LATER…Picture, if you will what the term RESORT brings to mind in the context of places to stay. Got it? Good. Now toss it out the nearest window in your nimble brain so I might enlighten you about Woodlawn.
I hear it was once a topnotch destination on beautiful Lake Minnewaska, a vacation venue to be sought after, and coveted once acquired. That being so, it has since gone to seed in a big way. Unless I’m missing some visual cue, it is no longer in any way a preferred destination — at least not the campground. The campground is a circle of large clearings in the woods with no attempt at even marginally levelling the sites. The only clear indication that it is in fact a place to camp is a small number tacked to a post or tree, an iron fire pit, and a sad looking picnic table. The electric hookups, where they exist, are a little scary to use with some sections of cable visible in open trenches.
On the up-side, the showers are roomy with places to stash fresh clothes and such well out of spray range. The water is easily adjusted and maintains the chosen temperature throughout. The sinks, counters, and mirrors are clean. I have not personally used the toilets or urinals since we have our own bathroom in Mocking Jay, but I have no cause to think they would be differently cared for.
Note: I just reread this and realized that I sound like some pompous Conde Naste reviewer. In truth, the place is sufficient for our needs and inexpensive, at $128 for three nights.
8/14
We woke last night to what has to be the tail end of the Perseid Meteor Shower, a show that graces the sky every year about mid-August. Without my glasses I couldn’t see anything but the wonderful blurry dots of the millions of stars this clear night sky offers. However, Carol kept me informed of each sighting so it was almost as good as seeing them … well, no it wasn’t, but the night sky was mesmerizing on its own.
As to why we’re here in Glenwood. It harbors a family I’ve known since we served together in the Air Force and became friends almost sixty years ago. It’s fun to reminisce, to chat about how things are going with our families, and for me to hear about other folks we served with in the Air Force. I’ve only maintained contact with a few of them over the years.
I got a call from El saying "We're up! You coming over?" I said we'd be there in a while.
On the way to their house, we decided to take the scenic route around their lake. The road is aptly named Lakeshore Drive — actually North Lakeshore Drive and South Lakeshore Drive, depending on where one is on it. Not having made the circuit contiguously, I can’t give you an exact distance but I’m certain it is over thirty miles. Minnesota's Minnewaska is a BIG lake. I makes the New Paltz version look like a tiny pond.
We visited with the El and Mary early in the day then went back to welcome their younger daughter Kay in from Wisconsin for the weekend. It’s always great to see her, partly because she’s an interesting and lovely person in her own right and partly because both in her sense of humor and facial features she reminds me of her mom as a young woman.
We caught up some more then Carol and I took them to dinner at a place they knew and liked. Following a very good meal, and a bread pudding dessert like no other, we parted with sketchy plans to meet in the morning. When we arrived back at camp, I handed Carol the dinner receipt. She said she already had it and showed it to me. It was the one I signed, the merchant copy! That meant that the restaurant, particularly the waitress, didn’t have a way to charge us. We hurried back and gave the receipt to the very grateful waitress. What an end to the evening!
8/15
We slept in this morning, didn’t put coffee on until about 0830. I’m not sure what the day holds except more contact with our friends.
We arrived at their place about 1030, reminisced some more, then went to brunch at a nearby order-at-the-counter style restaurant. The food was good and the continuing reminiscences even better. Back at the house the conversation wandered all through our history, both what we shared together and what we’d experienced on our own.
When I sat in the chair I’d occupied before brunch, I started playing with the unique looking back scratcher that had magically appeared in front of me. It had a golf ball for a handle and an array of four tees embedded in a block of wood with their tops providing the scratching mechanism. I recalled our last visit a few years ago, a reunion in Glenwood of four of us who’d served together fifty-five years earlier. When El saw me handling it, he said, “It’s for you, in memory of the games the four of us played when you were here last.” Beside it on the table was a stand that could hold a phone, tablet, and similar instruments, in a semi-upright position for easy hands-free viewing. This also was ours — another gift from his workshop.
Tomorrow we’ll stop by before we leave to give the folks a tour and finally, get the tire pressures up to snuff. Then we’ll be on our way again, our next multi-day stop is Jackson (actually originally called Jackson Hole), Wyoming just south of Grand Teton National Park.
