Day 58: October 30, 2026. Familiar places and friendly faces.

It was well below freezing when Tad and I finally bundled up and stepped out for our morning walk. overnight, the parking area at Crane Hot Springs had completely filled up, yet the crisp morning air was surprisingly quiet, with very few people moving about just yet. Wanting a peaceful stretch where we wouldn’t bother anyone, we headed toward the overflow parking area.

​With binoculars draped around my neck and Tad's leash in hand, it didn't take long to wonder if I had made a mistake by leaving my gloves behind. But, as any birdwatcher knows, it’s incredibly difficult to focus binoculars with gloves on, so I opted to endure the bite of the cold. I walked with both hands tucked into the front pocket of my sweatshirt, clasping the leash end where my hands met in the middle for warmth. Along the way, we passed a man out walking his own small dog; we exchanged a silent, knowing nod—a mutual understanding of the cold-weather sacrifices we gladly make for our furry companions.

​I recalled there being a pond nearby and began heading toward the access point. Stopping for a moment, I turned back to see how far we’d wandered from the motorhome, watching the thick, ghostly steam from the hot springs rise and dissipate into the freezing air behind it.

​As we climbed a small incline, we were suddenly treated to an entirely different world. In the soft, early morning light, the natural pond was incredibly peaceful, dotted with ducks, coots, and shovelers paddling lazily through the water. The rising sun caught the perfectly still surface, reflecting a quiet beauty that made the freezing walk entirely worth it.

​The steam and stillness of this high-desert oasis carry a storied history that stretches back long before it became the popular retreat it is today. Officially known as Crane Hot Springs—having recently returned to its original moniker in 2019 after years as Crystal Crane Hot Springs—the site was first used by early homesteaders and local ranchers in the early 1900s for laundry, watering stock, and basic bathing.

​Its first commercial era began in the 1920s when a local physician and an entrepreneur built a massive 30-by-60-foot concrete pool to tap into the therapeutic waters. However, because the geothermal source wells natural water outputs at nearly 180 degrees Fahrenheit, and they lacked a cold-water source, guests originally had to wait days for the pool to air-cool to a safe temperature! To keep waiting patrons entertained, the owners built a popular restaurant and dance hall, transforming the site into the bustling "I & C Hot Springs Resort."

​Tragedy struck around 1930 when a disastrous fire leveled the dance hall and restaurant. The structures were never rebuilt during the Great Depression, and the property spent the next six decades changing hands, remaining minimal and rugged. It wasn’t until 1997, when Dan and Denise Kryger purchased the property, that the springs were truly revitalized. They excavated and lined the centerpiece 9,700-square-foot soaking pond—allowing the thermal water to continuously mix and cool to a comfortable 103 degrees Fahrenheit—and added the private cedar bathhouses, cabins, and RV sites we see today.

​Walking back toward the steaming RV park, with the sun finally catching the frost, it was easy to see why this resilient little pocket of Harney County has remained a cherished sanctuary for over a century.

Coffee was available in the commons area so I grabbed our cups to take advantage of our hosts offerings. It was early so there was no one in the warm gathering room. The spacious area offered kitchen, TV, games, and music options.

After coffee, we decided to have one more dip in the relaxing waters before heading west toward Bend, Oregon. 

Despite a full campground, there were few people in the pool at 10am. Check out is 11am. The facility has about 30 employees and their rules are fairly strict. Check in and out is closely monitored and guests are penalized if they are not out by the scheduled time. The upside is a clean and well run facility. People management. We rolled out exactly at 1055 am.

Traveling west, excitement was building for our visit with Pat and Jim Arneson at their beautiful cabin near La Pine State Park near Bend, Oregon. 

The three-hour drive to Jim and Pat’s house went smoothly, and we pulled in right on schedule at 2:00 PM. It felt fitting to spend the very final night of our cross-country trip catching up with good friends. Kasey and Jim noticed they were wearing almost identical shirts. It must be a Minnesota thing!

