome) that, for one reason or another, has situated a large (3 ft tall) stuffed goose in his front windshield. Is this the equivalent of pink flamingoes on the front lawn?

I am doubtful that Glacier NP will have WiFi access (Grizzlies often eat the routers), so if we stay in the park, we’ll go silent for three days. But if we stay in West Glacier, we may just be in touch. I’m beginning to like this kind of living:

Q: Where will we stay tomorrow?
A: Somewhere north of here.

Updated pics to the right.

"You mean there's an exterior of Bozeman??"

The "Roaming Ranchette" or "Monroetorhome" picked up its third vagabond minutes after noon yesterday, the 13th. Within minutes on I-90, I was aware that I was dealing with two experts in motorhome travel. Earl and Barbara are at ease behind the wheel, perhaps given the 2250 miles they've logged since their July 4th departure (surprise, surprise, Earl is keeping score). I started reading "Undaunted Courage" on my Michigan trip, and was delighted to find that the first landmark I'd see is the Yellowstone River (I'm still in the "westward journey" portion of the book, but I admit that last night I did sneak ahead to read Clark's description of the river on his return trip.) On our way to Bozeman we were treated to views of the Beartooth, Crazy, Bridger, Absaroka, and Gallatin ranges, all in the 100 or so miles from Billings to Belgrade (town just west of Bozeman that hosts the airport where Earl worked for seven years). The Gallatin Valley is shrouded in haze all the way around. Humidity, we wondered? Can’t be pollution, we thought. According to a helpful driver from the Avis car rental company, the haze is attributed to the wildfires raging in northern California. He says it comes and goes from day to day, subject to the changing winds.

We rented something considerably more maneuverable than a 34’ Fleetwood Bounder, and did a day tour of Bozeman. The Avis driver who picked us up (not the same as the aforementioned) lived on 11^th street in downtown Bozeman, about 1 ½ blocks from where Barbara grew up. They even had a common friend, a boy named Tommy Martin. Mom reports that he was a wild child, who took her to construction sites to root around in materials and dirt mounds. Earl’s reply: “So you learned about architecture from an early age and from the inside out.”

The Sabo family is near and dear to E & B’s hearts. It’s evident in every account that Earl offers. We visited their house on the corner of 3^rd and Harrison. Lo and behold, it’s on the National Registry of Historic Places. “Dr. F.I. Sabo” is mentioned on the placard outside the house, and E & B recall that it’s very much the same way it was in the 1950’s.

The most commonly used phrase was “It looks so different.” Case in point: It was difficult to find Montana Hall, the principal building of MSU, due to the campus sprawl. However, thanks to some minor traffic violations (service roads and sidewalks be damned!), we managed to sneak a peak at the building. Earl got out of the car gazed for a minute or two, took a picture, and returned to the car before “campus fuzz” caught on. He remembers walking from graduate housing up a long grassy slope (by my judgement, perhaps 100-200 yards) to the lone Montana Hall. Now, a sidewalk takes you past dorms, academic, and administrative buildings, among which Montana Hall is virtually lost. On it’s own, and respectfully ornate four-story building. Barbara recalls that Earl brought volumes of books from the 3^rd floor library of Montana Hall down the hill to Pauline, who gobbled up every one. According to Barbara, it was Pauline’s mission in her nine years in Bozeman to exhaust the library’s holdings. As far as she knows, she came pretty close.

Several other points of interest, the pharmacy, the arcade, the train station, are no longer. Both Barbara and Earl remarked that this news comes with a touch of sadness; however, Barbara is delighted that the old city that they knew is largely intact, although much has grown up around it. Parks are still in place, schools still standing, and bungalow homes have not fallen prey to the “McMansion” craze that’s happening in so many cities. From a freshman perspective, the town is a comfortable combination of vitality and nostalgia. And who could ask for a better amphitheater than the Bridger Range to the north, the Gallatin to the southeast, the Madison to the south, and the Tobacco Root to the west.

