I had high hopes of making another cross-country sidecar trip with Glenlivet at my side, but the collision damage to the sidecar from the previous year, plus the delay in having access to the body shop, pushed the timeline so far back that taking the rig was not advisable. First, those four coats of custom paint topped by four layers of clearcoat meant that the beautiful paint job needed extra time to cure. Secondly, since the rig couldn’t be road tested till the paint cured the setup could not be fully dialed in before departure day. Reluctantly, I decided to take my aging Nissan Xterra.

It wasn’t all bad news, though. By taking a high clearance four wheel drive vehicle we would be able to do some overland exploration along the way. The high mountains of the Rockies were still snowbound, but the Red Rock Country in Utah and Arizona would be open to us at a time of year when the earth wasn’t scorched. And if it rained on us the Xterra had enough room inside for us to sleep out of the elements.

So we packed our gear and set out for adventure on Tuesday, the 14th of May. By midday I was feeling vaguely unwell. We made it as far as Warren PA before I called it quits for the day. Masked up, I got a room at the Days Inn and spent much of the night in a close relationship with the bathroom. In the morning I had two bites of a breakfast sandwich before giving the rest of it to Glenlivet.

The gastro-intestinal glory continued as we pressed on. I stopped for play breaks only in places with restrooms, much to Glenlivet’s displeasure. The bright spot was that even with a full load and a roof rack burdened with backcountry equipment our fuel economy remained at the top of the EPA estimates. We traveled on backroads and old US Highways, noting that driving some of my favorites like MO-149, AR-9 and AR-14 in a big SUV was not as much fun as riding them, and reached Blanchard Springs in Arkansas late in the afternoon of our third day.

But I was still not well.

Blanchard Springs is one of my favorite camping spots. It’s simply beautiful, and between the twisting approach and overhanging branches it is not friendly to huge RVs. We hiked along Mirror Lake, then followed Sylamore Creek back toward the campground which was empty save for one man in a small towed camper. Not taking any chances I selected a campsite near the restroom. As I was getting ready to set up our tent a ranger warned us that severe thunderstorms were on the way with possible flooding. He advised us to be ready to move in a hurry as rain water often cut off the access road. To play it safe we elected to sleep in the vehicle again. To ensure my discomfort Glenlivet dove into the spring to make sure I had a wet dog to sleep with.

I dined on a hard roll, feta cheese, summer sausage…and imodium.

The storm warning never delivered more than a soaking rain, so we pressed on. Arkansas is a lovely state, but our backroad route was tainted by hateful signs in front of numerous churches condemning those with differing lifestyles. Thanks to the imodium our marathon stretches changed to hopscotching with many breaks. Glenlivet approved this approach wholeheartedly. Somewhere in central Kansas the church signs changed to a more tolerant message of love and forgiveness. The folks we met on this stretch were both kind and welcoming, but there is a lot of Kansas to cross! After overdosing on flat farmland we holed up in Pueblo CO for the night. For me it was a decision point. If I didn’t feel better by morning we would head for home. Next to the hotel was a Mexican restaurant in the Oaxacan style, none of that Anglicized stuff we have in New England. I had chiles rellenos and two large margaritas, my first big meal since leaving home.

By morning I had been cured by the double dose of fine tequila!

We reached Monarch Pass in Colorado mid-morning, pausing for an hour to play in the snow. We continued on US-50 till the roadblock for a damaged bridge, then diverted to CO-149 which was an unexpectedly fun road. Or it was until the Xterra started dying.

The thermostat was the first to fail. It happened near the old mining town of Creede, when all my coolant belched onto the pavement. When the engine had cooled a good samaritan from Texas provided enough water to top off the radiator, then followed us all the way so South Fork in case we needed more along the way. Thankfully it was downhill all the way so the engine managed. I thanked my savior with a quart of Vermont maple syrup.

Everything but the bars were closed in town, so I got a hotel room and learned that the town had just one garage and it hadn’t been open for a week. In the morning chill we limped another seventeen miles downhill to Del Norte, a larger town with several mechanics. The first one we stopped at got us right in. By noon we were back on the road so we drove back to Creede to check out the mines we had missed, then on to Bayfield CO where Bob and Jane Brunton (who had been following our misadventures online) put us up for the night. They were a delightful couple with a lovely hilltop home, but what I remember most is their built-in, fully tiled dog washing station near the entrance from the garage.