Jim and Pat’s long-time friend, John, arrived to join the gathering, and the stories and conversation carried us well into the night. We were treated to a pot of Jim's delicious homemade chili, which hit the spot on a chilly evening. Tad was allowed to come inside and be part of the party for a bit, though he eventually decided the adult chatter wasn't nearly as interesting as a good night's sleep and happily retired for the evening in the motorhome.

Tomorrow we head home to get back into our regular life routine.

Day 57: October 29, 2026, The Boathouse in Burley Idaho to Crane Hot Springs Oregon 350 miles 5.5 hours

Day 57 — Thursday, October 29, 2026

The Boathouse, Burley, Idaho, to Crystal Crane Hot Springs, Oregon — 350 Miles, 5.5 Hours

Headed for Hot Water!

We had a relaxing start to the morning. It was chilly, but thankfully, there was no wind. I took Taddy for a long walk while Janice readied Lexy to set sail on another leg of our Grand Adventure.

Another Harvest Hosts guest had arrived overnight, and as we walked past their camper, a man and his dog emerged. I waved, and he came over to chat. His name was Eric, and he and his wife, along with their dog Freya, were from Seattle. They were slowly making their way across the country to St. Petersburg, Florida, where they planned to arrive by Thanksgiving.

We shared stories about our wonderful experiences with the Harvest Hosts and Boondockers program. One of the things I love most about traveling this way is the opportunity to meet kindred spirits who share our love of adventure and discovery. Every encounter reminds me that there are interesting people and stories waiting around every corner.

We wished each other safe travels, and Tad and I climbed aboard Lexy.

Janice and I were especially excited about today's destination. Tonight, we would be back in Oregon for the first time since September 5, when we spent our first night on the road in Boardman. After nearly eight weeks of traveling across the United States and Canada, we were finally returning to our home state.

But before we could hit the road, there was one little matter requiring our attention.

A much-needed sani-dump.

Now, for those unfamiliar with the finer points of motorhome living, emptying the holding tanks is one of those necessary chores that is best accomplished quickly, efficiently, and without incident.

Usually, that's exactly how it goes.

Usually.

I hooked the sewer hose to Lexy's outlet, but my hands were cold, and somehow, I failed to secure the connection properly.

Complicating matters, we were parked a little farther from the drain than usual. I stretched our trusty slinky sewer hose to its absolute limit while Janice held the other end firmly over the sewer pipe.

Everything appeared ready.

I pulled the gate valve.

And then...

"OH, THE HUMANITY!"

For those who remember the famous radio account of the Hindenburg disaster, those immortal words seemed particularly appropriate.

We had a gusher!

Not from the end of the hose, mind you, but from somewhere underneath Lexy, where the connection had come loose.

Janice announced the unfolding catastrophe, and I quickly slammed the gate valve shut.

There are moments in life when time seems to stand still. This was one of them.

I grabbed the water hose and began washing down the pavement, cleaning up the evidence of our unfortunate eruption. Then I moved Lexy closer to the drain, reattached the sewer hose, this time making absolutely certain it was properly secured  and we finished our business without further incident.

We thoroughly cleaned everything, packed up our equipment, and made a hasty departure, our dignity mostly intact.

Although I couldn't help noticing that someone, who shall remain nameless but happens to be my wife, was snickering a little too loudly.

The entire episode reminded us of Robin Williams in the movie RV, where the simple task of emptying a motorhome's holding tanks turns into an unforgettable disaster.

Fortunately, ours was considerably less spectacular.

Although I suspect Janice might tell a slightly different version of the story.

With our sanitation catastrophe behind us, we finally set sail for Oregon.

Thankfully, the remaining five and a half hours were wonderfully uneventful. After so many weeks of extraordinary adventures, unexpected detours, and occasional mechanical challenges, an uneventful drive was something to celebrate.

Tad and I enjoyed a couple meat stick "road  cigars" We listened to our blogs and some music. Our spirits where high as we crossed over into Oregon. We had forgotten that about 80 miles of Oregon’s eastern border is on Mountain Time.

