“In wildness is the preservation of the world.” -Thoreau

Bear Country. That’s all my inner voice kept repeating. Throughout the planning for this trip, nothing incited anxiety within more then the thought that we would be camping in Bear Country. I had nightmares. I stupidly watched you tube videos of bear attacks. I looked up stats on surviving bear attacks(not good). I committed to memory the crucial difference in reaction to aggression from a black bear vs. a grizzly. (Stand tall & wave your arms or slowly retreat. In either case, NEVER RUN.) As we descended the gorgeous eastern road over the Togwotee Pass(9658 ft!) in the Absaroka Mountains into the Tetons, large brown signs began to pop up on the roadside, Wildlife on Road, Do not Feed the Wildlife, Bear Country: Lock up Your Food. Ok, ok, I got it. The bears have the upper hand here. We are just visitors and we are expected to be polite and follow the rules. The penalty for not paying attention and being a good guest is just your life. Whew. Would I sleep at all?

We decided to camp inside the park at Gros Ventre, only 9 miles from Jackson. That proximity gave me the false illusion that I was not in deep wilderness where no one would hear my screams. Upon arrival, the ranger checking us in looked at us sternly and asked if we had ever camped in BEAR COUNTRY before, was it that obvious? Well…no. And we can leave right now if we don’t look up to it, I wanted to say. But he kindly nodded and proceeded to go over the list of items we could not leave out under any circumstances and that included the obvious(bacon, or ANY FOOD) and not so obvious(clean cookware and even the tablecloth you ate on). Got it. The campground was lovely (I’m using an ironic adjective purposely, this is what I was telling myself despite the fact that the nice ranger had told us bears were lurking even if we could not see them). It was a balmy day in the Tetons and our site was surrounded by cottonwoods and bordered by the Gros Ventre river.  The magnificent peaks were the backdrop to our home for the next three days. There were surprisingly, a lot of tenters, those brave souls. I had to figure they would be eaten first, being more accessible. I could do this.

Setting up camp, my first job was to take all of our food, and here I was regretting all the spices and condiments and bottled sauces and marinades I had packed, and place it inside the bear box. I put all of our toiletries, the handy wipes, dish soaps, and chapsticks inside. I was getting paranoid that I’d forgotten something. After all, I heard the horror stories of bears ripping apart a car or trailer to eat a forgotten rogue m&m. After everything was placed inside the life-saving bear box, I felt immediately better. But then I thought, isn’t all that smelly goodness inside the bear box only going to attract the bear to our site? Maybe we should just throw it all away, including the sausages, don’t bears love sausages? Alright, I’m going a little insane here but I’m trying to illustrate my state of mind. I was….on edge.

Bears be damned, it was time to explore! The first stop was Jackson, home to 10,529 human beings. I know what you are thinking. Hey, this was the perfect way to ease into the wild country. Visitor Center, check. Eddie Bauer for extra blankets, check. Ultra expensive grocery for picnic fixings, check. Downtown Jackson is a civilized and beautiful western town.  The sidewalks are old wooden boards, there are plentiful cool places to eat, a wonderful bakery, a few old saloons, some good outdoor gear shops. We actually bumped into a familiar face from Holland. He lives here and he hasn’t been attacked by a bear. I was feeling much better. Before we left, we purchased the requisite bear spray. The guy at the counter refused to show us how to use it, liability purposes. Seriously?  I read and reread the directions. This would be my security blanket in the days to come. Literally. It slept with me for the next three nights.

Today was a particularly good day. What makes a perfectly good day when one is on the road for 90 days? Well… a leisurely morning for one, a morning where you don’t have to pack up camp or hit the trails early to beat the heat. Instead, you wake with the sunrise, enjoy your ritual of boiling hot water and steeping tea leaves, read a little, write a little, listen to the world wake up and feel the chill slowly dissipate and the pine needles release their musky scent when the sun heats the ground and then you breathe, deeply. The moment arrives when you feel immense gratitude.

Custer State Park is a jewel I’d never heard of. We had planned two days here, but we extended our stay to four. We camped for a few days at Game Lodge Campground and stayed in a cabin for a night in the Blue Bell area. Custer is smack in the middle of the Black Hills of western South Dakota, an area rich with plant diversity, huge bison herds, granite peaks and clear mountain waters. Once we got a handle on the variety of things to do here, we made it our base for exploration.

Mount Rushmore is another one of those iconic American Road Trip destinations that is a must do. I knew I wanted to check it out but I was unprepared for the detailed and thoughtful design of the entire project beginning with the beautiful Iron Mountain road and its tunnels and pullouts designed to showcase the monument from afar, giving one an initial perspective that magnifies as you approach. The massive granite monument is constructed in a way that enables you to hike around it to gape at the wondrous feat of artistry at every angle. We avoided the gift shop but checked out the artist studio where historical photos showcased the brave and talented stonecutters and told the story of the artist, Gutzon Borglum.

We managed to visit the Crazy Horse Memorial the same day and the controversy was not lost on me. The fact that Mount Rushmore features the mugs of four white guys and is a tribute to manifest destiny in a land that some consider illegally occupied is still offensive to many local tribes. The Crazy Horse Memorial, commissioned by a Lakota Chief in 1948, and a sculpture still in progress, will be the largest in human history when completed. The atmosphere here is in marked contrast to Mount Rushmore. There is a palpable respect and reverence for Native American culture, with a museum, authentic craftspeople on site, and ambitious future plans including a medical school and university. The Memorial is also non-profit and completely funded by admission fees and donations. The original sculptor, Korzak Ziolkowski vehemently scorned any government funding. While we could only view the profile of Crazy Horse, the completed sculpture is easy to imagine.

