Tiny Metal House

So I’m almost a week late in posting this, but we’re officially back in the Bay Area (and I’ve been back at work for the week).  The tiny metal blog is by no means over, however, since we’re knee deep in the “adventures” of finding a decent place to call home in the densely populated (by comparison) greater silicon valley area.  For now, a quick recap of the trip by the numbers:

Total Duration: 154 days (almost exactly 5 months!)

Travel Days: 26

States Visited: 25

Total Mileage: 8150 (avg. MPG: 12.5)

Fuel Consumed (gallons): 652

Fuel Consumed (dollars): $2412

Nights Boondocking: 13

Triple-digit Tucson Days: 25

Freezing North Plains Nights: 4

After the salt flats at the edge of Utah, we were pretty much in a high-tail it home mode, but not so much so that we couldn’t stick a bit to the plans. Instead of taking 80 across Nevada, we opted for the southerly US Route 50, dubbed by Life Magazine as the loneliest road in America, though it turned out to be not that lonely. After a night in the still-settled Ely, we headed out. Here’s Mike in Eureka, an amazing town noted in guide books, as ’semi-ghost’ which I bet the current residents would find amusing.

The building above, like many many others still standing in towns along US 50, dates from 1880. Due to the speed of construction of old mining-related towns, and the fact that the money might run out at any time, most buildings shoddy wood constructions, and burned down like every two years or so. But there was enough silver in Nevada to warrant the expense and effort of more permanent structures, and a lot of old stuff still remains. Why not in Deadwood and the Black Hills then, given the richness and depth of that gold strike? I’ll have to ask a mining scholar, or go back when the museum is actually open. Or I could just be totally wrong. Anyhow, between ghost towns, we took the Airstream down a very bumpy road to find another of my old-timey obsessions. A hot springs!

Not very impressive. I was not healed. Pretty though, and lavatastic! Happy teenagers gather here apparently. Other highlights of US 50 include a giant mountain of sand, and this amazing bar in Middlegate, where the owners drank with us into the night and invited me to stay and play horsies (that’s verbatim) on their ranch, an offer I had to decline with great sadness.

Our last stop on US 50 was at Lattin Farms outside of Fallon, which strangely enough provided the best farm/autumn/hayride/pumpkin experience of our whole Autumn tour. And a giant corn maze. In Nevada. Go figure.

Along they way we also completed a stamp-as-you-go itinerary courtesy of the Nevada Department of Tourism. A nicely designed “I survived the loneliest road in America” pamphlet that we can now mail in for a key chain and a certificate with the Governor’s signature! Thanks Nevada. Sorry we don’t gamble. Not many good pics of these facts, but the road we took, the current US 50, weaves around/follows both the original Lincoln Highway, and the Pony Express Route. Amazing. Here’s the ad they placed for riders in 1860:

“Wanted. Young, skinny, wiry fellows not over 18. Must be expert riders, willing to risk death daily. Orphans preferred.”

With the Air Forums’ faithful “Free or Cheap” thread as our guide, we raced the setting sun out of Wyoming, down into Salt Lake City, and out over the salt flats to a boondocking spot in a place called Knolls, which the GPS disavowed any knowledge of.  The goal here was to make good time, but also to get out in the middle of nowhere on the salt flats for night of respite from the elevation changes that preceded and followed the day.

I’d say we were more or less successful, but it was a little creepy pulling in after dark and following a dirt road to nowhere.  I was rewarded on my sunrise walkabout, however, to see that we were the only ones around (later a few rigs would appear farther down the road).  I was also reminded how much I like desert sunrises and I snapped a few pics.

The Scrambler was looking longingly at the dunes, so I rolled it down and had a bit of a scramble in the surrounding area.

