As I prepare for our coming trips around the world, I am getting new tools for the road. One new tool is a new Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra. It comes with a stylus, which allows me to illustrate our travels now with words, photographs, and drawings.
Should be fun . . .
A recent roadtrip took me through Green River, Wyoming. I drove into Boise from Colorado the week before to deliver furniture to my daughter, and on the way home, I stopped in Green River for the night. As usual, the first thing I did after checking into my motel was look for a microbrewery.
Green River is not a big city (population is around 12,000), nor is it a hub for breweries. There is, however one new brewery in town. Baddass Brews is downtown, close to the river – the Green River I assume. The brewery was easy to find, right on the corner of Flaming Gorge Way and 1st Street East. I’m glad I found it. The place is great.
I showed up early, around 4:30. The brewery was quiet, and all seats at the bar were empty. I grabbed one and ordred a beer. There were several on tap, and I chose an English brown ale to start. It was quite good, but not as good as the conversation I had with Danielle, the owner and bartender.
Danielle told me about the brewery, her and her husband’s inspiration to open it, and the different events they hold in the brewery every week. She also introduced me to Jeiremy Gomez, her business partner, who operates Goats Restaurant in the back of the brewery. I was hungry and ordered three tacos. Since I was there on Taco Tuesday, the special of the day was tacos in a Fritos bag. I should have taken a picture of the tacos, but they were so good, a wolfed them down before I could take pictures.
I ordered a second and third beer – a very good Mexican lager to go with the tacos. The lager had a hint of jalapeño – not too much though – just enough. By then, the tables and seats in the brewery began to fill up. By the time I paid my bill, said goodbye, and stood up, the place was packed.
If I’m every in Green River again, I’ll be sure to visit Badass Brews. It’s definetely worth the stop.
Another day . . . another road trip. With a holiday day to take advantage of, Linda and I decided to explore more of Colorado. We decided to drive the highest paved road in North America. Off to Mt. Evans we went.
Mt Evans is a ’14er’ – one of Colorado’s 58 mountains over fourteen thousand feet high. At 14,262 feet above sea level, it is the 18th highest peak in the state. It’s also the closest to our home in Westminster. The road up to the peak starts near Echo Lake Park, on Colorado Highway 103. We found out after leaving Interstate 70 at Idaho Springs that we needed a reservation to drive to the top. We didn’t have one but inquired at the ranger shack if we could just drive up. We could – if we didn’t stop the car. No getting out to make photographs or even to use the bathrooms. We thanked the nice young ranger and drove to the top – without stopping – no photographs and no pit stops.
The first half of the drive is beautiful. We drove through conifer stands with views of mountains and valleys in all directions. Once we hit treeline – somewhere around 11,500 feet, the surrounding beauty diminished. We were now surrounded by rocks and more rocks, and no trees. The road was narrow and at times Linda had to ask me to put my coffee cup in its holder and place both hands on the wheel.
On the way down, we picked up three hitchhikers. A girl from Arvada was with her brother and his friend (both from Texas). They had parked at Summit Lake and hiked to the peak and then realized they were too tired to hike back. Since they did have a reservation, we stopped a few times to make photographs and use the facilities.
We made it to the bottom of Highway 5 and back onto Highway 103, driving toward Evergreen. We stopped for a picnic near Beaverdam Creek before driving north and east into Evergreen.
Not ready to go home, we hiked for a few hours in Elk Meadow Park, grabbed a beer at the Lariat Lodge Brewing Company, and then made our way home, passing through Golden. We arrived home by 6:00, tired and hungry, with another Colorado destination under our belts.
I am writing my second book of tall tales and adventure. The book will be similar to The Rats of Plainville: Tales from the Heartland, only the new stories will take place in the Rocky Mountains. The first story is in editing and takes place in the small town of McCoy, Colorado. This past Sunday, I decided to visit McCoy.
As the story explains, McCoy is a small town. Very small. Wikipedia says there were 43 people living there in 2019. When I drove through, I saw exactly zero people. Maybe they were all worshiping in the McCoy Community Church. Or perhaps they were engaged in the making of antler art. Whatever the reason, as I drove through town and into the surrounding hills, I met not a soul.
The drive out was nice, once I jumped off of Interstate 70 near Wolcott. I-70 can be tiresome and way too busy for my liking. I didn’t experience too much traffic heading west though. Once on Colorado State Highway 131, the number of passing cars thinned. Between McCoy and Toponas, I saw maybe five cars total. And once I turned east on Highway 134, I encountered more cattle than people.
Rural roads in Colorado are wonderful. Highway 134 travels through the Routt National Forest. I passed through thickets of pine trees and by small streams and rivers. They eventually flow into the Colorado River; the waters making the long journey from Grand County, Colorado to the Gulf of California.
Highway 134 eventually dead-ends at US Highway 40, near Wolford Mountain Reservoir. I drove south and east on Highway 40 past Kremmling and Granby into Fraser. To my delight, there were two good breweries in Fraser; the Fraser River Beer Company and Camber Brewing Company. I didn’t have my best brewery adventure buddy with me (Linda was visiting her daughter in Michigan), however, I decided to give them a try. I was not disappointed.
I eventually finished the day, driving south on Highway 40 through Winter Park. I merged back onto I-70, and hit terrible traffic back into Denver. Not liking the flow, I exited onto US Highway 6 into Golden, up Coloroda Highway 93, and made it home in the afternoon.