8/16
We woke around 0630, made coffee and talked about our journey up to this point as we drank it. We are both struck by the evidence of drought all around us here. Lake Minnewaska is several feet below normal, which is particularly stunning in a lake that size. There are fire warnings all around. Last night Minnesota weather issued an alert citing the combination of 90-100 degree heat and humidity below 25 percent. I woke once in the night and saw what we as kids used to call heat lightning flashing in the starry sky. I kept hoping it stayed up there.
After coffee, we secured all the gear we’d left lying free then hooked up and took a walk around Woodlawn Resort to say goodbye to the place. There were only two other occupied sites, following yesterday’s exodus of those unretired folks, and nobody was stirring in either. I chose to use the facilities in the shower house since we were all buttoned up for travel. One of the two toilets appeared to be unflushed so I naturally chose the other. When I was done and flushed my own, good Samaritan that I am I decided to do the same to the other. To my great surprise I flushed a drowned bat!
As planned, we gave Mary, El, and Kay a brief tour of Mocking Jay, chatted for another half-hour or so then said our good-byes and drove to Casey’s convenience store, a very short distance from their house. I actually measured it yesterday, hoping it was short enough so the tires wouldn’t heat up before I topped them off — at 3/10 mile, it was. Actually, today’s drive to Casey’s was a tad longer since I took a wrong turn leaving their block and had to find my way by a different route. (Don’t say what you’re thinking, be kind.)
Today’s trek took us to Medora, North Dakota, 450+/- miles from Glenwood and our friends.
On the drive, I saw ample evidence of a cash crop Dakota farms produce in addition to corn — sun flowers! Thousands of acres of them! Enough to supply every major league baseball manager with an endless supply of seeds to spit. I also discovered that Minnesota has an Otter Tail County. I love it. Over the years, I’ve wasted endless time trying to visualize the debates that took place when naming places, mostly roads, but towns and stuff come up too. I think my favorite is Squirrel Level Road, an exit off I-85 in either Virginia or North Carolina.
Medora Campground abuts one of the entrances to Theodore Roosevelt National Park, and the village of Medora is about as old-west quaint as one could imagine. We marked it as a place to revisit.
Tomorrow’s drive will end in Rawlins, Wyoming, 550 uphill miles and at least ten hours away. A less than pleasant thought on which to rest our weary heads this evening. I don’t want to talk about gas mileage anymore.
8/17
We headed south on US-85 into South Dakota then hung a right onto I-90 West. We exited onto WY-50 at Gillette, turned right onto WY-387 etc., through Casper, and finally, many hours and fuel stops later, reached Rawlins and the Western Hills RV Park. On the trek, I was able to add Goose Egg Road to my list. The route had very little traffic, and fewer indications of human inhabitants. We often spied an antelope or two among the scattered herds of Angus beef, but nary a human.
Wyoming is adamant about letting drivers know the mileage between available passing lanes on their two-lane roads, interspersing these signs among the traditional Pass with Care recommendations. I was about to remark that some of the passing lanes were not even on uphill sections, but then I realized the entire road was wending its way relentlessly uphill as per the ever-increasing number on Jezebel’s altimeter.
Another thing I noticed about passing lanes, the last sign announcing the approaching event read Passing Lane 750 Feet. Most states announce imminent changes at 1000 feet in my experience. Is it that Wyoming wants to test one’s reaction time at 70 or 80 MPH? Was 750 feet the length of the tape they used to measure the distance? Did they have many signs printed with 750 feet by mistake? The public deserves to know.
Rawlins was a quick overnight since we arrived so late. Also, there’s not much to see at the park, all the sites are situated on a flat plain of several acres with nothing but red dirt; no trees or any other foliage except at one edge where there were a few tent sites. That said, it was level and quiet.
Mentioning trees brought me back to this Wyoming stage of our long trek. Trees became so scarce over the landscape that seeing one was cause to remark, “A tree!” as if we had seen an oasis in the desert.
We went to sleep soon after our arrival, bone weary from our journey. As is common in the high country, the air cooled quickly, dropping into the fifties as the night progressed. I went to sleep with no blankets on, but when I woke about one a.m. I was cold. The cold wasn’t what woke me however, it was an ache in the lower part of my right leg. Once I found a cover and curled up under it, the pain subsided a bit. When I woke in the morning it was gone. I realized that it was likely caused by ten hours of feathering the gas pedal to get the most mileage possible.
But I don’t want to talk about mileage anymore.
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Comments are always from "anonymous". Often I can identify the author by the content of the comment, but that much cogitation makes my 80 year-old brain tired. Please help out an old man and identify yourself within the text of the comment. Thanks for the comments whether or not you ID yourself. Tom