Some time later, Maria awoke and wanted to join me, so we set out down the road to see what was beyond our site.  On the way back I got a little adventurous and took a tack out on a fairly well-worn ATV trail which was fun for a while, but soon made its way out onto a slick, muddy playa.  I slowed a bit to keep from losing balance, but it was for naught, and we took a mud bath about 3/4 of the way across.  The clutch lever suffered for this little escapade, rendering the bike unridable, but a nice fellow on a quad came to our rescue.  Mari and I hopped on the back and we were soon racing back to the truck instead of hoofing it.  Frankly, the quad ride was a lot more scary than the fall.

The morning’s adventure ended with us trying to figure out how to roll a 500 lb. bike up the truck ramp.  We wound up propping the ramp up on a helpful dune to lessen the incline and going with the “momentum” approach.  All cinched up, and a not a little bit salty and muddy for the experience, we were soon off across the real flattest, straightest road (in my book anyway) — I-80 across the remainder of the salt flats.  When I go to order my replacement clutch lever, I hope the guy at the Triumph shop asks me what happened so I can say “oh, I dropped ‘er out at Bonneville…  yeah man…  it was pretty ugly…”

Oh yeah, and we did take the interstate for a bit there, but we back on our game the next day, as the next post I’m sure will attest.

After Deadwood there wasn’t much adventure to be had, so we made some time up driving fast through Wyoming, or as fast as we could on a no interstates itinerary. No stops really, but we accidentally picked up the Oregon trail! In the pic on the right, that light wheat-colored stripe on the left is the original wagon track. Super!

We also stopped to see a marker commemorating some missionary pioneers, namely Eliza Spaulding and Narcissa Whitman, who became the first two white women to cross the Rockies in 1836. I thought they’d be front and center on the monument, but they show up as wives.

We also passed Teapot dome, the name of that scandal from high school US History that we all forgot right after the test. I took about ten pictures of dome-like rock formations as we drove through the area. Which was teapot dome? Maybe none. Apparently no one cares enough to put a sign up on the road, or a picture on the internet. Let’s say it’s this one. Also, we followed this amazing vehicle full of stunt dogs. Where are they headed? I saw the dogs pee in regular form.

So we decided to spend a day in the black hills, since they contain such attractions as the aforementioned Deadwood (the real one which inspired the HBO series of the same name), Mount Rushmore, and apparently a really really big hole in the ground:

Yep, that there is the 1200 foot deep “open cut” of the Homestake mine, which operated continuously here for 125 years (!!) and is one of the longest listed companies on the NYSE.  We stumbled upon this after a fantastic drive through Spearfish Canyon on the road to present-day Deadwood.  They have shafts that are 8000 (!!) feet deep.  Crazy.

Next up was the Mount Moriah cemetery, which sits on the cliffs above the town of Deadwood.  I pretty much hate walking through cemeteries, but I have to admit this one was very nice.  On the left is the tombstone of “Preacher Smith” (a Deadwood character, as well as a Deadwood character) and on the right is the grave of Wild Bill Hickock, complete with empty bottle of Jim Beam evidently left by a passing respect payer.

Finally, about a quarter mile away from the cemetery proper and on top of a hill, was the grave of Seth Bullock, pivotal figure in fiction as well as fact, and his wife Martha.  Beautiful place, if a bit sad.

The town itself was a bit of a disappointment in terms of its historical…  er…  accuracy, but it was cool nonetheless.  On the way out we found this.  Best gulch ever:

Finally, it was off to Mount Rushmore so we could look at it, and say that we’d been there.  It was basically pretty far away and looked just like the pictures, so we tried to make ourselves look like presidents in the photographs, which involved a great deal of lying on the ground with the camera:

Good times in the Black Hills, next it’s off to Wyoming and points west……  over to you Mari….

Saturday morning we woke up and drove and drove and drove. From Minnesota, we went to North Dakota just to cross it off the list of states we’d been to. Was this a worth-while move? Even magic 8-ball would say no, but not surprisingly we said yes, and there we were, driving on the “longest dead-straight road in the world,” and trying not to be nervous about the fact that it was getting suddenly cold and very wet outside.