I had an opportunity last week to head back to the Heartland. We, my wife Linda and me, flew into St. Louis and, over two days, drove to Mansfield, Illinois. I chose the long and scenic route along the Mississippi and Illinois Rivers mainly because it followed many of the stories in my book The Rats of Plainville: Tales from the Heartland.
We drove north, across the Mississippi River, into Alton Illinois. After lunch at the world-famous Fast Eddies, we followed the river up to Pere Marquette State Park and then rode the Brussels Ferry into the Land Between the Rivers. We wandered here and there as we made our way through Brussels and Batchtown and Hardin.
We had to stop in Micheal for a cold beer. Not just any beer – a Stag Beer. I stopped there several years ago, on my way back to St. Louis from Hannibal, Missouri. The temperature on that hot humid day inched toward 1030 Fahrenheit. I needed to cool off and pulled into the dirt lot in front of the Micheal Tavern. For $1.50, I was handed a cold (ice-covered) mug of Stag. It was so cooling, I had two. Ever since that day, every time I drove up or down Illinois Highway 100, I stopped at the Michael Tavern.
From Micheal, we continued north into Plainville. I showed Linda the highlights of the town made famous from my book. The tour of downtown to twenty seconds. We drove through and into Payson, a slightly bigger town. As we meandered along State Street I saw something right out of the book. A man with a parrot on his shoulder was walking through Payson. Could the bird be related to Molly? I had to find out. I circled around and met up with him. His name was Shawn and his parrot’s name was Benjamin. I asked Benjamin if he was related to Molly. He didn’t answer. Apparently, he’s not as talkative as Molly.
We spent the night in Quincy. The next morning, we drove to the Quincy Library and donated a copy of the book. We then drove into Hannibal and bought coffee at the Java Jive, a place I mention in my latest book Fifty-One: My Travels Across America.
Our sight-seeing was done and it was time to drive to Linda’s sister’s home in Mansfield. We followed smaller roads through central Illinois, passing through Clayton and Mt. Sterling and Rushville. Somewhere on Highway 136, near San Jose, a storm materialized. It wasn’t just a storm. It was a deluge. Rain pounded off the windshield and visibility was greatly reduced. But not before I saw a corn crib along the side of the road. Linda was not surprised when I pulled the car off to the side of the road, grabbed my camera, and ran across the road. I made an eerie photograph of the old structure being battered by the storm. One minute later, I climbed back into the car, soaking wet, but sure I captured the essence of the storm.
We made it to Mansfield later that afternoon and spent four days visiting family, breweries, and local attractions. Our trip to the Heartland was a great escape from the heat and smoke of Colorado.
I found myself stuck on the island of Borneo for several days, waiting for a helicopter to take me to a rig in the South China Sea, off the coast of Malaysia. Itching to explore, I asked a cab driver if he could take me to Lambir Hills National Park the following morning and pick me up in the evening. He agreed, and early the next day, I was in the back seat of his cab, riding to the entrance to the park.
I hiked to the Pukit Lambir summit, passing Dinding waterfall, getting there by mid-afternoon. I made the photograph above, took off my steel-toe boots, and waded into the water to make a close-up of the water cascading on the rocks. I was hot and covered with sweat, and thought about removing the rest of my clothes (I was the only one in the area) and swimming, but knew I had to get back to the park headquarters to meet my ride back to Miri. I put my boots back on, grabbed my gear, and headed out.
The following afternoon, I was sitting in an outside bar, having a beer (Tiger – I’ve had better) and talking with some locals. I told them of my hike, showed them these photographs, and told them of my desire to swim. One man smiled and said, “Good thing you didn’t. Lots of river crocodiles up there.”
Hiking outside of Golden, Colorado with Linda, and friends Gary and Nancy and Bob and Bev. The morning started out quite warm, but by 1:00 P.M., the clouds started to roll in. It never rained on us, and we were off the mountain and sitting comfortably in the Holidaily Brewery, relaxing after the seven-mile hike.
St. Lucia is a beautiful island. The landscape is incredible – quite mountainous and great beaches too. Linda and I spent a week there with friends Mike and Julie and Cliff and Karen. The Pitons are the most famous of the island’s landmarks. Gros Piton (the big one) and Petit Piton (the smaller of the two) are along the west coast, and both visible from Sugar Beach.
I was working in Hannibal for several months between 2015 and 2016. Every now and then, while on business trips, it’s good to leave the brand-name hotels behind and find a good bed and breakfast. I booked a room at the Garden Inn B&B in downtown Hannibal for a week.
What I didn’t get was loyalty points, a pool, a 20 x 30 sq. ft. cookie-cutter room, and hordes of business travelers mulling around the breakfast bar each morning.
What I did get was a great room with character, an excellent breakfast each morning, and the house to myself. I was also within walking distance to the Mark Twain Brewery and the banks of the Mississippi River.
It’s a lucky day when you get to see the sun shining in Seattle in April. I came here with Linda to see my son Jason, who is visiting from Sweden, and my daughter Valerie.
After a few cups of strong coffee and a couple of pints of Guinness, we drove to Gasworks Park on Lake Union. Seattle, with blue skies, is beyond the south shore of the lake.