We arrived at Crystal Crane Hot Springs, settled Lexy into our campsite, and headed for a long, relaxing soak in the wonderfully warm mineral waters.

Ahhhhh!

After spending the morning dealing with an entirely different kind of liquid, soaking in hot water was a particularly welcome change.

The contrast was not lost on me.

As evening settled over the high desert, we retired early to the comfort of our little home on wheels. Somewhere nearby, coyotes began howling, their haunting voices carrying through the darkness.

We listened for a while before starting another chapter of our audiobook. We didn't make it through the entire chapter before sleep overtook us.

It had been another memorable day on the road, beginning with an unexpected eruption and ending in the soothing embrace of a natural hot spring.

From hot water of our own making to hot water of nature's making.

And perhaps best of all, after 57 days of wandering, we were back in Oregon.

Not quite home yet, but close enough to feel its familiar embrace.

Life is good.

Even when the sewer hose comes loose.

Day 56: October 28, 2026: Weather Watch

Yesterday we learned firsthand why this stretch of southern Wyoming highway is considered one of the windiest in the country. Our Harvest Host, the Elk Mountain Hotel, sat right along a section of Interstate 80 designated as one of the highest blow-over danger zones in the nation for high-profile vehicles under 25,000 pounds. That was us! Right in the bullseye.

Hoping to beat the daytime wind increase, we both woke up at 2:30 AM to the sound of a steady breeze outside. After checking the wind advisories, we decided it was best to get those 40 miles to Rawlins out of the way before the gusts picked up. By 2:50 AM, we were rolling out in stealth mode so as not to wake the other campers.

We didn't make it far. At 2:56 AM, Kasey felt a sharp increase in the crosswinds, prompting me to refresh the local warnings. A brand-new advisory had just been posted at 2:53 AM: Interstate 80 was closed to light, high-profile vehicles once again.

We immediately turned around and headed back to our spot. Even tucked between two larger RVs, the wind howled through the night, rocking our motorhome on its suspension. At times, the gusts hit hard enough that I genuinely wondered if we were going to get tipped over. Sleep was tough and elusive.

Sitting in tiny Elk Mountain with nowhere to go, my mind drifted back to our breakdown a few days ago and I started worrying again about how I was going to cast my Oregon ballot if we got stuck out here. I had already looked into emergency flights from Cheyenne to Eugene and car rental deals, but I needed to know if there were other options. Turning to Gemini on my phone, I learned something crucial: if you are temporarily stranded out of state near Election Day, you can contact your Oregon County Elections Office directly. They can issue an emergency replacement ballot via secure email or electronic transmission, which you can print out, complete, sign, and mail back with a valid postmark. Knowing a post office was within walking distance, and that I'd just need a printer, brought a huge sense of relief, even if Monday, November 2nd, would be the day to make that call. I rolled in and out of sleep as the RV weathered the wind gusts.

Just after 7:00 AM, Kasey sat bolt upright in bed and said, "The wind stopped. We should go."

I checked the state road advisory site and it still listed the restriction, but it hadn't been updated in over an hour. Poking my head outside, the air had gone completely still and a soft rain was falling. A great sign. By 7:20 AM, just as the morning light broke, we were rolling back out past Deshon’s box truck and onto the county road to I-80.

The 40-mile run to Rawlins went off without a hitch under surprisingly calm winds. Later, when I checked the recorded weather data, sure enough: the winds had dropped right around 7:00 AM, though the official travel warnings weren't updated until nearly 8:00 AM.

Along the way, we passed through Sinclair, Wyoming, with its massive oil refinery dominating the horizon, no doubt the origin story for all those green dinosaur statues at gas stations across the country. Ironically, we passed the Sinclair station and got gas and coffee at Walmart for 40 cents a gallon cheaper. Go figure! 

With the scariest, windiest stretch finally behind us, we could finally take a deep breath and start figuring out where we were going to land for the night.

As we drove we considered many options. We settled on the route that would take us through Boise. The scenery was quite varied and I tried to keep Kasey entertained, snacking, and fully awake. We passed the Continental Divide and now we were truly in the west.

After a few hours of driving through Wyoming, Kasey felt the need for a nap so we stopped at a rest area in Utah. It was very pretty but not too restful. The trucks were plenty. 

We tried to make sure Tad was well entertained as well, but sometimes there just wasn't a lot of excitement.

Deciding that this was not a place of rest, we continued west on the highway. They must get a lot of rockfall in this area. 

We opted for a quieter spot up the road near a town called Milton. A city park off the beaten path. The park is nearly 125 years old.

Nestled along Morgan Valley Drive in northern Utah, Milton Park is a quiet, two-acre city park framed by the Wasatch Mountains. The surrounding area was first settled in 1856 near Deep Creek. After pioneer James Hanson established a sawmill at the mouth of Line Creek, locals began calling the settlement Milltown, a name that was officially shortened to Milton in 1868.

The park itself came into existence in 1905 specifically to give local families a central gathering spot, built through the dedicated hands of the community. In those early decades of the twentieth century, the park was entirely a labor of love. Without a large municipal budget or dedicated city maintenance staff, local volunteers took complete ownership of the grounds. Neighbors banded together to clear brush, level fields, and build basic facilities by hand.

These cleared grounds hosted local baseball games, family reunions, summer picnics, and holiday celebrations, making the park a true symbol of early pioneer values rooted in cooperation, hard work, and neighborly care. Management of the park was eventually transferred to Morgan County, which maintains it as an open public space today. Though county-maintained, it retains its cozy, old-fashioned feel; a classic example of early twentieth-century Utah community spirit where a small rural neighborhood carved out a lasting refuge through sheer volunteer effort.

​After a quick rest, we set out toward our next destination: a Harvest Host spot nestled right on the banks of the Snake River in Burley, Idaho. Clocking in at 500 miles for the leg, we were more than ready to call it a day. We got the motorhome leveled and set up on the grounds, then walked over to enjoy dinner at the upscale restaurant overlooking the water, The Boathouse in Burley.

We were seated next to the window, taken care of by a delightful young server named Chelsie. When Kasey filled her in on our travel goals and mentioned Roseburg, her eyes lit up. It turns out her grandmother, who is in her nineties, lives right in Roseburg! It is always such a fun treat to find a home connection in the middle of a road trip.

​For dinner, Kasey ordered the Ahi tacos while I opted for the tortellini with Alfredo sauce and a fresh side salad. We couldn't resist trying their seasonal Thanksgiving margaritas, which came served with a cinnamon stick and a fresh orange slice. Kasey capped off the meal with a warm chocolate brownie topped with hot fudge and ice cream; a well-deserved treat after a long day on the road.

A nice, calm, end to a day that started with a whirlwind.

Day 55 Curt Gowdy State Park to Elk Mountain 80 mile 2 Hours

Day 55 — Curt Gowdy State Park to Elk Mountain, Wyoming

Blowin' in the Wind in Wyoming

Today started calmly. In hindsight, perhaps a little too calmly.

Janice took Tad out at 6:15 a.m. and crawled back into bed. Wind gusts during the night had kept her awake, and she was hoping to catch a little more sleep.

I couldn't get back to sleep. I wanted to watch the sunrise over the lake.

I wandered into the living room and found Tad sitting up front, staring intently at something in the darkness. I settled into the dinette overlooking the lake, and soon Tad joined me on the opposite bench.

Just the two of us, father and son, watching the world slowly awaken.

The lake was perfectly calm. A pair of ducks swam quietly near the shore, capturing Tad's undivided attention. The sky gradually lightened as the sun crept toward the mountains across the lake. A fish splashed in the water, but by then the ducks had departed.

And then, suddenly, the sun exploded over the mountaintop, flooding the landscape with golden light and announcing that a brand-new day was underway!

What a glorious way to begin the morning!

The wind began stirring across the lake, and several more ducks landed in the water in front of us. A short time later, a magpie landed on the picnic table just outside our door. It hopped around, apparently inspecting our campsite, before flying into a nearby tree.

One of the wonderful things about our motorhome is that it makes an excellent wildlife blind. We can sit comfortably inside, observing the natural world without disturbing its inhabitants.

I started the coffee, and soon Janice joined us. She prepared a delicious breakfast of eggs, turkey bacon, and hash browns. We enjoyed our meal while discussing the day ahead.

Our ambitious goal was to make it to Idaho, but first we wanted to explore a little more of Curt Gowdy State Park.

A Morning in Curt Gowdy's Backyard

Curt Gowdy State Park was established in 1971 and named the following year in honor of legendary sportscaster and outdoorsman Curt Gowdy.

Born in Green River, Wyoming, in 1919, Gowdy grew up in Cheyenne and began his broadcasting career there. He went on to become one of America's most recognizable sports announcers, covering World Series games, Super Bowls, and the Olympics. He also hosted The American Sportsman, a popular television program celebrating hunting, fishing, and the outdoors.

Gowdy loved Wyoming and considered having a state park named in his honor one of the greatest privileges of his life.

The park is nestled in the Laramie Mountains between Cheyenne and Laramie, with beautiful reservoirs, rugged granite formations, forests, and miles of hiking and biking trails.

After breakfast, we packed up Lexy and drove to what we thought was the trailhead for Hidden Falls.

We didn't see any signs pointing toward the waterfalls, but there was a trail climbing steeply through an impressive jumble of granite boulders.

We kept Tad safely on his leash as we climbed higher through the rocky landscape. The massive boulders and unusual rock formations were fascinating. Some looked as though giants had scattered them across the mountainside. It was very windy! 

Several mule deer watched us warily with a "What are you doing up here?" expression as we climbed the trail.

Eventually, we reached the summit, where we were rewarded with a spectacular view overlooking the lake and surrounding mountains.

Getting back down was another matter. We gingerly picked our way along the steep, rocky trail, keeping a close eye on Tad.

When we returned to the parking area, Janice walked down toward the entrance and discovered the trailhead for Hidden Falls.

The waterfall hike was a rugged 2.1-mile adventure, and we decided it would probably be too challenging for Tad. Besides, the wind was picking up, and we had a long drive ahead.

We reluctantly said goodbye to Curt Gowdy State Park and headed toward Interstate 80.

Five miles later, we merged onto I-80, pointed Lexy's nose west, and settled in for what we hoped would be about six hours of driving.

A stiff wind was blowing from the southwest, probably around 32 mph. I gripped the steering wheel tightly as Lexy pushed into the headwind.

Traffic was moving normally, and although driving required considerably more concentration than usual, everything seemed manageable.

Then we noticed a large electronic highway sign on the right we caught something about wind restrictions, but we passed it before we could read the details.

Hmmm.

We continued west, with the wind buffeting our motorhome. I kept both hands firmly on the wheel while Janice searched for potential overnight destinations, 6 hours ahead of us.

Eventually, we spotted another electronic sign.

This time Janice was ready with her camera.

CROSSWINDS 45 MPH!

I-80 LARAMIE TO RAWLINS CLOSED TO CAMPERS UNDER 25,000 POUNDS!

Ruh-roh!

I looked over at Janice.

"I think that means us!"

And wouldn't you know it? We were smack-dab in the middle of the restricted area.

Wyoming is famous for its wide-open spaces, magnificent mountains, and endless horizons. Unfortunately, it is also notorious for some of the most dangerous crosswinds in the country.

The east-west stretch of I-80 between Laramie and Rawlins is particularly treacherous. Powerful winds sweep across the high plains and mountain gaps, sometimes producing gusts exceeding hurricane force.

For high-profile vehicles like motorhomes, campers, and box trucks, those winds can be deadly.

The Wyoming Department of Transportation takes the danger seriously. It regularly restricts travel for lighter, high-profile vehicles when conditions create an unacceptable risk of being blown over.

In fact, Wyoming recorded 83 wind-related vehicle blow-over crashes in 2024 alone.