Just before dark, we stopped at an unattended, but not closed Army Corps of Engineers campground on the Missouri River. It was so beautiful! Well, not at all, but I could tell it would be if the sky wasn’t a mass of gray waste dribbling slowly down around us. We did make a lovely  stew and ate it along with our beer bread and rolled Amish butter. Hearty!

Sunday, we drove back down the Missouri river and west to Spearfish, North Dakota, the Northern gateway to the Black Hills. Being that we are generally interested in pioneer history and also in the mechanical instrumentation of gold rush work and life, plus having, both of us, Deadwood as a cherished and absolute favorite TV series, this is pretty much our vacation heaven. We are camped now 10 miles from Deadwood.

As you can see, it is snowing here, which is surprising. Good thing we have full propane tanks and R-16 insulation. Also, we went to the Spearfish Chophouse and Whiskey Bar, and it was great. Tomorrow the town itself awaits.

A side note on the Dakotas this time of year (not highway-side of course, but on smaller roads): turns out the oly people who leave their home after the first week of October are Native Americans and hunters. Every 80 miles is a small gas station with one pump, an older woman cooking, and permanent conference table in the back of the store, around which 6-10 hunters sit and talk with no visible plan or urgency. Maybe because of the rain, but we saw several of these, and they were strikingly similar.

A side-side note on the hunters: The more I interact with people who make a hobby out of systematically depleting or destroying natural landscapes and outdoor spaces (jeep off-roading too…), the more I am convinced that these are the people who will save our green spaces. Who better to defend the spaces than the people who rely on them for enjoyment? Granted, I think that killing an animal for sport only is a special kind of horrifying. Especially it’s the glee demonstrated at the act that makes my inside parts rumble and shiver. That being said, a selfish motivation is usually a greatly effective one, and hunters recognize that without a herd, there is no fun for them, and they therefore fight, pay, and police to keep each other using practices that keep the numbers up. Plus they get to know the animals. Where they go and why, how their communities function, how they change with seasons or climate shifts. In certain ways, that has it all over someone who buys a Prius, shops at whole foods, moves into a housing complex that has replaced an entire marsh ecosystem and clings to being ‘green.’ Maybe the Prairie just got into me.

When we left off, we were turning in for the night on the shores of lake Wissota Wisconsin preparing to fix some dinner the veggie part of which was obtained from a sketchy “local” Chippewa farmers market:

The following morning we got our tour of the Leinie’s plant which was cool for a brewery tour.  They had an old operation that used to serve the Chippewa logging industry when they started, but in 2001 they did a huge upgrade and expanded their distribution to 48 states so they had a ton of German-designed stainless, tanks, gauges, etc. to check out.  Mari and I had been drinking their Octoberfest beer for a week or two and it’s delicious, so before we left Chippewa we picked up another 12-pack of that.  We also obtained some stinky soap which is made from beer and smelled much better in the store (we swear) and some beer bread mix.  Just add a bottle of your favorite Leinie’s beer!

Next we headed back to camp, hitched up, and hit the road into Minnesota.  We got hungry as we approached Minneapolis, so we decided to stop at the Mall of America, the greatest Mall in the mother country of Malls.  I figured we could eat in the mother of all food courts or something.  It turns out this mall is pretty terrible.  It’s just a mall, slightly bigger than most (though it turns out it depends on how you define “big”).  King of Prussia certainly gives it a run for its money.  Oh, and the food courts are small, and the middle of the mall is devoted to Nickelodeon-themed mini theme park rides.  And the RV parking is far, far, away.  There are no pictures of this experience, but you’re not missing much, trust me.

Hoping for hay rides, we made a stop at a farm store that Mari found on the internet.  It turned out that the hay rides are only on weekends and mostly-adult-looking hayride-seeking weirdos are not enough to get them to fire up the ol’ John Deere and take us for a spin.

