Tues., August 18 I drove through sweltering temps to the KOA campground in Great Falls. I decided a little pampering was appropriate (and a long shower was absolutely necessary). The entrance to the campground, beside a Walmart and through an industrial area, wasn’t promising, but the campground itself is well shaded and quiet, except for the occasional helicopter flyovers from the nearby Malmstrom Air Force Base..

After a hot shower, dinner, and a good night’s sleep, I was ready to explore the area. Giant Springs State Park has miles of walking paths and trails along the Missouri River and a Lewis and Clark Trail Interpretive Center. The Great Falls of the Missouri is a short drive away (where Great Falls got its name).The boys and I set out.

The Giant Springs are a shady, cool retreat right next to the river.

After a stroll along the river to look at all the watefowl, we drove downriver to Ryan Dam and the Great Falls. Unfortunately. pets aren’t allowed on Ryan Island, where you get the best view of the dam and falls, so I snapped a few quick photos and returned to the car before Moe and Scooby expired in the heat

We reluctantly left Duck Lake on Tuesday. Russ and Matt had struck up a friendship, and I enjoyed talking with Matt, his wife Sharon, and their grandson Justin, who became a regular visitor to our campsite to play with the dogs. Matt even loaned me a copy of a book of Blackfeet tales of Glacier and the surrounding territory (all part of the Blackfeet Reservation). I felt they deserved something for all their kindness and friendship, so on leaving, I presented Justin with O Bear, the stuffed toy black bear that I had carried with me the whole trip, asking him to take good care of him, and to see that he got to visit Yellowstone again some day.

Now, KOA campgrounds are not my favorites, but heading east across Montana, the campsites are few and far between. And after ??? days where my only shower was a dip in Duck Lake, I was ready for all the amenities. Great Falls KOA is actually pretty nice: shaded, quiet, just outside of town and convenient to shopping.

I was grateful for all of the above (especially the showers) after a long, hot day of driving through the arid Montana grazing lands.

Then i came across these guys!

This isn’t too bad:

I settled in, then got food for myself. I’ll do a bigger shopping trip when Russ gets here on Thursday. In the meantime, I think I’ll check out Great Springs State Park on the other side of town, and the falls that gave Great Falls its name.

Monday I was up and raring to go. It was another warm, cloudless day as we prepared breakfast and got ready to head to Glacier. And then….

This is bear country, they said.

Stow all your trash safely, they said.

Did we listen? No!

Our trash was invaded!

Off to Glacier! We got there before the crowds, and just in time for the first big shuttle bus toward Logan Pass. We saw a grizzly bear on the way, but I didn’t get my camera out in time.

Hiking from Logan Pass up to the Hidden Lake overlook:

…and then my phone died. You can see Russ’s blog (russloomis.com) for the rest of the pictures of this spectacular place. He did share one with me:

We rested for a snack at Hidden Lake overlook, where the ground squirrels (locals call them gophers) are very tame. They will climb right up into your lap for treats. Luckily, we had some fruit and nut mix. I was in heaven, and shared my treats with several kids, who were thrilled.

At the overlook we saw mountain goats snoozing on rock ledges across the way, then were treated to the sight of one ambling right across the trail. As we headed back to the Logan Pass visitors center, we saw two bands of bighorn sheep, resting and grazing near the trail. There were more ground squirrels, both gophers and the smaller golden-mantled ground squirrels that look like chipmunks. We also saw a couple of marmots. The pines smelled heavenly, and the views were breathtaking. I could not even begin to put into words how magnificent this place is.

We hopped the shuttle down to the trailhead to St. Mary’s Falls, and hiked there and back, but decided at that point that we’d better think about going back to our campsite and rescuing the dogs, who’d been cooped up all day.

The shuttles are crowded, even on a a Monday, and the drivers have their own system for letting people on, based on who will be leaving and entering, and at what points. At our last hop, a family of five was trying to make a connecting shuttle by 5:30. We entered, but that left only three places. I could hear the driver giving them a hard time, so I came forward to offer our seats, as we could wait for the next shuttle. At that, the driver agreed to let the family on after all. The dad tapped me on the shoulder to thank me, and said something profound: ”Sometimes it just takes one act of kindness to open the gates of kindness.”

And we got to see another grizzly!

Thursday morning, I heard from Russ—his hosts of the night before had convinced him to ride Going to the Sun road through Glacier National Park, and to meet me at Duck Lake by turning south from there, rather than coming north from route 2. So as I skirted the southern edge of Glacier with the dogs and my newly beefed-up hitch, Russ was riding through the heart of those majestic peaks. He promised to catch up to me on Friday, and to stay for some hiking. 

