Yellowstone!

At Star Valley Ranch RV Park, Thayne, Wyoming...

This will be mostly a reprise of our previous visits to Yellowstone. The reason for this is that our fellow travelers, Larry and Carolyn, had never before seen the nation's largest national park so, with the exception of a short introductory trip together, they did their tour by themselves. Below are a couple of shots from that introductory trip. The Abyss Pool is among the first geologic features you can see when you enter through the eastern gate of the park. Carolyn accompanied me down to see it. Then I took a closeup view shot, and you can see why it is called the Abyss. One can't help but wonder from what depth the steaming water comes:

The only part of the park Sandy and I hadn't seen before was Mammoth Hot Springs, near the north entrance, and that would be our focus this time. Larry and Carolyn seemed content to do their own thing, and that was fine with us.

Let me begin by encouraging anyone who has not visited Yellowstone to do so. This was our fourth visit, and it never ceases to amaze us as one of the strangest and most fascinating places on earth. There's nothing like it anywhere else, and it's right here in our own country!

Consider that you get to drive around in the caldera of a giant volcano that erupted more than 600,000 years ago and is actually due again for an eruption, according to the history of its activity cycle. The presence of the hot magma reservoir under your feet is evidenced in many places by the hissing of steam, geysers and pools of near-boiling water that is forced upward by the hellish molten lava so near the surface. 

Yet there is beauty all around, with Lake Yellowstone and the Yellowstone River being the most significant of the non-geyser features you can see. I will begin with a photo of Old Faithful that is not up to my normal standards, taken, unfortunately, as the geyser was winding down from its main thrust of spray activity. I do have a video of the entire eruption, but Sandy won't let me publish it, as she was narrating it for our very young grandsons at the time, and there are some parts that, well, didn't go perfectly (in fact, they were quite funny). Since she has final editorial control, I suppose it'll have to remain private.

There are numerous other areas around the park where you can see the unworldly sights we mentioned--even mud pots that bubble up many odd colors that are influenced by the minerals within. I think I'll just post these--most of which were found in the Norris geyser basin--for your viewing pleasure. I really can't comment about them because, at the time, I neglected to use the name of the feature in the photo title:

Aside from the another-world nature of the hissing geyser basins, a visit to the Yellowstone River is impressive. This is a photo of the massive power of the river just before it plunged over Yellowstone Falls, captured in the photo below this one. You can almost hear the roar as it plunges 308 feet into the riverbed at its base.  

Yellowstone Falls is one of the most photographed in the country, due to its beauty and the yellow color of the surrounding rocks--perhaps from which the park gets its name. I was pleased how my photo turned out, immortalized now forever for those times when we want to relive the memories. What appears to be water turning leftward from the falls is actually huge volumes of spray produced by the water impacting the bottom of the falls:

And, of course, you can't miss the beauty of massive Lake Yellowstone in the heart of the caldera. The lake will, of course, be vaporized by the next eruption, which will likely be huge and devastating to several surrounding states:

Of course, one rarely misses the many buffaloes, especially one like this huge bull, who strolls slowly by our car as if he owns the park. 

The next bull buffalo walked into the roadway and just stood there, regally, for about ten minutes, seemingly delighted to be backing up traffic both ways for nearly a mile. Shortly after I took this photo, he took a few steps forward to the middle of the road, so as to be sure no one would pass around him. What a snob!

As I stated earlier, our focus this trip was on Mammoth Hot Springs, the one geyser area we had missed on previous trips. We didn't realize until we had arrived that getting a really good view of the feature would require as much as two miles of walking, much of which would be climbing stairs. This wasn't possible for either of us due to our foot and knee problems. All we could get was a photo of the top of the spring--fed by the two blue pools of hot water, which then cascaded down the huge layered structure beyond that was formed from chemicals in the water.

Because of our physical limitations, I had to do something I am loath to do: Use a stock photo that I didn't personally take to present the beauty of this feature:

This was a bit of a jarring revelation for us, as it was one of the very few times in our 16 years of RVing that we have not been able to see something we wanted to observe personally because of the physical limitations brought about by aging limbs. This reminded us of a previous prediction we made in this blog that our fulltiming days may be drawing to a close, in favor of perhaps part-timing. We know that surgery is in our near future; the convalescence will be lengthy, and the result unpredictable.