What’s a cross-country journey without a stop in Darwin, MN to visit the world’s largest ball of twine?

Since it was pretty dark when we were ready to stop driving for the night, and we were lacking firewood besides, we settled for the Litchfied, MN WalMart.  Our second (free!) night spent in a WalMart parking lot, but who can even tell once you draw the blinds and hole up in the TMH?

Next, it was off for points north (well, slightly more north) and west.  That’s right, I’m talkin’ about the Dakota territories baybee!  Over to you Mari……

Last night we stayed outside Dubuque (but actually in Wisconsin, not Iowa) at a place called the “Rustic Barn Campground.”  It was a perfect, clear fall night and we had a fire and cooked up a chili pot on the safari chef.

The next morning we popped into Dubuque, and lo and behold we found this:

… it’s the first time I’ve seen any gas going for less than $3/gallon in a long time (though those times will certainly return, I’m told by those in the know).  It’s also the first time I’ve seen “silver” (mid grade, 89 octane, but with 10% ethanol mixed in as is common in the midwest among all grades of gas) going for 12 cents less than the run of the mill 87 octane stuff — presumably with little or no ethanol content.  I went for it anyway, and my mileage today was more or less unchanged, so I’ll take it I guess…

In any case, we headed north to a cheese factory, supposedly one of the only ones left that accepts milk from the Amish in old-style jugs and turns it in to delicious cheeses and other products.  We found the place on the “Factory Tours USA” website, so we were expecting, I dunno, some kind of factory tour.  Instead we were treated to a somewhat dingy shop with two “live” video feeds from the factory area.  Yay!

With that somewhat disappointing stop under our belt, we again turned for points north, our next rough destination being the old Leininkugel brewery in Chippewa Falls.  We arrived a little too late for the final tour, but we stopped in the “Leinie Lodge” and were treated to free beers, and we headed out to the eastern shore of Lake Wissota where we’re currently camped out at the state park.  It’s absolutely beautiful here, and the Tiny Metal House is going strong.  We kick tomorrow off with a brewery tour before pulling up stakes and heading farther west…  more news as it happens…

Our TomTom GPS is set on “English (UK)” because I find like the voice of Jane, the impatient but still very polite British woman who tells me when to “turn left,” “take the roundabout, second exit,” and of course to “take the motorway.”

On our way out to the east coast, which was pretty much a whirlwind trip flat out from Tucson to Old Saybrook as fast as we could muster, we were lamenting the fact that aside from some slight change in the vegetation, all interstates basically look the same.  I’m a little torn on this one — I have a tremendous respect for the interstate system, and I think the (er… relative…) strength of our economy owes a great deal to the efficiency with which we can move goods about the country.  Places like Las Vegas certainly wouldn’t exist without them, and where would we be without Las Vegas, really?

On the other hand, they’ve pretty much gutted many small towns whose primary business was tourist traffic along the old highway system (think route 66, e.g.), and with that went a great deal of whimsical charm that used to accompany travel by automobile.  Or so I’m told.

We toyed with the idea of doing the trip back without traveling interstates at all.  U.S. highways, county roads, etc. would all be fair game.  In the we compromised somewhat and decided to use interstates where it really made more sense (to take the beltway around Chicago, for example), but we’d avoid it where possible.  Here’s where Jane comes in:  she helpfully offers an “Avoid Motorways” option, which causes the routing algorithm to cook up some of the most complex paths from point A to point B you can imagine.  Case in point: on today’s journey from Dubuque, Iowa to Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, we traveled no fewer than 21 different roads, many of them delightful, winding routes through the countryside, replete with crisp autumn light, fall colors, horse poop, and the occasional Amish dude.  I can’t express how much more enjoyable this is.  If only time weren’t of the essence, I’d say people should desert the interstates forever and leave them for the military transport detail for which they were built in the first place….

… after all, how else would you experience such wonders as the “backyard cooling tower” or of course the more picturesque winding country road: