So there we were, me, Sam, and Sadie. On the road and heading north toward Glacier National Park. This was a do-over of the same trip attempt last year, that got called after only a week because of a series of mishaps that sent us back home, tails and spare tires between our legs.
This time we had to make a detour south to Santa Fe to get a pump fixed, but then we’d be ready to go. Excitement and anticipation were in full force. I got over the fact that we’d lose half a day on this detour, because in the bigger scheme of a month-long trip, who cares. Right?
That’s when the trip started digging in its heels.
I won’t bore you with the details, but let me just say this: within 48 hours we had a series of minor and major mishaps so disheartening, I’m typing this not from some gorgeous National Park, but from my living room in Taos.
On Thursday we ended up grounded in Rock Springs, WY which – cover your eyes, Rock Springs – wasn’t the most fascinating place to be stuck. So I made the hard decision to turn around, head home, and fix the problems there. This pretty much sums it up:
(Classy! A friend pointed out that if he were to describe me, the picture painted would be a woman hanging out in a trailer in a Walmart parking lot, drinking boxed wine, and sleeping in the t-shirt she wore that day. You’ve heard of glamping? Yeah. I don’t do that. My first home was a trailer, so I suppose it’s true that some things never change.)
But all is not lost. First off, I did get a few nice shots that I’ll share in the next week or so. And, since I’m obviously not meant – again! – to go to the Tetons, Yellowstone, and Glacier, I’m changing destinations. This Thursday Sam, Sadie, and I are heading west to San Diego to see family and loved ones, and will spend three weeks there visiting old haunts and exploring new ones, taking photos of the gorgeous SoCal landscape, and eating my weight in fish tacos and Thai food.
But I’m left with one question. What is it about those parks I’m not supposed to experience? Was I fated to get gored by a bison at Yellowstone? Or have a chunk of ice break off and squash me at Glacier? Is it something about the butterfly effect, where my visiting those parks would set off a chain of events so cataclysmic, fate had to possess one very stubborn 13′ Scamp trailer to make its point?
I don’t know. And maybe I’m a glutton for punishment, or simply an idiot, but I am planning to make a shorter version of that trip at the end of the summer. Because Sadie isn’t the only stubborn one around here.
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