Duck Lake was unexpected—just 20 rustic, widely spaced campsites, all on the shore of the lake. There’s no water, but several sites have electric hookups. Not far from the eastern entrance to Glacier, it’s on the Blackfeet Indian Reservation; indeed, next door is a tribal campground, closed to outsiders. No one was in the office when I arrived at 5:30, but a passing camper suggested I find a site I liked and check back. I left the vehicles at the office and walked the dogs up the dirt road past the campsites, to stretch our legs and scope out the options. I met Matt, one of the hosts, chatting with another camper near the end of the line. He offered me and the dogs a ride back to the office in his car. On the way back, I pointed to site 8 as a possibility, but he quickly dissuaded me, saying “You don’t want that one. It’s haunted.” He did not elaborate. 

I decided to take site 7 instead, especially after he also told me that he’d frightened a grizzly away from site 8 just the day before. I have noticed that everyone here carries their bear spray with them, so I don’t think he was joking.

Then we ran into a problem: they don’t take credit cards or out of state checks. I’m one of those people who don’t carry cash any more, so that left us with a dilemma. After a telephone confab with his wife (“She’s the boss.”), it was agreed that they would trust me until the morning, when I promised to drive to the ATM in Leaning Tree. I settled into my shaded spot, and spent some time watching grebes, gulls, and pelicans on the lake. After watching the sun set behind Glacier Park, I snuggled in for a deep sleep. 

The next day I did, indeed, drive to Leaning Tree for the ATM—and an excellent breakfast. I returned to camp, and settled in to wait for Russ. In the meantime, I swam in the crystal clear waters of Duck Lake, relaxed in the cool breeze, and generally enjoyed the view of nearby Glacier Park. I was astonished to be approached mid-day by the hosts with a question: “Would I like some fish?” They handed me a beautiful rainbow trout that had to be at least 16 inches long. “Just caught this morning,” they assured me. Of COURSE I would like some fish! I thanked them profusely, and made plans to grill it for dinner after Russ arrived.

And then I waited, and waited…. and waited…

It wasn’t until nearly 7:30, when I went to the office to tell my hosts that I would drive to Leaning Tree, where I could get cell service, that they remembered that their WiFi had finally been repaired, and that I could use it. Then I received all of Russ’s messages from the previous two days, and found out that he had been directed all the way from Saint Mary’s, 9 miles away in Glacier Park, to Browning, 30 miles south of me, to a Duck Lake Campground that didn’t exist.

We finally connected by phone, and I set off to get him and his bike, which meant first emptying the back of the car of a great deal of weighty tools, equipment, extra food and clothing, storing anything that might attract bears in the camper, and then driving 30 miles to Browning with the dogs, who could not be trusted with all that extra food in the camper. Russ was starving when I found him, so after a quick stop at a gas station for fuel, we headed to the casino, the only place still open after 8 pm. Not our first choice under any circumstances, but they had burgers and fries, and—most importantly—ice cream. 

We left the casino after dark and were headed back to camp when a warning light I’d never seen before started flashing.  I pulled into the gas station where I’d just gotten gas a hour ago, and pulled out the car’s manual to find out what was going on. According to the manual, the engine was about to overheat. Russ was exhausted and brain dead by this time, so it was up to me to figure out what to do. I’m sure those of you who know more about cars would know immediately, but I was very glad for the help of two young Blackfeet men, who tactfully showed me how to fill up my coolant and got us back on the road.

Goodness knows how late it was when we got back. We still had to get the bike stowed, move all of the stuff back into the car, and then set up the bed in the camper before we could flop down and sleep. The fish would have to wait for another day. 

Saturday Russ worked on his bike, and we did finally grill that trout. It was delicious with grilled onions and sweet peppers, and some pretzel rolls I’d found on my trip here. 

Sunday we planned to return to Glacier so I could see the park, but I was feeling queasy and headachey so we decided instead to stay one more day and see Glacier on Monday. Hopefully I will feel better, and we will find it less crowded. 

Wednesday morning, I woke in a panic. Despite setting my alarm last night, it didn’t go off, and I was already half an hour late to get my car fixed. I threw on my clothes, threw the dogs and their leashes in the car, and drove like a bat out of hell for Libby.

At Twinkle Welding, Trapper was calm, as usual, and brushed aside my abject apologies. He and his crew set right to work, and in less than three hours had a new hitch installed and my broken frame welded. And he charged me less than his quote! I could not resist giving him a hug, and promised to share my great experience on the web. If you are ever in the area of Libby, MT, and need welding or hitch services, call Twinkle Welding and tell Trapper I sent you!

Next on my agenda was breakfast—I was starving! At the nearest place, I waited in line with a nice couple. We hit it off and they invited me to join them at their table. Butch and Josie and I had a great time talking about our travels and interests, and we lingered quite a while, swapping stories over our meal. Finally, I said goodbye with reluctance, and headed back to the car and my two very impatient dogs. 

I decided that, since I was already in town, I would see if someone would look at my exhaust system, since I’d been hearing a concerning rattle. However, after a quick check, I was told that there was nothing wrong with my exhaust—the rattle was only a heat shield (notorious for coming loose on Subarus). But had I noticed the rhythmic thump from my rear end?

Ugh. Back the other way on route 2 through Libby, this time to a Les Schwab, the chain that had replaced my front brakes on our first leg through Montana. I thought they would tell me there was a problem with one of my rear tires. I was not prepared to be told that both rear brakes needed replacing, and they MIGHT fit me in on Friday. I told them I’d have to stop at the next Les Schwab heading east, upon which they decided that they could, in fact, fix my brakes right now. I didn’t mind paying $500 to get my hitch and frame fixed, not so happy about having to unexpectedly pay $900 to replace both rear brakes, when I didn’t even realize there was a problem. 

So that was my Wednesday. By the end, I was exhausted, the dogs were bored out of their little minds, and my wallet was a great deal lighter. It was all I could do to pick up a few groceries, drive back to camp, eat, and fall into bed. 

SAM OWEN CAMPGROUND, IDAHO

Sam Owen Campground in Idaho was my third boondocking site in a row, after Washington Park and Roosevelt Lake, and I began to notice that my battery was losing its charge faster than before. Was it not charging fully from my car between campgrounds? I hoped there wasn’t a short somewhere. Meanwhile, i enjoyed the lake, where the dock was the only place to get cell service

I’d planned to go from Sam Owen to a National Park campground somewhere in Montana next, but when there was no place for me to stay an extra night at Sam Owen, I had to find another campground on short notice—and on a Saturday! I was lucky if I could get minimal pgone service at Sam Owen, so a thorough internet search was out of the question. I found Koocanusa Resort and Marina, and was told they did have an opening that night. I grabbed it. I expected a busy, crowded RV park.

KOOCANUSA LAKE CAMPGROUND, MONTANA

I wasn’t expecting a quiet, shady, full hookup, private site on a gorgeous lake! They even had showers, laundry, and a bar and restaurant. Koocanusa Lake is just east of Libby, MT, and was created by another one of those Army Corps of Engineers projects, the Libby Dam across the Koote ai River. It’s surrounded by ponderosa pine-covered mountains and miles of federal lands, and is well stocked with fish, making it a popular destination for fishermen. No building is allowed within 300 yards of the lake shore, which means all the views are of unspoiled mountains (except for logging cuts). For some reason, it’s very popular with people from Alberta (I saw lots of Alberta license plates in the campground). And with an electric hookup, I wouldn’t have to worry about my battery draining again.

I took advantage of the kayaks for rent, and spent most of one day paddling across the lake and around two islands, where there are boat-access only campgrounds. Along the shore, I found a floating cooler of beer, and then found the owner, camped on one of the islands! He was most grateful for its return.

Then Russ noticed that my hitch was ‘drooping’. He pulled up on it, and it was clearly loose. So much for leaving the next day: I was going nowhere until I could get that hitch looked at. Craig, the campground owner, suggested Twinkle Welding back in Libby, so I called them first thing Monday morning. Over the owner’s protests that he was already ‘double booked,’ I pleaded with him until he at least agreed to take a look at it, and I raced the 20 miles to Libby.

As promised, he slid under the bumper to look at the hitch—and came out with a grim look on his face. “It’s not your hitch,” he said. “Your frame is broken.” There would be no fixing that, he told me, since no one could—or would—weld that back to like-new condition. Under no circumstances should I try to pull my camper. I asked him to give me a moment, turned around—and burst into tears. Now what? I envisioned being stuck in rural Montana, with no car, and no way to move our camper.

I did what any sensible person would do under the circumstances: I called my sister and sobbed out the situation to her. After consoling me, Sue—ever practical—commented “Well, at least you’re someplace where there will be a lot of used trucks and SUVs for sale.” Then I texted Russ, who responded, somewhat less helpfully, “Yikes!”

Meanwhile, the owner of the business, between customers, asked me to wait while he tried to find another solution. One customer, who had pulled in while I was being given the bad news, and who heard me say I was following a through-bicyclist, told me he was real sorry to hear about my predicament, but maybe I should buy another bicycle instead! That made me laugh, even through tears. 

