Yellowstone Charles & Joe
Rainbow Pool is not for swimming, it smells of sulfur, its steam does wicked things to your hair, and yet gazing upon it and any of its sister springs is a treat so sweet, you could indulge for hours.
Yellowstone National Park. An all-around awesome, absolute must-see, grand-slam destination. Its exploding geysers, its belching hot springs, a landscape so colorful you'd swear it was made with magic markers...I'd say you have to see it to believe it, but chances are when you do see it, you won't believe what you're seeing. And only once you've been engulfed in it can you fully appreciate the magnitude of its magnificence.
Yellowstone wasn't only America's first national park – it was actually the world's first national park as well. And much of it's an active volcano, stretching 30 by 45 miles beneath the surface millions of visitors stroll on every year. (But don't worry, scientists don't foresee another eruption for at least another 100,000 years, if ever.) The park is home to 500 of the world's 1000 geysers (100 of which are active geysers.) And the most famous of all, Old Faithful, routinely erupts 20 times a day. Deep in the belly of the geyser, the water temperature exceeds a fiery 400°F. Once those raging waters eject from the surface, they drop down to a still scalding 199°F. And seeing it spew was every bit the bucket-list thrill I'd hoped it would be.
Did you know that some folks live in the park year-round? Imagine that! Mostly rangers and resource management crews, but during the summer months, that's when temporary employees from all walks of life flock to Yellowstone to bask in its brief but brilliant peak season.
Last summer, I met a man who had retired, sold his home, and just about everything in it to buy an RV and roam the states with his wife. I can't tell if this life-on-the-road trend is gaining traction or if I'm just seeing so much of it because it's so often on my mind. There's a part of the brain that specializes in doing exactly that, by the way. You know when somebody mentions — oh, I don't know, the movie Jaws, wedge salads, Danny DeVito, bolo ties — something you haven't really thought about in a while and suddenly you hear about it again shortly after? That's your reticular activating system doing its job. It's the same part of the brain that allows your ears to hear through the clutter when someone shouts your name in a noisy setting.
Your RAS (reticular activating system) is good at singling things out, but not always to your benefit. Like when it assumes that the outcomes of current and future situations will play out the way those of the past did. I.e., I was attacked by a bear in the woods, therefore every time I go into the woods, I'll be attacked by a bear. I flunked the spelling bee in third grade, therefor I'll always be a bad speller. And so on and so forth. It takes mental effort to retrain that part of the brain, but it can be as simple as catching your mind in the act and mindfully choosing a different mental track. The first step is noticing it, but once you hear your mind playing that broken record of the past, projecting scenarios and outcomes that there's no present-day evidence for, you can change direction with the simple acknowledgment that such thinking does not serve you and only limits you. (And don't expect to do this once or 183 times and master it forever – it's a forever practice – perfection is neither required nor anticipated.)
But back to #vanlife, I met this kind fellow named Charles while buying way too many souvenirs at the Old Faithful Basin Store. After browsing for hardly any time at all, I laid arms and fists full of souvenir t-shirts, hats, Christmas ornaments, huckleberry jam, postcards, lapel pins, and more on the cashier's counter. One item, in particular, caught Charles's eye: a pair of sleep shorts with black bears and huckleberries and the phrase, "I'm your hucklebeary" printed all over them. A cute play on the famous Doc Holliday line in the movie Tombstone where Doc accepts an open invite to duel with a spry, "I'm your huckleberry." Charles laughed when he held up the pajama shorts, "Tombstone?" "Yes! One of my favorite movies of all time!" I replied excitedly. "Get out, mine too! And favorite place to be as well!" Charles chirped back. "Oh, how funny, I love it there too! I just brought my dad there last year! Have you seen the gunfight at the O.K. Corral?" Of course he had. Charles and his wife had been to Tombstone about a dozen times before. It's their happy place.
"What about Bisbee? Have you been down to Bisbee?" I just had to ask if he'd been to my happy place. "Believe it or not, we have not been down to Bisbee yet…I know, I know… it's a sin, being so close and never having been, but…next time…definitely next time." My knee-jerk, Bisbee reflexes were activated, "Oh, you just have to, it's my favorite place in the world…look, it's the background of my phone… I'm tellin' ya, if you love Tombstone, then you'll adore Bisbee…are you into art at all? How 'bout history?" It was a good thing I had a ton of items for Charles to ring up because we were off to the races talkin' small Arizona towns and movies based on them.
Charles told me a story about a time when he and his wife were having lunch in Big Nose Kate's Saloon and a real-life, Doc Holliday lookalike walked in and sat at the bar. Now, seeing men dressed the way Doc would've dressed, all suited up in classic 1870s-1880s attire is pretty common even today down in Tombstone, "But damn it, this guy was the spitting image of Val Kilmer in the movie!" Charles still couldn't believe it.
And it was even more of a twist to find him in Big Nose Kate's of all saloons because Doc was married to Big Nose Kate in real life. Charles couldn't get over the likeness between the man in the restaurant and the real Doc Holliday (or at least the man who played him in the movie), so he approached the bar to ask him, "Say, I'm sure you get this all the time, but you sure do look a lot like Doc Holliday." The man at the counter smiled a curled mustache smile just like Doc would've and told Charles he was actually a distant relative of the famous Doc Holliday, and he was in town to act in documentary's reenactment of the story of Tombstone. "What are the odds?! Can you believe it?!" Charles told the story with the excitement he probably told it with the very first time.
My newfound, Arizona-loving friend went on to tell me that he and his wife would be vacationing in Arizona after their next work assignment in Kentucky. They'd finish out the season in Yellowstone, then work for three months in Kentucky, followed by a 3-month vacation in Arizona, where Charles promised again they'd visit my beloved Bisbee.
I'm was and still am so intrigued by their whole way of life after retiring from lifelong careers. I love how they live on the road and how they decide where they'll go next on their way to it – taking life one stopping point at a time. I've wondered if I'd ever have what it takes to sell everything to live a modest life with minimal-possessions and an ever-changing compass. As much as it appealed, I certainly wasn't showing signs of being up for it at age 29, asking Charles not to read me the grand total of my souvenirs. "Charles, whatever you do, don't read that number out loud to me… I'll see it when it pops up on the bill in a few days." He roared with laughter and complied.
It's remarkable what can happen in a year's time. Back in June 2019, I was quite set in my impulse-spending ways, though I was desperately pining for RV-living. Now it's August 2020, and I'm more cost-conscious than I ever imagined I could be. I think through every purchase, and rule out making most of them. And I'm bashfully admitting that emptying an RV or tiny-home toilet every two to three days for years on end is just not a lifestyle I can see myself adopting. I hate to rule it out over such small, smelly stuff, but thinking through the practical, nitty-gritty sure does put a new paint job on the big, lofty dream. And I've contemplated the Sprinter van conversions with no bathroom installed, but could I really call it home if I can't go in it? Is that what makes a home? Perhaps it's one of my core home requirements. For now, it's one that's compelling me to stick with standard, stationary plumbing, and frequent passenger vehicle escapes.
But getting back to blissfully unaware, unrestrained, unquarantined 2019, the next memorable person I met was Joe, a waiter at the Old Faithful Basin Café. Joe was from Missouri, a collector of pins, like me, a national park enthusiast, like me, and a man on a mission from a very young age to see all 50 states, like me (minus the man part). And not only had he achieved it, he'd done it twice! Yup, that's right, Joe had visited every state at least twice, accomplishing one of my big-ticket bucket list items twice over by the age of, oh I'd say between 46-54. He was a cool dude that Joe. I couldn't help but idolize him a little after hearing that and about his road-tripping journeys. Florida to Alaska, Montana to Louisiana, Texas to Maine and back again.
The cafe was jam-packed. Joe and the rest of the crew were really hustling, but he still managed to shout out travel tips and stories while making milkshakes and running baskets of burgers and fries to and fro. Joe gave me travel tips for my home state: New York, as well as my dream state: Alaska while catering to everyone at the crowded counter. "Best city in the world that New York…I love the Flatiron Building, the East Village, walking the High Line, even the Seaport…love that city…and upstate is great too…the Finger Lakes region, Buffalo…hey, check out Watkins Glen if you haven't been, it's just beautiful."
He talked like a friend of mine from back home (also named Joe) and like that old friend, I couldn't wait to hear what Joe had to say next. You can't really describe it…the accent, the statements made, the kind of humor they infused… you'd just have to experience it. Every time Joe passed by to refill a water cup or bring some extra napkins, he was talking U.S. travel to one of us counter-lunchers. And everyone seemed to enjoy the conversations...after all, wherever they said they were from, Joe had been there and had some kind of insight into their hometowns. Where to watch the sunrise, where to find the best crab cakes, where you could buy surprisingly cheap jumper cables, some lesser-known historical tidbits...his memory was like a vault of travel trivia. I listened with a smile to every interaction I could hear. I'm not sure anyone at the counter appreciated Joe's travel anecdotes as much as I did, but this felt like the perfect place for Joe to work. Get to talk travel, then walk outside and watch Old Faithful blow. Drive past hot springs and bison on his way home. It was a dream life for park lovers – even if it only lasted about three months.
Interactions like those with Charles and Joe are part of what make our national park system so comfortable and educational, so enriching and home-like to me. Likeminded, nature-lovers rounded up comparing notes and passions about places we've loved along the way, passing along precious information through word of mouth, like a never-ending game of telephone. Sometimes even leaving lasting marks on each other. It's a very cool community of people of all ages enjoying our public lands respectfully together. I love being part of it. I've actually visited places, hiked trails, eaten food, stopped in certain shops just because the passion and enthusiasm in a stranger's voice was so moving when they were recommending it. There have been so many places I never even would've known existed if not for fellow travelers I've crossed paths with, the writers of roadtrippers.com, or even just Instagram pictures of gorgeous destinations I suddenly need to see.
It's interesting how, when you get older, "learning" becomes something different from what it was when you were in school. I wonder how many of you can relate to that. I struggled a ton in school. Learning was…not something that often came naturally to me. There were certain subjects I never really wrapped my brain around. I bombed my SATs. The writing portion was the only one I was halfway decent at, and even that would've been better had I not been inhibited by the pressures and confines of standardized testing. I'll always remember one of my SAT tutors telling me that she found it interesting that I didn't seem to comprehend three out of four practice reading comprehension passages, but one of them, I aced. I believe it had something to do with Native Americans. And I understood (and aced) it because it was a subject, they are a people I'm quite interested in.
But things that never interested me in the formal classroom setting, suddenly intrigue me beyond measure as an adult. In high school, I bombed my Earth Science Regents Exam, had to study it all over again in summer school, and I barely passed the second time around. And now, I find myself researching rocks and fascinated by erosion and the layers of time that are revealed in our world's geological wonders like the Grand Canyon, Petrified Forest, and the Usselo Horizon.
Learning has taken on a whole new meaning for me. I spend much of my free time learning about archeological findings, anthropological studies, geological discoveries, the weather, the lives and teachings of my idols: Nikola Tesla, Theodore Roosevelt, and Alan Turing…and just because I genuinely want to. I choose to spend my time that way. I choose what I fill my mind with. It feels so good to expand my interests on my own terms and to know that tests can't possibly measure potential or intelligence, nor can they dictate my ability to learn. Learning is not monolithic. You can flunk tests, detest school, and still live a life-well learned. Build a life well-learned.
This post is dedicated to our continued collective and independent learning, explorations of our lands and minds, and the promise that the seemingly impossible can be made possible. Look to our national park system for proof.