The weather has been ideal for hiking and we found a little used trail that wound its way between two small fishing lakes. The Grace Coolidge Fishing Area trail followed a rushing stream that occasionally opened up into reflecting pools at the base of soaring granite outcrops.The only soul we encountered in the 6 mile trek was an elderly gentleman outfitted in fly fishing gear. He stopped to show us his catch, a handsome trout. He mentioned that his wife was back in camp and they had an arrangement, he caught the meal, she cooked it. Sounded like a good deal to me.

Hiking in environs like this induces a state of contentment that is hard for me to describe. The sound of the wind in the cypress trees, the gentle gurgling of the stream and the shooshing of our hiking boots against the forest floor. The trail crossed the stream countless times and required some balancing on slim logs placed strategically. At one point, Mark and I were silently walking and engaged in our own thoughts when a great shadow swooped over us and into a nearby tree. It was a Great Horned Owl! It sat there in the distance while we scrambled for our binoculars to check him out. I took this as a good omen, a fortuitous blessing of sorts. It was only later that I discovered that some Native American tribes consider this an ominous sign in a journey. Nevertheless, it was thrilling.

Our last day in the area was spent driving the Needles Highway, a 14 mile crazy zigzag of a road that wove its way between pine and spruce forests and sculptural masterpieces of rock that climbers have named Thimble, Super Pin, Tent Peg, and Four Little Fishes, to name a few. The road led to Sylvan Lake, an alpine lake at an elevation that is so picturesque ,weddings are held here often.  There was one in session when we got there.

The trailhead for the Black Elk Peak began here. It was a challenging hike , topping out at 7242 feet, the highest peak east of the Rockies. The views extended to four states and were breathtaking. In Lakota, the mountains called “hinhan kaga”, are the site where Black Elk, a Lakota medicine man, received his vision. There is a fire tower at the peak constructed in the 1930’s by the Civilian Conservation Corps. At the summit, we found colorful strips of prayer cloths tied in abundance to the sparse trees, a Native American tradition. By the way, Black Elk Peak used to be Harney Peak, many of the park signs still identify it is as such. As a kind lady explained to us on the way up, Harney was a butcher of Sioux women and children, Black Elk was a peacemaker. It is a positive sign to see the trend towards correcting the namesake recognition of sacred places.

And so we come full circle to the end of a perfect day. A leisurely morning, a spectacular scenic drive, a hike that challenged my body and provided wild vistas at every bend, a return to a tiny log cabin, where laundry is done, a hot shower is waiting, a gin & tonic is mixed. Mark prepares a roaring fire as the sun begins to set and I make a delicious chili that bubbles over the hot coals. We eat as the light wanes. We read by the fire, I bring out the s’mores. And the stars shine bright.

“One traveler’s conceit is that he is heading into the unknown. The best travel is a leap in the dark. If the destination were familiar and friendly, what would be the point in going there?” – Paul Theroux

Three days in. We are still very much newbies to the camping life. We decided to spend an extra night in Iowa at Ledge’s State Park due to the fact that we were just getting our feet under us. We were testing out all our gear, getting to know our home for the next few months. Ledges was a perfect training ground, though we were running off battery and we had to troubleshoot a few things. Like the battery draining quicker then normal (disconnect the 7-prong coupler) and the electrical outlets not accepting plugs (they only work when plugged into shore power). It’s humbling what novices we are.

We decided to take the scenic byways to the Badlands, both agreeing that it was of primary importance to us to see the country and interstates, while tempting in their efficiency, offered nothing but boredom and monotony. So we went a bit out of our way and took the Loess Ness Scenic Byways through southwest Iowa. We were glad we did. About 85 % of Iowa is devoted to farmland and while most is flat, this corner of the state is abutted by magnificent rolling hills. The best part was a random stop to grab a snack. We ended up ordering the 5,000 calorie pork tenderloin sandwich, a gargantuan slab of hammered tenderloin fried to crispy goodness and served on a bun that is laughably small. It was surprisingly good, we had read Jane Stern’s book Road Food and condescendingly laughed at the places she suggested, all unhealthy fried stuff, not for US. Ha. That sandwich was damn good.

We ended up taking another back road through Nebraska, Highway 20, but it was in such bad shape that we picked an alternate even slower route that had us arriving in the Badlands at dusk. As we approached the area, the sky became hazy and increasingly dark. The sun was a glowing red ball high in the sky. Apparently smoke from the fires in Montana had been blowing in the last few days. Our first glimpse of the awe-inspiring crags of the Badland Wall was through this eerie hue. We rolled down our windows, it was so quiet. We passed not a soul. It was unusually still, the light cast a milky orange glow over the landscape. It felt like we had landed on another planet, I half expected to see tiny aliens emerge from the crevices. Mark and I didn’t speak while the road serpentined its way through the labyrinth until we arrived at our campground for the next two nights. Exhausted, we set up camp and quickly made fajitas from the leftover flank steak we grilled the night before. I was excited to explore this wild and inhospitable place the next few days.