Our advice to readers would be to make the most of the years when you don't yet have such limitations. We have done that, and we have this blog to prove it and with which we will enjoy the countless memories we have made. Yet we know of many friends who waited too late and missed out on so much the country has to offer. Please don't let that happen to you.

Not wishing to end on a less-than-positive note, you can expect our next post to include some beautiful shots from the Beartooth Highway and the Chief Joseph Byway. The one after that will include scenes from Grand Teton National Park. Stick around with us as we enjoy some of the most beautiful places in the country.

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I fail to appreciate it each day as I should.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

 ---George Bernard Shaw

"I get up every morning, and I just don't let the old man in." ---Clint Eastwood

Denver to Surprising Cody, Wyoming

 At Yellowstone Valley Inn, Cody, Wyoming...

I considered making this one long post, but thought better of it when I remembered some of the tiresome blogs I have read that are really nothing but photo scrapbooks that may mean something to the author but little to the readers. I have a lot of photos to show you, but I think you would like to read some narrative along with them that will tell some kind of story or at least offer my impressions of the photos. My wordy narrative takes up a good bit of extra space, so I'm going to have to break this, the northernmost part of our journey, into two or three posts.

While I'm thinking about it, please permit me a little more ranting about what, in my view, makes an interesting blog post. I am constantly on the lookout for RV blogs that meet the vitally important criterion of telling a story that holds my interest. Unfortunately, there aren't very many that pass that test and make it into my reading list. If the writer tells me what he or she is thinking and feeling about the place or person represented by a photo, I will be much more likely to be hooked than if it is just tossed in with a bunch of other unidentified photos. So, this is my advice to bloggers: Write your posts as though you are talking to a friend, telling your story and adding your opinions, thoughts and, especially, a bit of humor as you go along. Let your readers get to know you, and they will develop more interest in your experiences. A good example of a blogger whose posts are like short stories that are hard to put down is my cyber friend, Mary, of Reflections Around the Campfire. There are others, of course, but Mary and I have an ongoing shaming rivalry that kicks in if we discover mistakes in each other's posts. Yes, it's a bit nerdy, but being grammar- or punctuation-shamed is sheer misery for us word nerds. 

Okay, that's about enough lecturing about blog writing. Let's continue with our story of leaving Denver to meet up again with friends Larry and Carolyn in Cody, Wyoming. We stopped overnight in Casper, Wyoming at an unremarkable KOA that was, basically, just several acres of gravel, but the staff was friendly enough. This was a single overnight stop, so we tend to leave Phannie buttoned up to the greatest extent possible, so as to facilitate our departure the next morning. We don't put all the slides out or hook up to the sewer; we don't put the jacks down, either, unless necessary. We sometimes leave Mae hooked up, if we have something simple to eat for dinner that doesn't mess up the kitchen. On such occasions, we just eat in, watch a little TV and turn in for the night.

However, on this stopover, we had no such edibles within easy access, so we unhooked Mae and went out foraging for food--using Yelp, primarily, for its recommendations. We found a gem in the beautiful Fire Rock Steakhouse, which was sufficiently impressive to be honored on the blog's favorite restaurants page. We shared a steak dinner--something we most often do these days. We tend not to eat as much nowadays as we've gotten older. It's cheaper on the budget, and we almost always have more than enough to eat.

The next day's trip to Cody was uneventful, except we began to anticipate again the first sighting of the Rocky Mountains that we had left behind soon after passing from Colorado into Wyoming. The peaks of the Absaroka Range of the Rockies were barely visible at first and then loomed larger as we approached Cody. Our impression of Wyoming up until that time was rather, uh, unimpressive.

Never having visited before, we confess to knowing little about Cody, Wyoming nor the character "Buffalo Bill" Cody, who founded the town. It's actually a very pretty and clean place with very wide streets, beautiful parks and chock full of museums and reminders of its history. It was, indeed, emblematic of the wild, wild west, complete with the struggles between newcomers and Indians, the lawful and the lawless, and the debauchery of every kind that was intermingled in the melee. Wyoming's history and Cody's part in it sort of made my native Texas look tame by comparison. The town of 10,000 is nestled against Cedar Mountain, visible in the following photo. It has one main drag, Sheridan Avenue, fronted by scores of modernized old buildings and containing hordes of visitors--a half million a year, if you're wondering.

