Day 78 -- Vernal to Springville, Utah -- 159 Miles

Our run today involved driving through some truly beautiful country along Routes 191 and 40 as we left Vernal, Utah and motored leisurely along Ruote 191 toward Heber, Utah. After having lunch and a nice walk on the Heber police station grounds, we branched off on Route 40 through the Provo Canyon, and finished up in Springville, Utah for the day.

We were a bit put off by what we expected to be a nice, quiet KOA camp in the tiny town of Springville. But the camp turned out to be stocked wall to wall with RVs of every description and price level. Thankfully we elected to check in early before we went exploring, or else we might not have landed a space for the night.

We're in Springville for two reasons: first, Concetta asked if we could skip the long haul across the salt flats out of Salt Lake City; and second, a lot of my ancestors settled in Springville after coming by covered wagon across the plains in the 1850s.

Once we had been issued a campsite, we headed into Springville and my ultimate destination of the town cemetery. Naturally, I hadn't come prepared with the cemetery's address, so I just pulled over when I saw a man out washing his shiny red pickup and asked him where it was located.

Incredibly enough, the man knew just how to advise us. Using his precise directions, we drove right to the cemetery and were soon parked beneath a spreading shade tree with about two acres of tombstones spread out before us. Primarily the people I hoped to find were my two times great grandmother, Emma Cecilia Daley, wife of John Stephen Daley. I also hoped to find my double and triple great grandfathers, Simmons and Enos Curtis respectively.

In the beginning, Concetta and I crisscrossed the cemetery for about hour. When Concetta eventually retreated to the cool interior of the RV to read, I spent nearly another hour crisscrossing, ostensibly in a different pattern. I quite easily found the Curtis boys, but try as I might, I could not find Emma Daley. The only Daley I found was probably a distant relation of some sort, but no one with whom I was acquainted.

It had been my thought to compile a simple history of these Curtis boys as well as my great, great grandmother, but once I started delving into it the task was so monumental that I decided it will have to wait. Perhaps I can get back to this after we're home for awhile. The vacation is very nearly over now, and this blog will be winding down. I hope you have enjoyed it so far. I look forward to doing another adventure in the future. Until then, we wish you Happy Travels!

Day 77 -- Rawlins, Wyoming to Vernal, Utah -- 217 Miles

Today we tried driving the Blue Highway out of Rawlins, Wyoming, and for a time it seemed to work out. We've been listening to "Manhunt," by James L. Swanson on the CD player. The book is about the assassination of Abraham Lincoln and the subsequent 12-day hunt for John Wilkes Booth. The book is nothing short of illuminative and fascinating, but trying to listen while 18-wheelers thunder by in the fast lane every few seconds is just too irritating. By the time we reached the first rest area, I had made up my mind to try and find a less traveled way to reach Utah and, ultimately, Nevada.

At the rest stop we took a fifteen minute walk around the grounds and then, when we had returned to the rig, I dragged out the atlas and searched for an alternate route into what geologists call "the Great Basin." As fate would have it, there WAS a route that we could take that branched off at Rock Springs, the next large town that we would be encountering after we left the rest area. The tiny red line on the map showed "Route 191" dropping straight south from Rock Springs and eventually finishing up in the Utah town of Vernal, just over a hundred miles away. Eureka!

So it was that after gassing up the rig and doing a bit of grocery shopping, we were soon rolling south out of Rock Springs into unknown territory. Neither of us had traveled this way before and just about anything was possible. It certainly proved to be so.

What a change from the Interstate it was! Although there was the occasional truck hauling ore from a mine (near Vernal we found out later), and the infrequent RVer, we saw very, very few vehicles for the next hour. When it was approaching lunch time and my stomach started telling me to find a pull-off, we found a scenic overlook that would accommodate our length and pulled in next to a large "point of interest" sign.

The sign at the scenic overloook was topped with the title, "Art Gallery of Time," and furnished the following information: "Major John Wesley Powell named the Flaming Gorge and tributaries, such as the Little Fire Hole Canyon, for the brilliant red sandstones exposed in the canyon walls. Embarking from what is now Green River, Wyoming in specially designed river dory boats, Powell completed two voyages down the Green and Colorado Rivers through the Grand Canyon. The first, in 1869, was largely exploratory. The second, in 1871, collected scientific data and produced the first maps of the upper Colorado drainage system. Powell's work formed the basis for much of what geologists now know about the region."

"The Green River through Flaming Gorge is a classic example of a superposed stream -- it flows across the eastern end of the Uinta Mountains, rather than draining away from the mountains. Geologists believe that when the last major regional erosion cycle began several million years ago, an extensive landscape nearly level with the present crest of the Unitas dominated southern Wyoming. As erosion removed softer rock, the river level was gradually lowered, cutting a precipitous canyon into the resistant core of the Unitas."

The result is the spectacular Red Canyon of the Green River, which chronicles earth history. Rocks in the very near area are young, only about 49 million years old. Traveling down tributary canyons, such as the little Firehole, and continuing downstream toward Flaming Gorge Dam, older rock formations contain a wide variety of fossils, ranging from dinosaurs to primitive sea life. Near Flaming Gorge Dam, the dark red sandstones and shales of the pre-Cambrian Unita Core form the near vertical canyon walls. These rocks are nearly 1.1 billion years old.

Got that? Well, I agree it would take reading and rereading the foregoing a couple of times to make sense of it, but I decided to put it all in here in case I wanted to refer to it later. You can, too! All I can say is the lunch-time scenery was just magnificent and probably served as one of our more memorable lunch-time vistas ever.

While I was waiting for Concetta to make our sandwiches, I grabbed the camera and headed across the road and up into the juniper forest to try and afford myself a better vantage point for taking photos of the canyon. Also, since the geology seemed to be sedimentary in nature, I hoped to spot some million-year-old fossil I could photograph and appreciate. What I found was Andrew. Andrew was wandering the juniper forest perhaps fifty yards away, his eyes on the ground, paying no attention to me as I did the same thing. I didn't know his name at this point, but I soon would.

A few minutes later, our wandering brought us into closer proximity. I looked up and waved, called hello. A few seconds later he ambled over to where I was searching for fossils. "Finding anything?" I asked, when I looked up to see him holding something small in a couple of pinched fingers.

He shrugged and pointed over to where another man was searching the sedimentary deposits about a hundred feet from us. "My buddy did," he said.

I hadn't seen the second man before. "You guys looking for fossils?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Just these," he said. He held out a struggling black beetle about the size of an electrician's wire nut. "It's a Pinacate beetle," he said, "also known as a stink beetle." He raised the beetle's rear end up to his nose and sniffed. "Usually when they are alarmed," he continued, "they raise their rear ends in your direction and spray you with a stinky concoction."

I wondered if he had been out in the desert a little too long since he seemed to be just asking for the beetle to spray him. Hoping to keep up my side of the conversation I said, "So you're one of those entomologists," I asked.