I was so envious!

After a morning walk with Bob, Glenlivet and I set out north on US-550. We’d ridden the Million Dollar Highway before, but this time snow and freezing drizzle reduced visibility to just a few hundred yards. We stopped in Ouray CO for a pastry and a cup of coffee, walked up to Cascade Falls to stretch our legs, then got another hot coffee for the road. A short distance up the road we pulled over behind a distressed rider on a Harley; he had ridden from Durango with a well insulated jacket, but only lightweight work gloves. His hands were so cold he had trouble holding the throttle so I gave him my coffee to hold till his hands were functional again, then swapped his wet gloves for my leather work gloves. Though not insulated, they were at least dry.

We next stopped near the Black Canyon of the Gunnison River which Tulliver and I had visited a few years before. I had carried with me some of that loyal dog’s ashes with the intent of spreading them at places we’d been. Putting Glenlivet on a down-stay, I eased to the edge of a precipice with the small pill bottle containing Tulliver’s ashes. Holding it over the edge I upended it, thinking they would scatter. But tightly packed in the bottle, the ashes came out as a single pellet. I watched as the pellet dropped a couple hundred feet, then burst forming a perfect halo that disappeared into the mist below as if Mother Nature was reclaiming a gentle soul. We sat there for a long time, one grieving man and his devoted dog doing his best to comfort him.

The tears flowed freely.

By Wednesday we reached the Colorado National Monument, then moved on to Hwy 128 in Utah. We’d hoped for a camping spot near Fisher Towers, but all the dispersed sites were taken. We watched climbers scaling those incredible pinnacles, then moved on to Moab to find a hotel room. Getting into Arches National Park is an ordeal unless you’re an early riser. We are, fortunately, very early risers. We entered the park in the dark at 5:45am. What little traffic there was at that hour was going directly to Delicate Arch, so we had the place pretty much to ourselves as the sun rose. The early morning sun brought Arches to life!

From there we headed south to the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park, then Newspaper Rock, Bears Ears, and a campsite near the southern tip of Needles. We shared beer and tales with Bob, a man who had been on the road for four months living in his twenty-one foot camper. A passing ranger invited us to an educational talk about tumbleweeds, but Glenlivet had scraped a front pad jumping out of the truck onto sharp gravel and was limping. The wind was picking up by that point, with sporadic stinging drops of rain, so once again we opted to sleep in the Xterra.

We were up at 6am Friday and drove to one of several Colorado River overlooks, but Glenlivet was limping badly so we didn’t take the short hike from the parking area. Instead we headed for Mesa Verde National Park, stopping for brunch in Monticello UT and again at the gift shop at the entrance to the park. From there we took the scenic drive, stopping at each point of interest. The combination of persistent smoke from distant wildfires coupled with the angle of the sun spoiled several photo opportunities, and Glenlivet reached the point where I had to physically lift him in and out of the vehicle. I figured if he was hurting even with his paw carefully wrapped and protected by his booties he was overdue for a break. We cut short our tour shy of the best sights and checked into our room at the Far View Lodge. Just as we registered two park rangers and an ambulance went racing back the way we had come. I learned later a tourist trying for that perfect selfie had stepped over a safety barrier and sustained several fractures after falling off a cliff.

We had dinner in the Metate Room, a fancy restaurant and pretty much the only eatery within 25 miles. The food and service was fantastic, as was the view. As trained, Glenlivet curled up under the table, sitting up only when I stood, then walking at my side as we navigated our way out of the now crowded dining room. His perfect manners earned many respectful smiles and comments.

Our plan was to check out more of the cliff dwellings before the weekend crowds arrived, but I opted out as the limp was still noticeable. Instead we drove to Valley of the Gods. On the way I had to top off my brake fluid twice; the Xterra was showing its age. Valley of the Gods was incredible! It was also largely free of visitors, with most opting for the nearby Monument Valley. Still, being so close to that famous tourist destination, we drove on to take the self-guided tour of that showpiece of the Navajo Nation. I wanted very much to like it, but was overwhelmed by the commercialization and the number of half-starved stray dogs.