Finally, the owner—everyone calls him Trapper—came back with a solution: a different type of hitch, which would mount on the main frame of the car (the one I have mounts on something called the bumper cross bar). And, even though they were booked out at least a month, he was willing to come in at 6 am that Wednesday (after waiting a day to get the parts) to fix it for me. He somewhat apologetically told me the cost would be $500-600. I was so grateful, I nearly kissed him! Instead of buying a new car, I would only have to get a new hitch installed, and have the broken frame bar re-welded. He reassured me that it would be fine, as long as I didn’t try to tow anything with the bumper crossbar again.

Back at camp, there was no problem with me staying another couple of nights. I released Russ to continue on his journey on Tuesday morning, and watched a deer stroll through the campground. Think I’ll take a leisurely stroll with the dogs after I finish my chai. Inhale. Exhale. Sigh. 

Echo Chambers

Social Divisions

Wedge Issues

Polarization

On my mind this morning, as I’m reading an article in The New York Times about book banning, and how it has gone from a family or community issue to a political one, thanks largely to social media.

I’ve had other discussions with fellow campers over the last 3+ months or so about the deep divisions I see in today’s society. Some felt that it was an “us versus them” issue, others pointed to this or that party, to the media, to the internet. 

I, having grown up without the ripple effects of social media, feel that the internet, with its infinite, deep rabbit holes, has created a new society, one thwt is dangerously anonymous. It’s like that old cartoon by New Yorker cartoonist Peter Steiner:

This cartoon inspired the play Nobody Knows I’m a Dog by Alan David Perkins. The play revolves around six individuals, unable to communicate effectively with people in their lives, who nonetheless find the courage to socialize anonymously on the Internet. 

Which illustrates my anxiety: On line, the only identity you have is the one you choose, and the friends you have are the ones who agree with you. You need never interact with others with different ideas. What results are people living in deeply divided echo chambers, some very radical and some very dangerous. 

A young man from California I spoke with yesterday admitted that the internet had, in many ways, become an echo chamber (“Just because they agree with you doesn’t necessarily make them good people to hang out with,” he said.), but also pointed out that for many young people, like the characters in the play, it was a source of support, a space for the ‘different’ (or just socially awkward) to find others like them. We both agreed that there was little or no place for a middle ground: politically or socially, and he told me of his experiences in the early gaming community (he was from Silicon Valley, after all), where to be a fan of one game meant disparaging those who played another game; there was no place for someone who would ‘cross the lines.’ 

And yet, as I meet individuals in my travels, this is seldom an issue. We talk about our homes and families, our travels, we compare campers and gadgets, we complain about or exult in the weather. Occasionally, we go deeper. Some exchanges don’t go so well, as in Montana, where I started a conversation about the January 6th hearings with a man in line with me. He blames a Democratic plot. Somehow, we moved on to religion. This Christian told me I had to accept the Bible as the inerrant word of God, written by God. I kept thinking that as Christians, the same things should upset us, but that was not the case. He was upset about liberals, abortion, immigrants taking jobs and ‘government handouts’; I was upset about poverty, racism, gun violence, and womens’ lack of control over their own bodies. No doubt, he was convinced I was going to hell; I told him that his tattoos were specifically forbidden in his Bible. It did not end well.

In Oregon, sitting around a campfire with shots of Irish whiskey, Russ and I got into a political discussion with a man who had voted for Trump, and who thought that Trump and the Republicans had done good things for the country. We spoke of our concerns; about poverty and racism, about the high cost of medical care. He was not a hard-liner: he disagreed with the overturn of Roe v. Wade, and he listened as I gave my viewpoint on the ‘good’ that Republicans have brought to this country. I conceded that he could keep his guns, as long as we could find a workable solution to gun violence. Russ said something brilliant, which we all heartily agreed with: the media presents the ‘news’ so as to divide us and create fighting, which creates great news. And so the cycle goes. We parted the next day, thanking them for the exchange.

So where is the middle ground, where people can agree on goals and work out their ideas about how to achieve them? Where are the safe spaces for the ’different’, the shy, the ones who are struggling to be connected? Where can dangerous ideas be heard and alternate ideas be presented, or help given?

I don’t know. I think our church is doing a pretty great job of being a middle ground, allowing everyone to be themselves, to be heard and accepted, but not everyone will accept the forum of organized religion. Maybe we all need to sit together around a campfire once in a while. Whiskey optional. S’mores might help. 

A record heat wave has enveloped the region. Spokane has recorded over 100° for four days in a row, and it is expected to continue all weekend. The air is palpable: pressing you down, making the slightest movement difficult.