In a few days, Larry and Carolyn joined us, and we were to stay here for about two weeks, taking in Yellowstone and Cody to the east. Here are Larry and Carolyn in front of the Irma Hotel in downtown Cody (more about the hotel later):

Larry, ever the jokester, couldn't resist sitting on a bench outside the hotel with a likeness of Colonel Cody:

On our way to our RV park, we drove through three tunnels, including a very long one that was said to be constructed through some of the oldest rock in the world. The tunnel is at a rising grade, and that complication plus the hard granite excavation required four long years for its completion in 1960.

The tunnels were located near the dam of the Buffalo Bill Reservoir, built in 1910 to provide water and electricity for Cody and the surrounding area. Here is a view of the dam itself, built entirely of concrete with no steel reinforcement at all. In 1992, 25 feet of concrete was added to the top of the dam, increasing dramatically the reservoir and the power generating capacity:

 This is a view of the reservoir looking westward from the dam:

Our RV park was about 18 miles west of town on highway 20 that leads into Yellowstone National Park. The drive was breathtaking, with scenes like the ones that follow: 

The exposed red rock on the photo above was where a piece of the surface rock broke off and slid into the water.

It was difficult to take in all the surrounding beauty on this drive as we see above, and we hadn't even reached our park yet!

Finally we arrived and, although the park was somewhat nondescript, it was graveled and level, and it had the enormous benefit of being situated on the bank of the Shoshone River which, as discussed earlier, feeds Buffalo Bill Reservoir:

This was our view looking back to the east toward Cody:

The mountain in the middle above is the same one you saw previously that had the piece broken away. We were glad when Larry and Carolyn showed up; much like other good friends, they are great traveling partners; it is the practice of both of us couples to decide what we wish to do each day and, if it sounds mutually interesting, we go together; if not, we do our own thing. It's an easy-going way to travel together--maximum honesty and minimal pressure. We could say the same about other wonderful RVing friends, and we wished they were all with us!

*     *    *

Buffalo Bill Cody, obviously, is a big deal here in the town that bears his name. I must confess that I was about as ignorant of his incredible life story that anyone could be. This is partly because I have never been terribly interested in the "cowboy and Indian" aspect of our country's history. My focus has mainly been in the World War II era, perhaps because my father and most of my uncles served in that conflict. That may have been a little short-sighted, as I seem to have a regrettable knowledge deficit about this colorful and important part of our nation's history--the taming of the West and the associated fierce struggles involved. All you would want to experience of this time period is brought to light in this little western town of 10,000, rightly named the "rodeo capital of the world," due to its having a rodeo--believe it or not--every night of the year:

Although you can easily obtain his life story from the Internet, it is safe to say that Buffalo Bill Cody lived a varied and exciting existence, achieving recognition for his bravery and skill in hunting, scouting and fighting that led to his service to the U. S. Army as a scout and hunter of buffalo (some 4,300 killed, it is said) to help feed the troops during the Indian wars. He later became a wealthy showman, taking his large western show--featuring mock battles between cowboys and Indians--all over the U. S. and even to Europe, where he became friends with Queen Victoria. He built the grandest hotel in Cody--the Irma, named after one of his daughters. It is still standing today and is the site of a daily western show with a mock gunfight. There is a photo above of the front entrance of the hotel.

There are many statues of Cody, of course. Here are two of them:

 

I don't see any evidence of any of the Antifa or BLM scumbags coming around here with the idea of  tearing down these statues. I'm fairly sure the gun-toting locals would bring a harsh and quick end to any such effort. 

Cody's wild west show was an enormous hit in the late 1800s. When performing in England, as did his contemporary P. T. Barnum and his circus, Cody's show was four times larger, with similarly larger attendances of enthusiastic crowds; there was standing room only, and even the reclusive Queen Victoria attended. The show consisted mostly of mock Indian attacks on settlers, cabins and stagecoaches, with the soldiers coming to the rescue and, ultimately, attaining the victory, amid much gunfire, both sides being in full costume. The normally reserved Britons were wildly enthusiastic, never having seen an Indian or the kinds of conflicts carried out between them and the American settlers, about which they had heard so much. 

Eventually, Queen Victoria and Cody became close friends--some say, uh, very close. She was sufficiently friendly toward him that she gifted him with the gorgeous antique bar that is still in use today in the Irma hotel:

 Cody's show played many times in England and in other European countries, attended by the likes of future Kaiser Wilhelm and future King George V. Cody pocketed a cool million dollars from his European shows--worth about $30 million today. He had become a true celebrity and acquired significant wealth from his endeavors. Unfortunately, his large show train was involved in a terrible accident in North Carolina in 1901, wherein 110 of his horses were killed. Thankfully, none of his human performers were killed, but Annie Oakley, who was aboard, was injured badly, which is thought to have contributed to her eventual slow decline and death.  

Pictured below is the Buffalo Bill Center of the West in downtown Cody. It is a large complex of five museums that present an exhaustive look at all aspects of the history of the western part of the country including, of course, much information about Buffalo Bill and his family. The photo below doesn't begin to show the vastness of the building, but it is said to be the largest museum in the western United States. 

This would be an educational and fun place for kids. They have a replica of a tepee, and an experienced chuck wagon cook prepares food over a fire as in the old west, offering samples to visitors.

Inside the museum you can see things such as a real chuck wagon, like this one. Additionally, there's the story of Bill Cody's life, wildlife of the region, the geology of the area, antique firearms, Indian culture and a western art museum. It is a true treasure trove of Western artifacts and history. More than a day would be required to see it all:

Sandy zeroed in on an old can of Lipton tea on the wagon. Those of you who know her and her irrational affinity for iced tea will understand her fascination that tea was available to the travelers of the old west. If the tin of tea in the photo below is authentic, it dates from sometime between 1907 and 1915. Funny the things that catch her attention...

 

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know that I like to point out oddities along the roads we travel. There are two unusual things along the roadside on Highway 20 just a few miles from our RV park. The first one is a Shoney's Big Boy statue that stands in a field about a hundred yards from the highway. According to local lore, it just suddenly appeared there one day, and nobody knows where it came from or who placed it there. I'm guessing there's more to the story, but it is an odd thing to see in the middle of a farm field:

The other roadside oddity has an associated tragic story. This unusual house, which the owner was building alongside the highway, was supposed to consist of five floors. Unfortunately, while working on the house, he fell from the fifth floor to his death, and the house was never finished. It stands today as it did at the poor man's demise:

I hope you have enjoyed this part of our trip. There is much more to come; next on our list is Yellowstone National Park itself. 

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I fail to appreciate it each day as I should.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

 ---George Bernard Shaw

"I get up every morning, and I just don't let the old man in." ---Clint Eastwood

Sometimes Stuff Happens

At Dakota Ridge RV Park, Golden, Colorado...

I had hoped not to have to resort to comment moderation but, thanks to some persistent spamming slugs, I've had to turn it on, at least for a while. Sorry about that. Please don't let that stop you from commenting; I love the dialog.

Besides enjoying the beauty of Colorado, there have been a few downsides and missteps that seem to happen on most trips. It's only appropriate to toss these into the narrative, as they can sometimes be instructive and even funny.

The first surprise happened on highway 94 coming into Colorado Springs. We would ordinarily have taken a different route, but U.S. 50 was closed at one point, requiring a re-routing. Highway 94 is not really a highway; it is a paved rub board. Some of you young-uns probably don't know what a rub board is; if you don't, ask somebody old. What it means is that the road was rough; every joint in each section of the pavement provided a bone-jarring jolt, and I was beginning to wonder if something was wrong with Phannie's air suspension. Making things worse was a strong headwind. Soon after turning onto the highway, we heard a strange fluttering sound on Phannie's roof right above our heads. We had no idea what made the sound, and there was no shoulder on the road to pull off and take a look. After about ten more miles of the fluttering sound and Phannie's galloping down the road, we heard a loud metallic bang above us, and the fluttering sound stopped. Since we were still in no place to pull over and take a look, I drove for about ten more miles before finally finding a vacant parking lot in a tiny town along the route. After stopping, I stepped out and walked about 50 feet away so I could see everything on Phannie's roof. I instantly noticed that the large round dome housing the old Kingdome satellite dish was missing! The dome I'm talking about can be seen in the photo below:

Yes, it was missing...as in completely gone! I knew then that the dome's departure from the roof was the origin of the loud sound we heard above our heads, but there wasn't much I could do at this point. I walked back and took a good look at Mae, hooked behind us, fearing the dome may have struck the car as it departed the roof. It hadn't, thankfully; she didn't suffer a scratch. But I was not about to climb on top of the coach to see what else might have been damaged. With my arthritic and unsteady knees, there would be a good chance that something much larger than the dome would fall off the roof--yours truly.  Besides, Sandy would appear outside with a pistol if she thought I might get an idea to climb up on the roof. One way or the other, I would probably be a goner.

Wise enough to know my limitations--not to mention my fear of flying lead--I climbed back into the driver's seat and motored ahead. Being able to see if anything was amiss on the roof would have to wait.

As soon as we arrived in Colorado Springs, I asked the park hostess for recommendations of a mobile tech, to which she responded with a couple of business cards. Not wishing to wait, in case of rain, I called the number on the first card and got no answer. I called the number on the other one, and it was answered right away. Then I described the problem, to which the guy on the other end said, "WHAT did you say blew off your coach?" When he was convinced I wasn't joking, he told me he would be at Phannie's site in about a half hour.

He arrived when he said he would, and I crossed my fingers as he climbed onto the roof and strode to where the dome had vanished. He looked around for a few minutes and then hollered, "You are one lucky guy!" He said it appeared that when the dome flew off, it made a clean break from the roof, leaving only a few screw holes and no tears in the roof. He said he could see that the dome struck a glancing blow on the middle air conditioner housing and that was probably what deflected it to the side and away from the car. Thankfully, the air conditioner wasn't damaged. He patched up the screw holes, and that was that. He didn't even charge me anything beyond the cost of the service call.

The reality is that the dome's blowing off did me a favor, as I had the dealership disconnect it 11 years ago when we bought Phannie. Knowing the Kingdome was ancient technology, I had a Direct TV Trav'ler dish installed, along with new Samsung digital TVs. I didn't bother to have the old dome removed because I figured it would be a big, expensive job, and it wasn't hurting anything where it was. Little did I know that it would be removed for me by driving into a headwind on a rough Colorado road 11 years later!

I also didn't know this would only be the first of some unusual circumstances as we entered Colorado. On our way to Golden from Estes Park, with Larry and Carolyn behind us, I passed several vehicles going the opposite direction on the two-lane road. Suddenly, we saw a large stone kicked up by one of the opposing vehicles--I couldn't tell which one--, and the trajectory of the rock was on a beeline for Phannie's huge windshield. Sure enough, it made a loud "BANG" on the lower driver's side. I knew immediately this was not something that could be patched, as it began right away to radiate cracks around the main strike area:

I was almost sick, thinking about the 11 years and more than 100,000 miles during which we had avoided a cracked windshield.  Why couldn't we have made it a little longer?  When we settled into our spot at Dakota Ridge RV Park in Golden, I called in an insurance claim and we agreed to put the replacement project on hold until after our trip ended at the end of August. The location of the fracture doesn't impair my vision, but I'm just hopeful that we can make it to the end of our trip before the whole windshield spiderwebs on us. We'll see.

Unfortunately, we still weren't through with the surprises. Bear in mind that Dakota Ridge is the nicest and most expensive RV park in the Denver area. We have always enjoyed a nice, quiet stay there in the past. Imagine our surprise when hard metal rock music started up at about 8000 decibels across the street from our park at nightfall! Not only that, but a cacophony of loud motorcycles were incessantly racing up and down Colfax Avenue in front of our park! It seems that, since our last visit here, somebody opened up a huge biker bar with a sound stage that acts as a megaphone for the "music."  I couldn't believe it! And neither could Larry and Carolyn, whose rig was parked closer to the street than ours. Bear in mind that we had told them how nice Dakota Ridge was and how we knew they would enjoy their stay. They didn't, and neither did we. In fact, they left early for their side trip to the Dakotas, and I can't say I blamed them. Here's a photo of the biker bar, named the Dirty Dog Saloon:

See the sound stage in the back? The noise coming from that thing was worse than standing beside a jet engine at full power. Not only that, but motorcycles came and went in droves all night, each rider gunning the motor to see if he could drown out the band. 

I was literally dumbstruck! How could this be, I wondered, across the street from Dakota Ridge, the premier RV park in an area that has way too few RV parks of any kind. Those who know me well are aware of my utter disdain for this kind of noise--it can't be called music--that must have originated in hell itself. Being an old-school musician myself, I am of the opinion that music reached its zenith of style, lyrics and melody in the 1940s, and that little music worthy of being called such has been written since around 1970. It was the first time ever that arson crossed my mind.  