Suddenly, the warnings didn't seem quite so theoretical. We could face a large fine if we got pulled over in a restricted zone.

After another 20 miles of wrestling with the wind, we reached the Elk Mountain exit and pulled into a Conoco station.

We got 8 gallons of gas because gas was a dollar more than it was in Rawllins, just 40 miles away.

We maneuvered to the north side of the building, where we could get some protection from the relentless wind.

We pulled up the Wyoming Department of Transportation website.

The news wasn't encouraging.

The travel restrictions were expected to continue throughout the afternoon.

Our plans to make it to Idaho had officially been blown away!

Fortunately, we had our trusty Harvest Hosts app.

We searched for nearby places where we might spend the night and discovered the Historic Elk Mountain Hotel, just four miles south of the gas station.

Perfect!

We carefully made our way into the tiny town of Elk Mountain, found the hotel, and selected a parking spot somewhat sheltered from the wind.

We checked in through the Harvest Hosts app and called the hotel to make dinner reservations for 5:30.

Then we took Tad for a walk to explore our unexpected destination.

Elk Mountain is a tiny community nestled among cottonwood trees along the Medicine Bow River, at the foot of its namesake mountain, which rises more than 11,000 feet above sea level.

The town has a fascinating history.

Long before Interstate 80 carried travelers across southern Wyoming, this area was an important stopping place along the Overland Trail.

In 1862, a stagecoach station was established near the river crossing, providing weary travelers and their horses with a place to rest before continuing their journey west.

The present Elk Mountain Hotel was built on the site in 1905, and the town was officially incorporated in 1909.

For more than 160 years, travelers have been finding refuge here.

And now, in 2026, three weary adventurers from Oregon had joined their ranks!

When we returned to Lexy, three other RVs had arrived, apparently seeking refuge from the same windstorm.

Fortunately, the Elk Mountain Hotel is one of those rare Harvest Hosts that can accommodate up to six RVs.

A Night  Camping at the Historic Elk Mountain Hotel

At 5:30, we left Taddy comfortably settled in Lexy and walked hand in hand toward the hotel, about 100 yards away.

The wind had eased somewhat, and large White Tail deer were browsing among the nearby trees. They watched us curiously as we passed, apparently wondering what these two strange creatures were doing wandering around their neighborhood.

We entered the hotel and were warmly greeted by Marie, who would also be our waitress.

Walking into the lobby was like stepping through a doorway into the early 1900s.

The beautifully preserved furnishings, historic photographs, woodwork, and adjoining dining room transported us to another era.

The hotel itself has quite a history.

Built by John Evans in 1905, it was the first establishment in the area to have electricity and indoor plumbing. Its coal-fired generating plant even supplied electricity to some of the neighbors.

During the 1940s and 1950s, the hotel and its adjoining Garden Spot Dance Pavilion became a regional entertainment destination. Famous performers, including Louis Armstrong, Tommy Dorsey, and Lawrence Welk, drew crowds from miles around.

The dance pavilion was famous for its unusually springy dance floor, which seemed to bounce beneath the dancers' feet.

Imagine that! Louis Armstrong performing in this tiny Wyoming town!

The dance pavilion is long gone, but the hotel remains, lovingly restored and welcoming travelers just as it has for more than a century.

We settled into the dining room and ordered dinner and beverages.

While we waited, a large man entered the room and sat at the table next to us, facing the wall.

Because our tables were so close together, We greeted him and struck up a conversation.

"Are you stranded by the wind, too?"

He smiled and told us that he was.

We introduced ourselves and asked his name.

"Deshon," he replied, extending his large hand.

We shook hands and began chatting.

Deshon told us he was traveling from Rhode Island to his home in Utah. He had already been on the road for nine days.

He had gotten stranded at the Elk Mountain Conoco because of the wind and had spent the previous night at another motel. Tonight, he was hoping to stay at the historic hotel.

He seemed weary.

We could certainly understand why.

Here we were, three very different travelers whose paths had crossed because of the same Wyoming windstorm.

We had been traveling around the country for nearly two months, enjoying our grand adventure. Deshon was simply trying to get home.

Sometimes a brief conversation with a stranger reminds me how many different stories are unfolding around us every day.

Our dinner arrived, and Janice and I turned our attention to our meals.

I enjoyed a cheeseburger and fries, while Janice had chicken strips and a salad.

For dessert, we shared a delicious chocolate mousse with raspberry shorbet and vanilla whipped cream.

Yum!

We certainly weren't suffering too badly from our unexpected detour!

Before leaving, we wished Deshon well and told him we were hoping to make our escape early the following morning.

We invited him to join our little westbound caravan in his box truck if he wanted some company.

He thanked us but said he would probably be on the road by 6 a.m.

We wished him safe travels.

After dinner, we wandered back into the lobby, signed the guestbook, and spent some time admiring the historic photographs and furnishings.

I couldn't shake the feeling that we had somehow traveled backward through time.

Outside, the wind had quieted.

We walked back toward Lexy beneath a nearly full moon peeking through the cottonwood trees.

The mule deer were still nearby, and the little town seemed peaceful and content.

What an extraordinary contrast to the howling winds that had driven us off the interstate just a few hours earlier.

We had started the day watching a glorious sunrise over a peaceful mountain lake, hiked among ancient granite boulders, battled fierce Wyoming crosswinds, and ended up in a historic hotel that had been welcoming stranded travelers since the days of stagecoaches.

Not exactly the day we had planned.

But then again, some of our most memorable adventures have come from plans that didn't work out.

I thought about the travelers who had passed through Elk Mountain over the past 160 years. Stagecoach passengers, cowboys, railroad workers, musicians, and now modern-day wanderers in motorhomes.

All of us, in our own ways, at the mercy of the weather, the landscape, and the unpredictable nature of travel.

And all of us grateful for a safe place to rest.

We settled into our cozy motorhome and turned on our audiobook.

Tomorrow, we hoped to get an early start and make some serious progress toward Oregon.

Unfortunately, the weather forecast wasn't particularly encouraging.

I assured Janice that, one way or another, we would make it home in time to vote on Tuesday.

After all, we'd already survived a blown spark plug on I-80.

Surely a little Wyoming wind couldn't keep us from exercising our civic duty!

Could it?

As we drifted off to sleep, I couldn't help smiling at the irony.

We had spent the morning admiring the beauty of Wyoming's great outdoors and the afternoon being reminded of its awesome power.

Sometimes you go where the road takes you. And sometimes you go where the wind blows you.

Tonight, it had blown us into a wonderful little piece of American history.

And for that, we are grateful.

Sweet dreams, Lexy. Tomorrow we'll see which way the wind blows. 

Day 54: October 26, 2026: Getting Back on the road

Glad to be off I-80 and away from the relentless parade of trucks. Our sleeping spot put us right in front of the repair shop gate; a couple of times through the night it swung open, but the faint, rhythmic beeping was easy enough to sleep through.

​Wanting to be fully prepped before they opened, I scurried around getting everything secured and gave the engine "doghouse" cover a good cleaning. It was long overdue. I unearthed a few items we’d been searching for, more gum for Kasey, and a surprising amount of loose change.

​Promptly at 8:15 AM, as instructed, we walked up to the service window, beating out a young man still sporting his flannel pajamas. As Brandon,  the service writer took down our information, we quickly realized we’d been dropped off at the wrong location. They have separate facilities for diesel and gas engines. Our motorhome would need to be towed a mile over to their gas shop. Big Al's Towing was called back out, and while we waited, a technician poked under the hood and gave a preliminary diagnosis: likely a blown spark plug.

​With nothing more for me to do outside, I grabbed my computer, coffee, phone, and Tad, and headed up to their second-floor customer lounge. It was surprisingly luxurious: a spacious room with a TV, full kitchen, coffee setup, employee bathroom, several pieces of furniture including a couch, lounge chair, loveseat, and a dining table. I was just getting set up to work when Kasey called: the tow truck had arrived.