Tomorrow we’re off to Three Forks, where the Jefferson, Madison, and Gallatin Rivers confluence to form the Missouri River. Then to Helena.

Fun Fact: Thus far, Earl has spent $1401.26 on gasoline. After calculating, Earl barks, “Ask them, ‘How much did you pay for airfare?’”

"Thank Heaven for a Working Fridge."

...or so Earl said when Barbara asked him to comment on the trip so far. I spoke with Barbara yesterday, my first and only check-in with them since they headed off. When asked for comment, Earl mentioned the above cryptic comment. So we have to assume that something went wrong with the RV's refridgerator. However, Barbara reports that it is "fixed and refridgerating beautifully."

Their week was spent traversing the eastern states of WV, OH, IN, IL, IA, NE, SD, and arrived last night in MT, probably in the town of Hardin (get out your gazeteers). Only a week out, Earl and Barbara are one day ahead of schedule, but they promise it's not deliberate. The highlight so far was their visit to the Badlands. They didn't expound, but I assume it was the scenery, and not the gift shops, that caught their eye. In the town of Wall, SD, they visited Wall Drug, which in Barbara's words, is "famous for being famous." Some time in the 1930's, the owners advertised "Free Iced Water" to parched travelers. The self-promotion that followed made it a household name (to households that often talk about obscure tourist traps in the middle of nowhere). Wall Drug went so far as to post a road sign at the SOUTH POLE!! (Monroe Reunion 2013, anyone?) Pictures available in the slideshow below.

I am writing this from Chicago's O'Hare Airport, awaiting my flight to Denver, then to Billings. (Julie and I just spent a week with some friends in a cabin in Michigan not far from Muskegon, thus the Chicago departure.) I should join the Monroetorhome crew a little before 1:00 pm, then it's off to Bozeman, Glacier NP, and points west.

Should the promise of internet connections at motorhome campgrounds turn out to be a case of false advertising, subsequent posts may be few and far between (literally). However, we will do our best. That's all for now. 10 days 'til the Monroe Reunion 2008!! Thanks to Jean Cerar for her tireless work in coordinating, troubleshooting, and wrangling indecisive family members and state park officials.

And they're off!!

Although I haven't spoken with either Barbara or Earl (from here on out I will address them as most of you know them, rather than as "Mom" and "Grandpa."), we have to assume that they headed off this morning from Kensington. After all, could you imagine Earl allowing himself to fall behind on Day One? We wish them Godspeed. They should be toasting marshmallows somewhere in Parkersburg, WV right about now. Just across the Ohio River they begin their stroll down "Amnesia Lane," with visits to some key sites in Monroe, Stockton, and Lord history. Also included is Athens, OH, where Barbara went to college.

Fun Fact: Parkersburg is home to the Bureau of Public Debt, a division of the US Treasury. By the way, several "fun facts" will appear in the coming weeks. Most of this information, much like my Master's thesis, is a series of Cut/Pastes from Wikipedia. So, let's play a fun game! Look at the itinerary (it'll be on the main page, eventually), and find a city that we will soon be visiting. Go on Wikipedia and contribute some odd tidbit of trivia--something completely implausible whose mere suggestion draws looks of disbelief. Then, wager with fellow Monroe's as to whether or not I will, at some point, quote this tidbit as if it were empirical fact! I look forward to what you cook up on "Hanksville, UT."

48 Days and Counting

Some time last year, Grandpa conceived of a creative way to travel to the 2008 Monroe Reunion. Buy a motorhome and visit all places significant on his way out to the Olympic peninsula. He probably calculated the average wait time at airport security and figured that a cross-country trip would be a better use of his time.

Only two other family members match the main criteria for this endeavor (lack of sense and employment): me and Mom. Alas, three generations (one Old Fogey, one Wahoo, and one Whipper Snapper) of Monroes/Sadtlers will be traveling across the country en route to Fort Worden State Park. If I get my hands on a wireless card between then and now, we will blog on a regular basis. If not, we will drop in from time to time with pics and updates whenever we approach civilization.

The trip begins on July 3rd.