"Yes," he said. "I'm out here from the Arizona State University. We're trying to find a few of these that we can take back and study their genetics."

"Sounds interesting," I said. "What's your name?"

"Andrew," he said, and we shook hands.

"Well, Andrew," I said, "Whether you find any stink bugs or not, you've certainly got a fine day for looking."

Andrew agreed, and held up his beetle. "Got to go find a container for him," he said.

I asked if he'd let me take his photo before he left, and, for good measure, I took one of the beetle. After that we went our separate ways. Once again I had discovered a total stranger that was more than happy to include me and my camera in his life. After 77 days on the road, and meeting countless people in the process, I can say that Americans are are the most friendly and accommodating creatures on the planet. My advice is to never pass up an opportunity to meet them.

After lunch we continued our run down wonderfully scenic Route 191. The biggest problem we discovered was that there were SO MANY beautiful vistas, often on both sides of the road, that even with repeated stops we had to pass dozens just because the road was too narrow and shoulders too unstable to pull over.

The biggest reason to travel Route 191 is for the geology. Some of the most incredible geology we've seen on the entire trip we saw today. Here's a little bit about the Flaming Gorge National Recreation Area from Wikipedia: "The gorge is a 207,363-acre parcel that is part in Utah and part in Wyoming. Located within the area is a reservoir having the capacity of 3,788,900 acre feet (43 thousand square feet to a depth of one foot). The Green River is the source for the reservoir."

"The whole area is on the Colorado Plateau, which has risen almost straight up to elevations as great as 10,000 feet. The Flaming Gorge area lies on the very northern edge of the Colorado Plateau. The Plateau appears to end in the Vernal area. The Plateau is made up of many smaller plateaus each a few hundred feet higher or lower than others. Faults and folds result in a rich geological history of the area."

Traveling north from Vernal, on US 191, you will see markers naming the various earth and rock formations as seen from the road. They start with the Cretaceous Period. [The Cretaceous, Jurassic and Triassic are within the Mesozoic Era of the Phanerozioc eon] consisting of the Mancos Formation, the Frontier, the Mowry and Dakota formations. The Mancos is the youngest and composed of clay that settled to the bottom of the sea which covered the area. Many fossils are found in these strata."

"Next is the Frontier in which for millions of years tropical plants were deposited by a river delta and then buried. The pressure and decomposition formed coal beds. Calcite building around fossils formed rocks or 'cannonballs.'"

"Next, the Mowry formation is about 100 million years old and is composed of shale (clay and volcanic ash) left by an ancient sea. In the strata is found fossilized fish scales and bones. The last formation seen here in the Cretaceous Period is the Dakota. This formation results from streams flowing into the ocean transporting rocks and soils to this area. Trees and plants growing along these streams are now petrified and contained within the deposit. The formation of the Dakota took place about 110 million years ago."

"A few miles further north on US 191 the Jurassic period formations are found. The Morrison, Curtis, Entrada, Carmel and Navajo formations make up this period. Low-lying plains, streams and lakes laid the Morrison about 145 million years ago. The area was home to dinosaurs, crocodiles, and turtles who left fossil records and became extinct. This formation has 'rainbow' colored clays – red, maroon, purple, white, and green which are different types of clay, shale, and sandstone. The Curtis Formation is sandstone, shale, and limestone that was deposited by the sea. Investigation will show mud cracks and ripple marks with fossil remains of many now extinct fish and reptiles."

"After the Curtis formation, the seas dissipated and the land became desolate. Neither plants nor animals lived here. Winds laid down layers of sand and dust. This was about 150 million years ago and is the Entrada Formation. During the next period, the Carmel, the sea returned. The ground was soft and beaches were formed. Dinosaurs walked along the beaches leaving footprints that filled with a plaster-like cement. A sign along US 191 points out where these footprints are found along The Red Fleet State Park. Additionally, this formation contains evaporates of gypsum that are being presently mined."

There's lots more of this techno-talk, but you get the idea. Until the Colorado Plateau was pushed up, the whole darn place was covered by water or wet, marshy land. If you care about geology, this is a great place to come and appreciate the incredible machinations of our planet.

There was one exceptional place we stopped today that I just had to photograph. To do it I had to climb to the top of a nearby hill. Though my education in the field of geology encompasses only two classes I took decades ago at Western Nevada College, I thought the formation looked exactly like what's known as a "hinged fault block" type of fracture.

The Sierra Nevada is, at least in part, a hinged fault block formation. That means that plate tectonics forced the Pacific Plate to drive irresistibly into the North American Plate, and the pressure has caused the land in Nevada to buckle and fracture along vertical fault lines. As eastward-moving pressure is placed on north America, the hinge on the California side of the fault block begins to swing upward, and the ground rises on the Nevada side. It's sort of like a gigantic door laying on its side that is hinged in California and opens in Nevada. To me the photo just above looks exactly like that type of process in miniature.

There were lots more stops to capture lots more scenic shots today, but I think I'll wind this up by saying, if you ever get a chance to travel Route 191 that runs from Rock Creek, Wyoming to Vernal, Utah, you should give it a try. In addition to there being a KOA at both ends, there are many primitive camps along the way, some in the forested areas, to tempt you. I even had the clerk who checked me in at the Vernal KOA today tell me that she takes HER RV up on the mountain and leaves it all summer.

So when YOU take your RV out to explore America, we wish you Happy Travels!

Day 76 -- Douglas to Rawlins, Wyoming -- 169 Miles

There is nothing on earth that smells as wonderful as the ubiquitous high desert sage plant after a rain. I'm proposing this because right now we're holed up in Rawlins, Wyoming for the night, it's been raining off and on since 4:00 p.m., and when I went outside wearing my rain slicker to attach the electrical cable and water hose, the sweet, familiar scent of sage flowed over me like a olfactory tidal wave. I loved it!

For the better part of the day, we enjoyed a traditional double-dose of Wyoming sunshine. From our camp yesterday in Douglas, Wyoming, we headed up Interstate 25 until we reached the historic town of Casper about fifty miles to the northwest. Initially our plan had been to visit historic Fort "Caspar" (same guy, different spelling. But as we approached Casper, we saw a sign for the "National Historic Trails Interpretive Center." I hadn't realized that such an attraction was available, and we immediately changed our plans. We've been to the Trails Interpretive Center in Elko, Nevada, and found it to be wonderful. We were excited to see Wyoming's contribution on the topic.

According to the Interpretive Center flyer, between 1840 and 1870 about 400,000 people moved across the western plains in search of free farmland, freedom of religion, wealth, and new business opportunities. They traveled to the Oregon Territory, to the Great Salt Lake Valley, and to the California gold fields. The center tells the pioneers' stories, as well as those of the Native Americans and the Pony Express riders.