We moved back to Valley of the Gods and pitched our tent near (but not too near) a dry stream bed in the shade of a cottonwood tree. I fired up the grill and shared pork chops with Glenlivet. By late afternoon the dry stream came back to life, reinvigorated by some distant rainfall, adding the gentle sound of running water to the soft caress of the breeze. We slipped into our tent where I read a couple chapters of a sci-fi Kindle book aloud. Glenlivet had no idea what I was saying, but he listened intently to my every word.

The following morning we broke camp and drove up the nearby Moki Dugway, a steep gravel road with several switchbacks rising 1200 feet to the top of Cedar Mesa. The Dugway was created in the 1950s to transport uranium ore from nearby mines to a processing facility near Mexican Hat. These days it’s a scenic gem offering views from the top of Valley of the Gods and Monument Valley, and, on a clear day, one can see as far as Shiprock Mountain in New Mexico. Once again I was reminded that timing is everything in red rock country. With the morning sun so low in the sky much of that famous dirt road was in shadow and the haze from distant fires limited our view. If I ever visit this region again I’d plan on staying a few days in each spot of interest, noting where and when the best light happens to hit.

I skipped Gooseneck State Park, opting instead for Natural Bridges National Monument. That was a poor choice! Bridges was not staffed and without being able to get an overview in the closed visitor center the self-guided tour was lacking. One really has to hike to the bridges to get the full WOW factor, but my bum knee doesn’t handle long downhill hikes very well and I didn’t want to risk Glenlivet’s recovery with much walking.

On the drive to our next stop we stumbled upon the trailhead at the South Fork of Mule Canyon leading to the House on Fire near Blanding UT. The trail was popular, well marked, and flat. Just my style! After a mile wandering along a dry stream bed flanked by small trees and dense scrub brush I looked up and there it was. Simply stunning, the collection of five ancient Puebloan granaries were perched under an oddly streaked overhang that resembled flames in the light reflected off the stone behind me. Though the lighting was less than ideal I took several shots; later that evening I was delighted to find that they had captured the colors much better than I had anticipated.

Moving back north we stopped in Moab for lunch, fuel and groceries, then on to Dead Horse Point State Park. It was hot, the gnats were active, but a gentle breeze made it tolerable. I set up our tent while Glenlivet napped under a sunshade. We shared grilled salmon for dinner with a Snickers bar for my dessert and a Milk Bone for his. Glenlivet pre-cleaned the cookware and I finished the job at the sink near the restrooms.

We slept well in the tent, though it was a bit warm for comfort. Up at 6am we headed to the Dead Horse Point overlook. The neck, where the horses that gave the point its name were trapped, was just a few feet wide with precipitous drops on both sides. With the rising sun at our backs the best views were to the west. Pressing on to the Grand View Lookout at the Island in the Sky section of Canyonlands National Park we took a short hike along the rim soaking in views of the twisted landscape below. Then on to the Shafer Trail Overlook where one look convinced me we simply had to drive it!

It was nice to be in the midst of the scenery instead of looking at it from a distance. The Xterra handled the steep 1500′ descent of that massive sandstone cliff with no trouble at all; a small sedan would have handled that portion just fine. It began as a route for Native Americans to access resources at the top, later was a way for sheepherders to move their livestock to winter forage, and then as a means of transporting uranium ore. At the bottom, where Potash Road intersected with the White Rim Trail, we encountered a train of guide services hauling visitors to the White Rim. That route required permits, so we turned onto Potash Road toward Moab. To call it a road was something of an aspirational overstatement. It was forty-two miles of truck and body shaking jolts in 4WD-low through sensational scenery! We took our time, pausing often to take in the views. After passing the potash evaporative ponds we eventually reached Moab where we refueled, replenished our cooler with ice, and picked up a few groceries at City Market. Then back to our campsite at Dead Horse Point after giving the sweaty ranger at the entrance booth an ice cold Coke.