Then I thought better of it; we'll only be here a few days. Just after ten o'clock in the evening, the noise from the band suddenly stopped, but that didn't stop the motorcycles from blasting up and down the street. Even that noise eventually subsided, and I was able to sleep, although I still dreamed about seeing the Dirty Dog going up in flames.

My first action the next morning, of course, was to march briskly to the office to see if they noticed anything a little unusual the previous evening--you know, something like an atom bomb detonating in their driveway? The clerks on duty, to my utter amazement, seemed quite indifferent, as if I were the first to complain. Finally, one of them said, "Yeah, sometimes they get a little noisy over there, but I think that's only about four nights around the weekends."

I was dumbfounded. There were several million-dollar motorhomes in this park, and I don't think their owners would be very tolerant of this nightmare, and neither would any of the others, for that matter; I was pretty sure I was probably about number 25,986 to lodge a complaint. Then it occurred to me that a certain reality was at play here: Dakota Ridge probably can't do anything about it. There are undoubtedly laws on the books about disturbing the peace, and these had to have been violated by those 5,000-watt amplifiers. However, Colorado is not Texas; it is a liberal state with a liberal government, and pretty much anything goes here, I guess. Marijuana is legal and, I suppose if you are high enough, nothing much bothers you. If this were Texas, the only thing left of the Dirty Dog would be a vacant lot with tumbleweeds on it. About the only thing I can do, in this case, is to warn others in the reviews I'll be leaving. I'll never come back, of course, as long as the Dirty Dog is there, and I did make that point clear to Dakota Ridge.

As Larry and Carolyn had left early (who could blame them?), we did a little touring. I rather like the old train stations that graced the large cities in the era of train travel. Denver has one, named Union Station, but only the exterior has been preserved largely as it was:

While the interior of the terminal still has an air of its original grandeur, it is devoted mostly to a hotel with modern decor and shops that seems incongruous with its original use. Still, they get credit for preserving what they did.

Denver also has the Forney Transportation Museum, and that sounded like a stop I would enjoy, having been involved with transportation all my life. (Besides flying airplanes and regulating them, I also owned a trucking company at one time.) So, we decided to hunt down the Forney Museum, with the aid of Siri on my cell phone. The GPS function led us to the right place downtown, but we weren't really paying attention when we drove into the parking lot. We got out of the car and walked into a very modern building, whose interior sported a large glass counter, behind which stood a rather startled young man. I noticed a strange odor, and so did Sandy. The clerk finally said, "Um, can I help you?"  

Seeing nothing that resembled a museum, I said, "Let me guess; this isn't the Forney Museum, is it?"

The young man said, "Well, no, that's in the back of the parking lot. But we would like to show you around while you're here. You happen to be in the first recreational marijuana store in the nation."

I looked at Sandy, and she looked at me, her eyes as big as saucers. "Well, I think we'll just move along to the museum; sorry for the confusion." He made another push for us to look around, but it fell on deaf ears as we rushed outside, each of us opening a side of the double doors. 

Afterward, we laughed about it, wondering what our friends or pastor (Robert Jeffress, also a Fox News contributor) would have thought if someone had taken our photo in there. It was also a rather sad realization that we're not as observant as we used to be, as the sign out front clearly revealed what kind of store it was:

Getting old isn't easy, folks. 

I did a quick tour of the museum, which was a little below average, but it did have some interesting old cars that I coveted and a full-size Big Boy locomotive--the largest ever built--this one number 4005. The locomotive is so large--with 16 drive wheels--that I couldn't get all of it in a photograph, so I'll include a photo of a Big Boy in the Ford Museum in Dearborn:

If you are interested in statistics, there were 25 Big Boys built for the Union Pacific Railroad by the American Locomotive Company between 1941 and 1945. They were and still are the largest ever built. Only eight remain in museums, and only one of the eight, restored by Union Pacific, is still operating. (You can see it on YouTube.) The locomotive and its tender weighed 1,300,000 pounds. The tender carried 25,000 gallons of water and 25 tons of coal to feed the engine, which was capable of 7,000 horsepower. The engines were built to haul freight over the Wasatch Mountains to Cheyenne and Laramie, Wyoming. The last revenue run occurred in 1959. These behemoths have always been fascinating to me--a testament to the engineering and manufacturing that produced such a complex machine of that time. One can only imagine the maintenance demands of such a locomotive. Here are a couple of photos of number 4005 in the Denver museum:

Above is the front of engine 4005 in Denver; as you can see, it is not well situated for a side shot showing the enormity of it.