​Downstairs, we discovered our driver was none other than Joshua again. His humor was not a part of the conversation when he told the auto technician about his experience climbing under our RV with semi trucks just feet away and hearing the truck tires on the rumble strips. He quickly changed to full form with his sharp humor intact and he had us hooked up in no time. He drove so smoothly and carefully on the mile-long trip over that his cup of hot cocoa was still sitting perfectly upright on his truck fender when we arrived! When I tried to pay him for the second transport, he firmly refused, insisting it was no trouble at all.

​Inside, Kasey went over the details with Ryan, the service writer. Once Ryan finished his questionnaire, I asked about a waiting area. This one was far less grand with just a couple of chairs and a coffee brewer. Since the other service writer, Jackie, was allergic to dogs, we asked if we could walk back to the first shop so Tad could lounge in comfort. They offered us a ride, but we opted to walk the mile to get some fresh air and stretch our legs.

​It turned out to be an entertaining walk. Among the roadside sights, a discarded dildo was certainly unexpected, and a patch of colorful running sand made for an interesting natural curiosity. Joshua would have appreciated that.

​Back upstairs in the main lounge, I got straight to work on Umpqua Watersheds business including reviewing the Tiller timber sale project documents and sorting through comments from one of our members so I could draft our formal submission before the deadline in a couple of days.

​While I plugged away at the bare-bones outline of my comments, Kasey sacked out on the couch for a much-needed nap. 

Tad was fidgety and refused to settle on the floor, but with the seat next to me on the loveseat open, I realized he just wanted a comfortable spot. Overriding our strict "no dogs on the furniture" rule at home, I patted the loveseat. He hopped right up, curled in next to me, and went fast asleep.

​Eventually, the young man in the flannel pajamas walked in to wait. Trying to break the ice, I smiled and said, "Looks like you're still in your jammies!"

"Ah, they're comfortable," he replied. He wasn't particularly chatty, so I turned back to my laptop while Tad barely batted an eye.

​A short while later, Ryan called with confirmation: it was indeed a blown spark plug, and they needed to do a bit of reconstructive work around it.

​Soon after, a second man arrived, presumably the driving partner of PJ Guy, and proved to be just as quiet. So there we were, four adults in a room, in total silence. Honestly, the quiet worked in my favor: I used the uninterrupted time to upload my next KQUA radio shows and knock out a few more tasks on my list.

Kasey decided to take Tad out for a walk and returned to more waiting.

It was almost 5 when we were summoned to pick up the RV. We opted for the ride option this time. I quickly swept up the dried mud that Tad left everywhere. By now, it was dry powder. We wished the other 2 waiting room occupants good luck as we left.

Kellen was our driver. After realizing we had the Oregon RV, he asked if it would be worth his while to visit Oregon. Kasey quickly gave him the affirmative and listed several interesting places and natural wonders.  At the other shop, I waited outside with Tad because of the dog allergy Jackie has, while Kasey went in and paid for the damages. Guess we should eat macaroni and cheese from now on. 

Ryan and Jackie at the counter were wonderful! They really worked hard to make sure we were on the road to our campground instead of spending another night in a parking lot. Kasey asked if he could have a pen and they gladly gave him 5, one of each color, a sticker and two suckers. Kasey's all about the bling, just check his sock drawer in the motorhome!

The technician, Andrew, brought the motorhome around and I promptly thanked him and ushered Tad inside so we could warm up. Soon we were on our way hoping to arrive at Curt Gowdy State Park for the night.

The sun is setting earlier and earlier so we were in a rush to make the 25 miles to the campground. It is a self pay campground.

After driving through what was supposed to be sites with electricity, we doubled back to a campground where we found an electric hookup. The moon was just coming up and was awe inspiring.

The cold weather forecast makes electricity much preferred.  

With everything in place, it was time to turn in. But wait. The excitement wasn't over. Kasey took Tad for a late night potty break and wandered into a burr patch. After 30 minutes, we freed Tad and Kasey of their nasty burr mess. 

What a day. We are nearing home so things should go smoothly from here on....