Most of the Interpretive Center exhibits are done in the new and modern museum style using interactive components for both adults and accompanying children. You can try pulling a Mormon handcart, packing your wagon for a frontier trip (using models), or ride aboard a ferry like those used in the mid 1800s to help covered wagons across rivers too deep to ford. You could also listen to the voices of the Lakota Sioux as they tell about their tribal origins.

Everything about the museum was first rate, from the audio and visual presentations, to the way many stories were told through "flip books" that allowed visitors to read about individual pioneers. I especially liked their display of a covered wagon that went so far as to identify most of the wagon's components using black and white labels.

The museum sits on a bluff overlooking the emigrant trail as well as the North Platte River that the emigrants were using as their life line as they passed through Wyoming on their way to Oregon. As you stand on the edge of the bluff, and look south upon the modern city, you can almost "feel" those long lines of prairie schooners edging their way west past the bluffs beneath you.

Here's what Wikipedia has to say about the immigrant experience: "The path followed by the Oregon Trail, California Trail and Mormon Trail (collectively referred to as the Emigrant Trail) spans 400 miles through the U.S. state of Wyoming. The trail entered from Nebraska on the eastern border of the state near the present day town of Torrington and exited on the western border near the towns of Cokeville and Afton. An estimated 400,000 settlers traveled on the trail through Wyoming between 1840 and 1870. All three trails follow the same path through most of the state. The Mormon Trail splits at Fort Bridger and enters Utah, while the Oregon and California Trails continue to Idaho."

"In the eastern plains, the Emigrant Trail follows the North Platte River into Wyoming. The trail follows the river upstream to Fort Laramie, a prominent military and trading post in the region. Prior to 1850 the northern side of the river was thought to be impassable beyond Fort Laramie, so the wagon trains that were traveling on the northern side of the river through Nebraska had to undertake a dangerous crossing at the fort. After crossing, trains on the main trail to the south of the river had to cross the North Platte again 100 miles upstream."

"In 1850 several wagon trains successfully blazed a path along the northern side of the river. This new route, which reduced the risk and expense of crossing the river twice, was preferred for all subsequent traffic on the northern side of the river. The northern route is sometimes called Child's Route after Andrew Child who described it in a guide book published in 1852. Above Fort Laramie, Child's Route follows the North Platte River through the present day town of Douglas, and near the site of Fort Fetterman which was built in 1867. This is the point at which the Bozeman Trail turned north to the gold fields of Montana in the 1860s."

"The southern route also follows the river along the edge of the Laramie Mountains to an area near the current towns of Casper and Glenrock. In 1847, during the first Mormon emigration, Brigham Young established a ferry near present day Casper known as Mormon Ferry. The next year the ferry was moved a few miles downriver. The ferry was free for Latter Day Saints, but charged a toll for other users. The ferry was manned by groups of Mormons every summer from 1848 until 1852."

"In 1853 John Baptiste Richard built a toll bridge near the ferry site, which would eventually put all ferries on the North Platte out of business. In 1859, Louis Guinard built the Platte Bridge near the site of the original Mormon Ferry. Guinard also built a trading post at one end of the bridge which eventually became Fort Caspar."

"Continuing upstream from Casper, the North Platte bends to the south. The original trail proceeded several miles along the river to Red Buttes, where a bend in the river formed a natural amphitheater dominated by red cliffs on the hill above. The river was easier to ford here for those who were unwilling or unable to pay to cross using one of the ferries downstream. This was the last good camp spot before leaving the river and entering the water-less stretch between the North Platte and the Sweetwater River."

"From here the settlers entered a difficult portion called Rock Avenue which moved from spring to spring across mostly alkaline soil and steep hills until it reached the Sweetwater River. Later settlers who had crossed to the northern side of the river at Casper would come to favor a route through a small valley called Emigrant Gap which headed directly to Rock Avenue, bypassing Red Buttes."

"Upon arrival in the Sweetwater valley, the trail encounters one of the most important landmarks on the trail, Independence Rock. Independence Rock was named because settlers tried to reach it by July 4 (Independence Day) to ensure that they would be at their destinations in California or Oregon before the winter snows came. Many of the travelers left their names on the rock, either carved or painted on with axle grease. It is estimated that more than 50,000 signatures were inscribed on Independence Rock.

The trail continues west along the Sweetwater River eventually crossing the meandering river nine times, including three times within a 2 mile section through a narrow canyon in the Rattlesnake Hills. The trail crosses the Sweetwater three more times and encounters a large hill known as Rocky Ridge on the northern side of the river. This barren and rocky section lasted almost 12 miles and was considered a major obstacle in the trail."

We were so fascinated with the quality of the Interpretive Center, that we stayed until nearly lunchtime. But realizing that we had to make some miles before nightfall, we finally had to retrace our steps to the RV, have our lunch, and get on the road.

Still, we had one more stop to make. Though we had to pass several potentially historic and interesting points on the overland trail that lay along Route 220, there was one we felt that we should definitely stop and see: Independence Rock. This famous landmark on the trail, where thousands of emigrants scratched their names, is just a "must see."

Here's what Wikipedia says about Independence Rock: "Independence Rock is a large granite rock, approximately 130 feet high, 1,900 feet long and 850 feet wide, in southwestern Natrona County, Wyoming. During the middle of the 19th century, the rock was a prominent and well-known landmark on the Oregon, Mormon, and California emigrant trails. Many of these emigrants carved their names on the rock, and it was described by early missionary and explorer Father Pierre-Jean De Smet in 1840 as the Register of the Desert. The site was designated a National Historic Landmark on January 20, 1961. It is now part of Independence Rock State Historic Site, owned and operated by the state of Wyoming."

"The rock derives its name from the fact that it lies directly along the route of the Emigrant Trail and that emigrant wagon parties bound for Oregon or California, which usually left the Missouri River in the early spring, attempted to reach the rock by July 4 (Independence Day), to reach their destinations before the first mountain snowfalls. John C. Frémont camped a mile below this site on August 1, 1843, and made this entry in the journal of his 1843-'44 expedition:"

'Everywhere within six or eight feet of the ground, where the surface is sufficiently smooth, and in some places sixty or eighty feet above, the rock is inscribed with the names of travelers. Many a name famous in the history of this country, and some well known to science, are to be found among those of traders and travelers...'

"Fremont carved a large cross into the rock monolith, which was blasted off the rock on July 4, 1847 by some among hundreds of California and Oregon emigrants who had gathered on the site. These Protestants considered the cross Fremont carved to be a symbol of the Pope and Catholicism. John Frémont was actually a member of the United States Episcopal Church."

There's a trail that completely circles the rock and is more than a mile in circumference. We were dubious at first, but soon talked ourselves into doing the hike so we could add a few steps to our daily total. The trail was alive with both flora and fauna. We saw antelope, including a tiny baby. I was able to photograph a couple of rabbits. We saw at least a half dozen different wild flowers. We even saw some flowering cactus plants. We didn't look hard for any snakes and were eminently happy we didn't run across any. The whole walk took only about twenty to twenty-five minutes.