Normally, I’m miserable in the heat, but by now I’ve either adjusted or become resigned. The dogs and I conserve our energy: they lie sprawled out on the cool pavement under the camper, flat on their sides, mouths open, tongues hanging out. I move only enough to keep my chair in the shade, first one side of the camper, then the other

Finally by early afternoon I can no longer bear it, and I put on my swimsuit and slip-slide down the steep, sandy bank to the edge of the lake. Every time, I tell myself I will be bold, will plunge into the cool water, will take the shock all at once. Every time, I sidle into the water, first to the knees, then the thighs, the waist, and then, after a long period of internal struggle, I push off from the bottom into deeper water. How to describe the joy, the enveloping, silken coolness, the sheer RELIEF of not being hot? One good thing about being overweight: you float like a champ. I lie on my back and gaze at the small clouds floating by; I dive into the cold green depths and pop back up like a cork. They say there are huge pickerel here; I’ve not seen any (yet). Sometimes I bring the dogs, and force them to swim for a bit. They hate it, but stop panting after that. Scooby especially, with his thick fur, seems energized after a good dunking. I have to find some way of tethering them, or Moe disappears up the hill and returns to the campsite. I must follow, as he has taken to defending my campsite with all the fury of a small dog. So mostly I leave the dogs with plenty of water and take my time in the water.

It’s so hot that I can’t even think of moving inside my trailer until nearly dark. I turn on the fan for a bit; that helps, but mostly we just have to wait out the transition. Unfortunately, there’s an hour or two between when the mosquitoes come out and when it is bearable to be inside. As with the heat, I put up with it until I can’t anymore.

Russ is delayed, too, because of the weather. He tried to do his normal (60+ miles) one day and nearly died, so he’s taken to riding short days, starting near dawn and stopping by early afternoon. I’ve revised my camp reservations to stay here an additional two days, and have put off the Idaho campground until Weds. He’ll take a rest day or two before moving on in, hopefully, cooler conditions.

A young girl made several loops past my campsite on her bicycle before she gathered up the courage to say “Your dogs are cute.” This is a common opening gambit for kids when my dogs are around. “Thanks,” I said. “Would you like to meet them?” Why, yes, she would. We started a conversation that continued on and off all day, with breaks for cooling off in the lake, as she rode her bike around camp. Each time, she would stop to pet the dogs and to chat, and then was off again.

Late in the day, she stopped by and shyly handed me a folded piece of paper. “This is for you,” she said. I opened it to find this delightful artwork:

“Wow! Thanks!” I replied. “I really like it!” (who wouldn’t?) She scurried off, beaming.

I came across her mom and older sister later that evening, as I was taking the dogs for their evening walk. I told her mom what a sweet daughter she had, and said she was welcome to visit me as long as they were staying. Unfortunately, they were leaving the next day, so the next morning, I returned (with the dogs, of course) to say goodbye and to ask if it would be OK to take a selfie with the girl, so I could tell her story here. Mom was cool with that. Here’s my new friend!

After saying goodbye, I headed out on the trail which runs past the campground and marina, along the lake to the Colville River. I didn’t leave early enough to beat the heat, but at least the trail was mostly shady, and my reward at the end was a cooling dip in the lake. 

Back to camp, and another afternoon of the slow migration in my camp chair following the moving patches of shade. (If you were wondering; yes, I have an air conditioner, but it requires an electrical hookup, which this campground does not have.) I was hoping the maintenance men would have returned to fix the broken water faucet next to my campsite by now; maybe after lunch? It would be nice not to have to make the long trek to the next loop to refill my water tank, which is running low. 

Tuesday morning, we left Anacortes heading east, and almost immediately headed into blistering heat. The dogs were panting madly, so I had to keep stopping to water them (and me)—my Outback will run air conditioning, or tow my camper, but it won’t do both.  Even up in the northern Cascades, the heat was a sweltering 100°. 

The scenery, however, was spectacular, and the Skagit River was the most unearthly shade of sea glass green. 

Lots of little waterfalls tumble down beside the road.

Coming out of the Cascades, I went back into the dry central part of the state. You would not think that this area would be a huge fruit producing area, but (thanks to massive irrigation) it is.

On and on, through the heat we drove. Finally, we reached Lake Roosevelt and the Kettle Falls Campground, and that’s when I discovered that the lakeside campsite I’d chosen had NO SHADE. Fortunately, it was evening by then. The next morning, I moved to a shadier site. Good thing, too, because this heat is supposed to continue at least until Sunday. 

I will be checking out the swimming beach soon.