Above is the mid-section of Big Boy 4005 in Denver. This locomotive was involved in a wreck in Wyoming caused by an error made by a switchman. The engine rolled over on its left side and, if you look closely, you can see some of the dents caused during that accident.

Above is 4005's cab. We couldn't go in because of the Covid mess, but I can't even count all the valves with which the crewmen had to deal.

There were other interesting things in the museum, but I found especially appealing this beautiful 1957 Dodge in all its finned glory:

One of the increasing habits of aging, I think, is reminiscing about the "good ole days." I suppose this is especially true now, given what a mess 2020 has turned out to be. I often find myself longing to be in my teens again, when cars had style and were readily identifiable from each other. I find today's cars particularly boring, because you have to see the nameplate to know what make they are. Such was not the case in 1957, for example. I knew every car at a glance, and it was such a big deal when we were able to go down to the car dealers' showrooms to see the new models every September. At least, though, I have those memories, and they will be unknown by today's young, who have their heads buried in their cell phones or watching TV. I'm glad I was born when I was.

There is more to see in Denver, of course, but that has been covered in other blog posts. So, I will end this post with a shot of the city taken from Lookout Mountain near Golden, Colorado. It has been nice to have a break here from the Texas heat. The temperatures have mostly been in the seventies during the day since we've been here.

Our next stop will be an overnight in Casper, Wyoming on our way to Cody--our base for visiting Yellowstone, this time from the eastern side. We'll be there for a couple of weeks, so we should have some more photos and stories to tell, so stick around!

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I fail to appreciate it each day as I should.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

 ---George Bernard Shaw

"I get up every morning, and I just don't let the old man in." ---Clint Eastwood

Estes Park and Rocky Mountain National Park

At Elk Meadow RV Park, Estes Park, Colorado...

At 7,500 feet in elevation, this gateway to Rocky Mountain National Park is a contender for a place we could stay all summer.  The crisp mountain breezes, the low humidity and the surrounding beauty is not found in many places. Oh, there are remote locations if you are diligent in seeking them, but we like to stay in places where we're fairly close to a sizable town with cell service and Internet readily available. This is our perfect spot at Elk Meadow:

(Credit for this photo goes to our caravan friend, Carolyn; good job!)

No matter which way you look, the mountains frame a lovely photo. For example, here's a look to the south:

 

Turn your eyes leftward a bit, and here's a view to the southeast:

Here's looking northward toward the historic Stanley Hotel (This is my favorite):

A view of Rocky Mountain National Park from our RV Park:

A veiw looking westward toward town at sunset:

I'm such a sucker for sunsets--here's one looking northwest toward RMNP:

Naturally, we had to make a foray into the park, and the majesty and beauty just got better and better as we drove up to the Alpine Visitor Center. Here are some pics during that journey:

The temperature was quite warm in the park, even at altitude. It was in the sixties when I took this photo of Larry and Carolyn:

We were even lucky enough to see some animals in the park. Here are some elk cows (yes, they're called cows, not does) looking disinterested:

We found a rather plump marmot posing very close to us, undoubtedly expecting a handout; I could identify with him:

Many of the animals are very accustomed to humans. Here are a couple of elks in downtown Estes Park, munching in one of the flower beds:

We've had a great time at Estes Park, and we had the good fortune to encounter by chance and to have dinner with Glenn and Joylea, some wonderful east Texas friends of ours. Of course, we got too involved in the conversation to take a photo. I've got to think of some kind of reminder--I know...no dessert until I get a photo!  That should do it. Thanks, anyway, Glenn and Joy, for meeting up with us.  It was good to see you again!

From here, we're headed to Golden, Colorado for a few days. Yes, this means a little backtracking, but our friends have some things they want to see in the Denver area, so we adjusted the schedule a bit. We are nothing if not flexible!

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I fail to appreciate it each day as I should.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

 ---George Bernard Shaw

"I get up every morning, and I just don't let the old man in." ---Clint Eastwood