Leaving Independence Rock, we set out once again on Wyoming Route 220. It was by then 3:00 p.m. and we had no clear idea where we were going to camp for the night. When we got to a fork in the road called "Muddy Gap," we pulled over and tried to decide whether to take Route 287 north toward the town of Lander, or take 287 south toward Rawlins.

What decided us was mother nature. As we looked off to the southwest we could see that ominous-looking storm clouds had begun to gather, and they appeared to be moving toward us. Lander was perhaps 70 miles away, but Rawlins looked to be just over half that. Choosing the shorter distance so that we might get our camp established before mother nature decided to reward the desert with some long-sought moisture, we turned left and accelerated toward Rawlins.

We weren't in time. The storm built so quickly, and enveloped us so completely, that in just moments we were being pelted with penny-sized drops from all directions. The wind was buffeting us so savagely, that after one particular ferocious gust we actually pulled into a handy turnout for a few minutes to wait until the wind calmed a bit before we could proceed. All around us lightening was flashing and hitting the mountaintops every few seconds. We had gone from hot and sunny at 3:00 p.m. to gale-force winds and rain at 4:00 p.m.

As we approached Rawlins my main worry was that the storm would have driven most of the traveling RVs off Interstate 80 and into any available RV camp. So when we found the KOA that we had programmed into our GPS, I was exceedingly happy to find that they had a few spaces left. The clerk verified that RVers had been pouring into the camp as fast as she could sign them up. We were probably lucky to get a spot.

So, here we are at last. True to form the rain let up just long enough for me to get things set up, and then it went back to pelting us again. Now things have quieted down, and we even have the windows open for the breeze (and the smell of sage, of course). Tomorrow we're not sure where we're going. Concetta still is advocating for Idaho so we'll see what the morning brings. Until then, we wish you Happy Travels!

Day 75 -- Chadron, Nebraska to Douglas, Wyoming -- 136 Miles

I'm amazed that we got 136 miles today, since we didn't actually start west until 1:30 or so. It's all because we were told yesterday at the Museum of the Fur Trade that if we traveled just 23 miles further west on Route 20 we would reach Fort Robinson where Chief Crazy Horse made his final stand against his blue-coated captors. That sounded too good to pass up, so naturally we made that our first stop this morning, well, actually second since we had to drop by Walmart for a few staples first.

I've never paid a whole lot of attention to the story of Crazy Horse. After all, he was directly responsible for killing everyone's favorite boy soldier, the flamboyant George Armstrong Custer. Of course now that I've read the General's new biography, I know that he was a dead man walking long before Crazy Horse got to him. Why, even before he was able to graduate from West Point the army had been eager to court martial him for conduct unbecoming an officer, dereliction of duty, or something like that.

But back to Crazy Horse. From Wiki I learned that: "Crazy Horse (actual name: 'his horse is crazy') was born around 1842, and died September 5, 1877. He was a Native American war leader of the Oglala/Lakota Sioux. He took up arms against the United States Federal government to fight against encroachments on the territories and the way of life of the Lakota people, including acting as a decoy in the Fetterman Massacre and leading a war party to victory at the Battle of the Little Bighorn in June 1876."

"Four months after surrendering to U.S. troops under General Crook in May 1877, Crazy Horse was fatally wounded by a bayonet-wielding military guard, while allegedly resisting imprisonment at Camp Robinson in the present state of Nebraska. He ranks among the most notable and iconic of Native American tribal members and was honored by the U.S. Postal Service in 1982 with a 13¢ Great Americans series postage stamp."

Wiki states further that: "In August 1873, the Red Cloud Agency was moved from the North Platte River to the White River, near what is now Crawford, Nebraska, in the northwest corner of the state. The following March, the U. S. Government authorized the establishment of a military camp at the agency site. Home to some 13,000 Lakota Sioux, some of them hostile, the Agency was a source of tension on the Great Plains."

"The camp was named Camp Robinson in honor of Lt. Levi H. Robinson, who had been killed by Indians while on a wood detail in February. In May, the camp was moved 1.5 miles west of the agency to its present location; the camp was renamed Fort Robinson in January 1878. Fort Robinson played a major role in the Sioux Wars from 1876 to 1890. The Battle of Warbonnet Creek took place nearby in July 1876. Crazy Horse surrendered here with his band on May 6, 1877. On September 5 that year, he was fatally wounded while resisting imprisonment. A historic plaque marks the site of his death."

"In January 1879, Chief Morning Star (also known as Dull Knife) led the Northern Cheyenne in an outbreak from the agency. Because the Cheyenne had refused to return to Indian Territory, where they believed conditions were too adverse for them to survive, the army had been holding them without adequate food, water or heat during the severe winter to try to force them into submission. Soldiers hunted down the escapees, killing men, women, and children in the Fort Robinson massacre. The U.S. Supreme Court called the 'shocking story' 'one of the most melancholy of Indian tragedies.' The event marked the end of the Sioux and Cheyenne Wars in Nebraska."

"In 1885, the 9th Cavalry Regiment, nicknamed the Buffalo Soldiers, was stationed at Fort Robinson. This was an all-black unit. During the next several years, the fort was enlarged and military training became a major activity. From 1889-1890, Second Lieutenant Charles Young served here and later was reassigned to the regiment. A black pioneer officer who had graduated from West Point, he was the highest-ranking black in the US Army throughout his career and achieved the rank of colonel. From 1887-1898, the fort served as regimental headquarters. The post gymnasium and theatre, built in 1904, provided entertainment for the soldiers."

"In 1919, at the end of World War I, Fort Robinson became the world's largest quartermaster remount depot. It was used as a breeding and training center for horses and mules for the military. In addition, stallions owned by the military were used to breed with local stock to improve it. In World War II, the fort was the site of a K-9 corps training center. Later it was used to hold a German prisoner-of-war camp."

"The army decided to abandon Fort Robinson in 1947; in the following year, it transferred the property to the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA), for its Beef Cattle Research Station. In the mid-1950s, efforts were made to preserve the fort as a historic site, prompted by the demolition of buildings. In 1955, the Nebraska State Historical Society began to acquire property on the fort; in 1956, they opened a museum on the site. The fort was declared a National Historic Landmark in 1960. The USDA closed its operation in 1971, transferring the property to the state of Nebraska."

From the fort's web site we learn that: "There are many ways to spend a day at the fort. First on the agenda should be a ride on the horse drawn tour to get acquainted with this unique park. Enjoy a refreshing Pine Ridge morning on horseback, an open-air Jeep ride among the buttes, or one of the popular nature tours aboard the Fort Robinson Express. When the day warms up, head for the indoor Pool, complete with outdoor wading pool and sun deck."

"Fort Robinson State Park visitors can choose lodging from rooms in the 1909 enlisted men's quarters or "cabins" ranging from sleep 2 to 20 in the former officers quarters that date from 1874 to 1909. All "cabins" have kitchens, baths, living rooms and bedrooms. Cabins are furnished with blankets, towels, stoves, refrigerators, silverware and cooking utensils. Lodging is available from mid-April through mid-November."

"The Lodge double or twin bedrooms; Cabins & Adobes that sleep 4 to 12 people; Brick officers Quarters that sleep 14 to 20 people; Comanche Hall handles 60 people for sleeping, cooking and dining (complete kitchen). The Buffalo Barracks Squad Room sleeps 20 with 20 cots in a large room, full kitchen, great place for youth groups & men or women's retreats. For all accommodations, linens are furnished, and some utensils, dishes and silverware are also provided, except in Lodge Rooms. You may also reserve a picnic shelter for your group or family reunion. Group and meeting facilities include Dodd Hall, Buffalo Soldier Barracks and the Mare Barn Annex. Dodd Hall and the Buffalo Soldier Barracks can seat up to 200 people and the mare Barn Annex seats up to 150 people. Don't forget asking about having the Fort Robinson Restaurant cater your next group or meeting event."

"Fort Robinson State Park's shady campground offers electrical hookup sites plus primitive sites. Conveniently located are modern restrooms, showers, water, dump station, picnic tables and shelters. Fort Robinson offers a nice campground for the horse lovers. Put your horse up for the night in one of the newly remodeled horse barns. With many miles of trails to ride through the beautiful Pine Ridge, this makes a great place to camp and enjoy the outdoors. Fort Robinson campground offers group camping with equestrian facilities. The campground is open year round with electricity. Showers and water will be shut down during the winter months."

Of course, Concetta and I didn't know any of this history when we wandered in the front gate and parked our rig under a nice big tree. We thought we might find a small mock-up of a frontier fort like we've visited so many times on this journey, but what we found was altogether different. As you read above, the fort is so spacious that they recommend wheeled transportation of some sort if you want to see it all. Naturally, we wanted to get our daily steps in so we elected to walk the grounds (we got over 6,000).

Some of our favorite parts of our visit (not counting our lunch under the big cottonwood tree where we parked), was the wheelwright's shop, the enlisted men's barracks, and the combination paleontology/geology museum. We had a nice visit with the ladies who drove the stagecoach (used for tours), and I had a nice chat with the museum bookstore clerk while I was looking for possible research material on western freight hauling.

The wheelwrights' shop, while not manned by any staff or docent, turned out to be very informative, and provided yet another clue to just how those talented men built wooden wagon wheels that were capable of standing up to such continuous abuse as they hauled freight wagons or immigrant wagons from the Missouri River to the far west. Until today, I never really realized how a blacksmith or wheelwright actually bent a wagon tire in a circle so that it could be used to bind a wooden wheel into a tight and reliable whole. The wheelwrights' shop had the actual machine that made bending the heavy steel rims possible. First time I'd ever seen one.

The next building we visited was the enlisted mens' barracks. Though the museum staff had ever so carefully erected glass panels between us and the re-created soldiers' possessions, which made photography less than thrilling, we managed to get a darn good picture of how those guys lived from day to day. In frontier times, soldiers made very little money. Privates only earned about seven dollars, a corporal would earn only ten dollars a month, and sergeants earned thirteen dollars.

We spent the most time in the paleontology/geology museum. There, a young chap named Caleb, an amateur rock collector he told us, worked hard to answer our questions and tell us where to see the best exhibits. The showpiece of the museum's collection was a large archeological dig discovery where two giant Columbian mammoths were found that had gone "head to head" in mortal combat and had managed to fall to earth while still entangled. When they couldn't untangle themselves and get up, they died right where they fell. These giants, found about 13 miles away from where we were standing, had an anomaly about them that had somehow been the cause of the two creatures being locked together, unable to extricate themselves one from the other. Each of the mammoths had only ONE tusk to fight with!

These two ice age creatures lived 10,000 years ago. In the Fort Robinson museum they had displayed parts of the two mammoths just as they were found on the dig, and parts were erected into a single standing creature. Since paleontologists wanted to leave each head exactly as it had been found, the standing mammoth had a head cast from the original skulls which had been left in situ.

Concetta and I spent a bit more time walking the grounds after we'd left the paleontology/geology museum, then retired to the RV for a nice lunch in the shade of our cottonwood tree. Before we left, I dashed about a bit more and snapped a few photos of more of the buildings. I also stopped at the historical society museum to check out their book shop. Then, as the time drifted toward 1:00 p.m., we rolled out of the Fort and onto Route 20 west for our dash to this evening's camp.

Not much to shoot on this leg, though I did stop a couple of times to shoot some interesting longhorn cattle, and an approaching train hauling eighty carloads of coal. Since I'm a pro coal guy, I was just tickled today to pass not one, but FOUR eighty-car trainloads of coal in the hundred miles we drove from Fort Robinson, Nebraska to Douglas, Wyoming. There was a sort of funny incident that occurred while I was standing beside the tracks waiting to shoot the passing diesel-electric locomotives as they labored eastward. Off in the distance I noticed a white pickup truck, obviously belonging to the railroad since it was driving beside the tracks, as it sped toward me in a giant cloud of dust. Before long, the truck lurched to a stop next to me and a twenty-something kid rolled down his window and said, "What are you doing?"

I'm not normally speechless, this time I thought it was so obvious what I was doing as I stood there holding my camera and telephoto lens, that I didn't say anything.

He didn't wait for my response, but said, "Just shooting the water tower?"

"Ah, yeah," I said. "Well, and the locomotives as they go by."

The kid nodded and smiled, probably deciding that I wasn't about to blow anything up. "Well, you really can't be here," he said, struggling to look a little more stern. "The engineer called me and reported you."

"How about if I just shoot this locomotive," I said, gesturing to the big red and yellow unit about to come abreast of us.

The kid nodded, and I swung the camera around just in time to capture my shot. Then he waved, and accelerated away in a cloud of dust.

The moral of the story is, what with current events in America being what they are, you better stand well back from the railroad tracks while you're doing your train spotting.

After that it was clear sailing to Douglas, Wyoming where we pulled into lightly peopled KOA campground, did our set-up, and walked up to the camp store to score an ice cream sandwich (well, at least I did). The camp here is pleasant, the sites are spaced nicely apart, and they have cable TV which makes Concetta happy. Now that we're at an elevation of 4,900 plus feet, the air is slightly cooler than yesterday and we haven't yet turned on the air conditioner.

Tomorrow we're headed west across Wyoming while trying to stay well north of the Interstate 80 corridor where we've traveled so many times in the past. There really isn't a road that runs directly west from Douglas, so we'll probably have to do some meandering of sorts. But it will be nice to see some country we haven't seen before.

So, when you get out there and experience America first hand, we wish you Happy Travels!

Day 74 -- Presho, South Dakota to Chadron, Nebraska -- 227 Miles

Wow! All day it's been just wonderfully warm, but not hot. We've had a clear blue sky, lots of gentle breezes, and our truck cab air conditioner has had no trouble keeping us comfortable the entire day -- until we got to camp late this afternoon in Chadron, Nebraska. Then, for some reason, perhaps due to approaching storm clouds, the temperature shot up about twenty degrees and now we're just roasting. We looked at the temperature gauge that tells us how hot it is in one of the lower lockers, as well as the interior of the coach. The locker reading was 111 degrees, and the coach interior showed up as 101 degrees. Yesterday, when we were camping in South Dakota, we thought it was hot when the outside temp read 90 degrees, and the inside read 83 degrees. Some difference!

The route today was anything but straight as we "stair-stepped" our way southwest from Presho, South Dakota. Our first stop after we left camp was in the micro-town of Vivian, where we stopped to take photos of the highway sign that announced the town's existence -- just because our granddaughter's name is Vivian. After we shot the sign we rolled into Vivian to see if there was any interesting old buildings or vintage cars to photograph before we moved on down the highway.

It turned out that Vivian was alive in name only. The town itself was probably the most forlorn and decrepit place that we've seen yet. What buildings were still standing leaned in one of the four cardinal directions, either from the wind or the snow load, and seemed only days away from collapsing. There were some residents present, and they were quite friendly with their smiles and waves, but the reason for the town's existence apparently waned decades ago.

Exiting Vivian, we jumped on Interstate 90 and headed west, but only for a bit. As you know, we almost never drive the Blue Highways unless they somehow overlap our intended route for a time. Such was the case this morning when we discovered that yesterday's route of highway 83 south from Pierre, South Dakota, continued south from our camp in Presho only after you drove west on Interstate 90 for about 15 miles.

Actually, driving Route 90 this morning wasn't too bad for some reason. Maybe everyone was still home sleeping. But soon enough Route 83 south appeared and, after stopping for some gasoline to fill the RV's cavernous tank, we drove south toward the town of White River, South Dakota and, just beyond, the Rosebud Sioux reservation. Our whole route south, and then later as we switched over to Route 18 west, was just the most peaceful and uncluttered piece of asphalt imaginable. It was one of those situations where even a single car appearing on the horizon was an unusual event.

We drove by horse herds. We drove by rolling fields of corn, soybeans, and hay (photo upper right). Occasionally we drove through a dusty, largely moribund, town, but most of the time we just motored along at a sedate pace and listened to our current book on CD, The History of the English Language.

We often try and stop in whatever town appears on the horizon, and the reason is simple: I don't ever know what the blog subject is going to be for the evening, and I'm always hoping that a subject will present itself. Today the subjects were woefully absent. I did shoot a few photos here and there, but nothing of any real substance that you might want to know about.

This was the state of things all through the day until I happened to catch a notation in the highway atlas we've been using for navigation. The entry read: "Museum of the Fur Trade." I noted that the location of said museum was just an hour's journey west on Nebraska Route 20. We had joined that road in the town of Gordon after dropping down from South Dakota on Route 391.

Probably I've never mentioned in these pages that I've always been a HUGE fan of fur trappers and the fur-trapper era. I've read the books, I've visited whatever museums I can find, and "Man in the Wilderness" and "Jeremiah Johnson" have long been two of my favorite movies, both fictionalized tales of real-life fur trappers. "Man in the Wilderness," played by Richard Harris, told the story of fur trapper Hugh Glass (Sam Bass in the movie) who was mauled by a bear and left for dead by two of his fellow trappers.

Just recently a new movie has been made about Hugh called "The Revenant," with Leo DeCaprio. The museum had some of the costume items from DeCaprio's movie as the staff was called upon by Hollywood to serve as technical advisors on the film.

"Jeremiah Johnson," played by Robert Redford, told the story of the infamous "liver eating Johnson," who legends say had a wife, a member of the Flathead American Indian tribe, who was killed by a young Crow brave and his fellow hunters, which prompted Johnson to embark on a vendetta against the tribe.

According to historian Andrew Mehane Southerland, Johnson killed and scalped more than 300 Crow Indians and then devoured their livers to avenge the death of the wife, and as his reputation and collection of scalps grew, Johnson became an object of fear. The legend says that he would cut out and eat the liver of each man killed. This was an insult to Crow because the Crow believed the liver to be vital if one was to go on to the afterlife.

From the web I learned that: "The legends and feats of the mountain men have persisted largely because there was a lot of truth to the tales that were told. The life of the mountain man was rough, and one that brought him face to face with death on a regular basis--sometimes through the slow agony of starvation, dehydration, burning heat, or freezing cold, and sometimes by the surprise attack of animal or Indian."

"The mountain man's life was ruled not by the calendar or the clock but by the climate and seasons. In fall and spring, the men would trap."

"The start of the season and its length were dictated by the weather. The spring hunt was usually the most profitable, with the pelts still having their winter thickness. Spring season would last until the pelt quality became low. In July, the groups of mountain men and the company suppliers would gather at the summer rendezvous. There, the furs were sold, supplies were bought and company trappers were divided into parties and delegated to various hunting grounds."

"The tradition of the rendezvous was started by General William Ashley's men of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company in 1825. What began as a practical gathering to exchange pelts for supplies and reorganize trapping units evolved into a month long carnival in the middle of the wilderness."

"The gathering was not confined to trappers, and attracted women and children, Indians, French Canadians, and travelers. Mountain man James Beckworth described the festivities as a scene of "mirth, songs, dancing, shouting, trading, running, jumping, singing, racing, target-shooting, yarns, frolic, with all sorts of extravagances that white men or Indians could invent." An easterner gave his view: "mountain companies are all assembled on this season and make as crazy a set of men I ever saw." There were horse races, running races, target shooting and gambling. Whiskey drinking accompanied all of them."

"After rendezvous, the men headed off to their fall trapping grounds. Contrary to the common image of the lonely trapper, the mountain men usually traveled in brigades of 40 to 60, including camp tenders and meat hunters."

"From the brigade base camps, they would fan out to trap in parties of two or three. It was then that the trappers were most vulnerable to Indian attack. Indians were a constant threat to the trappers, and confrontation was common."

"The Blackfeet were by far the most feared, but the Arikaras and Comaches were also to be avoided. The Shoshone, Crows and Mandans were usually friendly, however, trust between trapper and native was always tenuous."

"Once the beaver were trapped, they were skinned immediately, allowed to dry, and then folded in half, fur to the inside. Beaver pelts, unlike buffalo robes, were compact, light and very portable. This was essential, as the pelts had to be hauled to rendezvous for trade. It is estimated that 1,000 trappers roamed the American West in this manner from 1820 to 1830, the heyday of the Rocky Mountain fur trade."

"In November the streams froze, and the trapper, like his respected nemesis the grizzly bear, went into hibernation. Trapping continued only if the fall had been remarkably poor, or if they were in need of food. Life in the winter camp could be easy or difficult, depending on the weather and availability of food. The greatest enemy was quite often boredom. As at rendezvous, the motley group would have physical contests, play cards, checkers and dominoes, tell stories, sing songs and read. Many trappers exchanged well worn books and still others learned to read during the long wait for spring, when they could go out and trap once again.

The equipment of the mountain man was sparse and well used. Osbourne Russell provides an apt description of the typical mountain man from one who was there:

"A Trappers equipment in such cases is generally one Animal upon which is placed...a riding Saddle and bridle a sack containing six Beaver traps a blanket with an extra pair of Moccasins his powder horn and bullet pouch with a belt to which is attached a butcher Knife a small wooden box containing bait for Beaver a Tobacco sack with a pipe and implements for making fire with sometimes a hatchet fastened to the Pommel of his saddle. His personal dress is a flannel or cotton shirt (if he is fortunate to obtain one, if not Antelope skin answers the purpose of over and under shirt) a pair of leather breeches with Blanket or smoked Buffalo skin, leggings, a coat made of Blanket or Buffalo robe a hat or Cap of wool, Buffalo or Otter skin his hose are pieces of Blanket lapped round his feet which are covered with a pair of Moccasins made of Dressed Deer Elk or Buffalo skins with his long hair falling loosely over his shoulders complete the uniform."

So, realizing that one of my very favorite subjects was just an hour or so away really quickened my pulse. And, as an added benefit, we had left central time and entered mountain time, which meant we could pack more activities into our day than we had expected.

First a note about the Museum of the Fur Trade, located just east of the town of Chadron, Nebraska. The museum has been constructed on nearly the exact location of the Bordeaux Trading Post. To paraphrase the museum's sign, "James Bordeaux operated the trading post from 1837 until 1876. Originally, he was from a French settlement near St. Louis and while still a boy, he came west with a company of fur traders. Bordeaux was then active in the fur trade in the vicinity of Fort Laramine, Wyoming territory, starting in the 1830s. In the 1840s he served as host to the explorer John C. Fremont (another of my heros) and the historian, Francis Parkman."

"The Indians brought buffalo robes, furs, and ponies to the post to trade for guns, powder, beads, blankets, and whiskey. Some of the weapons may have been used against the troops of Fort Phil Kearny and Custer's troops at the Little Big Horn. The story of James Bordeaux's life is the story of the upper Missouri country of the 1830s to 1870s."

The museum grounds do contain the trading post buildings, situated on their original locations, but we believe the actual log cabins are probably reconstructions. The wood is so weathered they look pretty darn real, however.

Inside the museum is just the most wonderful display of Mountain Man gear that you will ever see anywhere. From the plugs of tobacco they carried, to the flintlock rifles and muskets that brought down their enemies, the museum has it all. We spent at least two hours there, but I could have spent the entire day there are so many display cases full of artifacts that there was no way I could read them all in a two-hour span of time.

They had canoes and carts for carrying furs. They had a huge display of cooking utensils. They had weapons of all descriptions from knives and tomahawks, to battle axes and pikes. And, of course, they had an example of just about every possible rifle and pistol combination that any self-respecting mountain man would have carried.

However our greatest find of the afternoon at the museum was the museum director himself. We caught up with him as he attempted to use a long pole to close the smoke hole on a teepee behind the museum (photo right). His name is Bill Armstrong and he's about the most knowledgeable person we have met on the subject of mountain men and the various tribes that they lived with, traded with, and sometimes fought.

The three of us spent at least thirty minutes talking about the subject and naturally segued into a discussion of genealogy. Turns out that some of his ancestors are from the exact location in Kentucky as were my Jones ancestors. Since there were so few Kentuckians who survived the battles with the native Americans back then, as Bill put it, "My Blaire ancestors and your Jones ancestors almost certainly knew each other." I hope he's right, Concetta and I sure liked him.

And we had one more surprise at the Museum of the Fur Trade. We got to talking with a fellow visitor as we walked the galleries looking at all the fabulous displays. It turned out he was from Stagecoach Nevada, just down the road from Carson City. He's a avid fan of mountain man lore and crafts, and often attends the modern-day rendezvous celebrations that are held all over the west. Could there be anything more incredible? We traded business cards and promised to keep in touch. He told me if I really wanted an accurate tomahawk, he'd put me onto the right person.

Anyway, we're in camp for the evening now. The expected storm didn't arrive. The air conditioning has dropped the temperature in the rig from 101 degrees to a chilly 90, and we're just kicking back and doing some reading.

Tomorrow, aside from some grocery shopping, we're planning on visiting Fort Robinson, just down the road, that the museum folks told us was top notch. After that, we'll be crossing the border into Wyoming, just to see what we can see. So until then, we wish you Happy Travels!

Day 73 -- Howard to Presho, South Dakota -- 211 Miles

The theme for today's drive across the rolling prairies of South Dakota was "hay." Just about everywhere we looked farmers were making hay while the sun shone or, judging by all the baled hay we saw, had at least recently done so. Personally, as an allergy sufferer from the day I was born, I found out early that hay was one of my worst enemies. I also found out that I was more allergic to horses than any other animal. Combine horses and their traditional food, and my body's defense mechanisms would go into total chaotic rebellion. Things are better now since the advent of more effective allergy medicines. I can at least be in the same state with my two least favorite histamine producers.

Still, as we've traveled the length and breadth of this great land this spring, we've seen a LOT of hay, especially baled hay. And as we've gazed upon this ubiquitous farm product stretching from the highway to the far horizons, we couldn't help but wonder about the hay-growing process.

Naturally, I turned to Wikipedia for some of these answers: "Hay is grass, legumes, or other herbaceous plants that have been cut, dried, and stored for use as animal fodder, particularly for grazing animals such as cattle, horses, goats, and sheep. Hay is also fed to smaller animals such as rabbits and guinea pigs. Pigs may be fed hay, but they do not digest it as efficiently as more fully herbivorous animals."

"Hay can be used as animal fodder when or where there is not enough pasture or range land on which to graze an animal, when grazing is unavailable due to weather (such as during the winter) or when lush pasture by itself is too rich for the health of the animal. It is also fed during times when an animal is unable to access pasture, such as when animals are kept in a stable or barn."

"Commonly used plants for hay include mixtures of grasses such as ryegrass (Lolium species), timothy, brome, fescue, Bermuda grass, orchard grass, and other species, depending on region. Hay may also include legumes, such as alfalfa (lucerne) and clovers (red, white and subterranean). Legumes in hay are ideally cut pre-bloom. Other pasture forbs are also sometimes a part of the mix, though these plants are not necessarily desired as certain forbs are toxic to some animals."

"Oat, barley, and wheat plant materials are occasionally cut green and made into hay for animal fodder; however they are more usually used in the form of straw, a harvest byproduct where the stems and dead leaves are baled after the grain has been harvested and threshed. Straw is used mainly for animal bedding. Although straw is also used as fodder, particularly as a source of dietary fiber, it has lower nutritional value than hay."

"It is the leaf and seed material in the hay that determines its quality. Farmers try to harvest hay at the point when the seed heads are not quite ripe and the leaf is at its maximum when the grass is mowed in the field. The cut material is allowed to dry so that the bulk of the moisture is removed but the leafy material is still robust enough to be picked up from the ground by machinery and processed into storage in bales, stacks or pits."

"Hay is very sensitive to weather conditions, particularly when it is harvested. In drought conditions, both seed and leaf production are stunted, making hay that has a high ratio of dry coarse stems that have very low nutritional values. If the weather is too wet, the cut hay may spoil in the field before it can be baled. The hay may also develop rot and mold after being baled, creating the potential for toxins to form in the feed, which could make the animals sick."

"Hay also has to be stored in a manner to prevent it from getting wet. Mold and spoilage reduce nutritional value and may cause illness in animals. A symbiotic fungus in fescue may cause illness in horses and cattle. Poor quality hay is dry, bleached out and coarse-stemmed. Sometimes, hay stored outdoors will look like this on the outside but still be green inside the bale. A dried, bleached or coarse bale is still edible and provides some nutritional value as long as it is dry and not moldy, dusty, or rotting."

"The successful harvest of maximum yields of high-quality hay is entirely dependent on the coincident occurrence of optimum crop, field, and weather conditions. When this occurs, there may be a period of intense activity on the hay farm while harvest proceeds until weather conditions become unfavorable."

"Hay production and harvest, colloquially known as "making hay", "haymaking", or "doing hay", involves a multiple step process: cutting, drying or "curing", raking, processing, and storing. Hay fields do not have to be reseeded each year in the way that grain crops are, but regular fertilizing is usually desirable, and over-seeding a field every few years helps increase yield."

"Methods and the terminology to describe the steps of making hay have varied greatly throughout history, and many regional variations still exist today. However, whether done by hand or by modern mechanized equipment, tall grass and legumes at the proper stage of maturity must be cut, then allowed to dry (preferably by the sun), then raked into long, narrow piles known as windrows. Next, the cured hay is gathered up in some form (usually by some type of baling process) and placed for storage into a haystack or into a barn or shed to protect it from moisture and rot."

"Hay can be raked into rows as it is cut, then turned periodically to dry, particularly if a modern swather is used. Or, especially with older equipment or methods, the hay is cut and allowed to lie spread out in the field until it is dry, then raked into rows for processing into bales afterwards. During the drying period, which can take several days, the process is usually sped up by turning the cut hay over with a hay rake or spreading it out with a tedder. If it rains while the hay is drying, turning the windrow can also allow it to dry faster. However, turning the hay too often or too roughly can also cause drying leaf matter to fall off, reducing the nutrients available to animals. Drying can also be sped up by mechanized processes, such as use of a hay conditioner, or by use of chemicals sprayed onto the hay to speed evaporation of moisture, though these are more expensive techniques, not in general use except in areas where there is a combination of modern technology, high prices for hay, and too much rain for hay to dry properly."

"Once hay is cut, dried and raked into windrows, it is usually gathered into bales or bundles, then hauled to a central location for storage. In some places, depending on geography, region, climate, and culture, hay is gathered loose and stacked without being baled first."

"Hay must be fully dried when baled and kept dry in storage. If hay is baled while too moist or becomes wet while in storage, there is a significant risk of spontaneous combustion. Hay stored outside must be stacked in such a way that moisture contact is minimal. Some stacks are arranged in such a manner that the hay itself "sheds" water when it falls. Other methods of stacking use the first layers or bales of hay as a cover to protect the rest. To completely keep out moisture, outside haystacks can also be covered by tarps, and many round bales are partially wrapped in plastic as part of the baling process. Hay is also stored under a roof when resources permit. It is frequently placed inside sheds, or stacked inside of a barn. On the other hand, care must also be taken that hay is never exposed to any possible source of heat or flame, as dry hay and the dust it produces are highly flammable."

"Small bales of hay are still produced today. While balers for small bales are still manufactured, as well as loaders and stackers, there are some farms that still use equipment manufactured over 50 years ago, kept in good repair. The small bale remains part of overall ranch lore and tradition with "hay bucking" competitions still held for fun at many rodeos and county fairs."

"Farmers who need to make large amounts of hay are likely to choose balers which produce much larger bales, maximizing the amount of hay which is protected from the elements. Large bales come in two types, round and square. Large square bales, which can weigh up to 2,200 lbs, can be stacked and are easier to transport on trucks. Large round bales, which typically weigh 660–880 lbs, are more moisture-resistant, and pack the hay more densely (especially at the center). Round bales are quickly fed with the use of mechanized equipment."

"The ratio of volume to surface area makes it possible for many dry-area farmers to leave large bales outside until they are consumed. Wet-area farmers and those in climates with heavy snowfall can stack round bales under a shed or tarp, but can also use a light but durable plastic wrap that partially encloses bales left outside. The wrap repels moisture, but leaves the ends of the bale exposed so that the hay itself can "breathe" and does not begin to ferment. However, when it is possible to store round bales under a shed, they last longer and less hay is lost to rot and moisture."

Okay, enough with the hay already I'm sure you're saying. But I still have one more question: why do you see so many bales of hay sitting in fields and farmyards that looks like it's been there for years (photo upper left); like somehow the farmer baled it and then never came back for it? On our travels we've seen rolls of hay that have evidently been sitting so long it's positively gray in color, like it died years ago and no one bothered to bury it. If unused, is it not possible to plow it back into the soil or something? I looked for a time on the Web for the answer, but didn't really see anything. If you know, please let me know.

Right now we're in a small town in South Dakota nobody has ever heard of. We came here because the Good Sam book recommended it. When we got here we found almost no one else in residence. A couple of spaces to the west of us, a 1980s dilapidated Class C of about twenty feet is sitting looking rather forlorn. The camp manager says they are long-term residents who own three dogs. She says the dogs are quiet. She didn't say the same about the owners.

I asked the camp manager if their season hadn't started yet since the camp looked empty, and she told me that on the previous weekend they had a lot of campers here. I wonder. Anyway, since there's almost no one in residence I suspect that we're in for another quiet evening, which is just fine with us. Tomorrow we're headed west toward Wyoming, though we're not sure we'll make it. Depends on whether we find something irresistible to capture our interest. The route we picked to cross the northern states has afforded darn few diversions, unfortunately. We're hoping that will change tomorrow.

So, until we meet again, we wish you Happy Travels!