The following morning we broke camp, packed up, and headed down the Gemini Bridges Trail on the recommendation of the ranger. The first half of the trail was a bit rougher than Shafer, but nothing the Xterra couldn’t handle. The bridges themselves, rocky arches hidden in a sea of brush, were spectacular!

The second half of the trail leading back to I-91 turned out to be as brutal as the worst section of the Potash Road. Even moving in 4WD-low range we got jostled to the point where I put Glenlivet on a down-stay in the passenger seat with my right hand holding him steady. We refueled and shared brunch in Green River UT, then drove on to the San Rafael Swell. There was one campground by a bridge erected by the Civilian Conservation Corps during the depression, but we wanted a bit more privacy. I’d heard there were a handful of dispersed sites near the Wedge atop the surrounding cliffs, but we arrived to find no shade and strong winds. So back we went into the canyon for a closer look at several nice campsites we had driven past. It was at that point I discovered our exhaust pipe aft of the muffler had broken off and was dragging in the dirt. I removed the broken portion so it wouldn’t auger into the ground and cause further damage, lashing it to the roof rack.

We retreated to Green River hoping to find a repair shop.

No luck. There were two shops in town, but neither did that sort of work. A Google search of shops within a two hour drive yielded the same results. And after crawling underneath the Xterra to examine the points of failure I discovered both the attachment points had rusted out. There was nothing left to secure the exhaust pipe to, so it stayed on the roof rack and I elected to continue our journey with the windows open so we wouldn’t be overcome by exhaust fumes. Not a perfect solution, but we were two thousand miles from home. We returned to the San Rafael Swell and settled into campsite #17. It had a couple cedar trees for shade, several enormous boulders for privacy and shelter from the wind, and an awesome view of the surrounding cliffs. We enjoyed some serious R&R, walking to a nearby cliff face to check out the petroglyphs. With the valley to ourselves I set up the tent without the rainfly, then grilled two small steaks with peppers on my Korean wok which were shared with Glenlivet. We slept that night under millions of stars.

In the morning we moved on to Cathedral Valley in Capitol Reef National Park. Three Jeeps were pulled over to evaluate water depth at the Fremont River ford, but having been there before we just barreled across in the Xterra. Some say the drive to Cathedral Valley can be done in a passenger car in fair weather, but I’d not recommend that. I never used four wheel drive on this loop, but high ground clearance was essential. The drive in was pretty but not spectacular till we reached the primitive campground. Shortly past that point we began dropping into the valley where the views of the pinnacles under blue sky punctuated by puffy clouds was simply stunning! We spent a few hours walking around the base of those tall monuments before continuing on to the campground at the National Park. High winds started soon after our tent was set up, blowing the mosquitos away but not the gnats. Post-pandemic campers proved to be remarkably introverted. There were no introductions, no small talk, with everyone staying at their site or with those in their group. I tried to light our stove but the wind refused to cooperate, blowing it out every few seconds. I finally gave up and drove to Spanky’s Burgers in nearby Torrey where the burger was surprisingly good!

The scenic drive through the park was closed for construction, so we got up early and reached the Grand Wash trailhead on Hwy 24 by 6am. Surprisingly we were not the first to arrive. Glenlivet and I hiked a couple miles into the wash till I recognized a spot where Tulliver and I had rested years before. We sat there in the shade of a massive overhang while I told Glenlivet about Tulliver’s travels. My grief over the loss of that magnificent dog comes in unexpected waves. Of all my dogs he was the most devoted, and tragically the only one to pass without me being present to comfort him in his last moments. I had been on the road with Glenlivet when he passed.

From there we traveled to Little Wild Horse Canyon, a narrow slot canyon near Goblin Valley State Park. We had traversed less than a mile into the canyon before my bad knee began protesting about the number of boulders it had been forced to climb over. We returned to our campsite and shared another grilled steak for lunch, then walked over to the Gifford cabin to share peach pie and ice cream for dessert.

The Xterra was running well, but began making a vague popping sound at start up. I found nothing obvious and was not sure where the noise was coming from. Unfortunately we remained in a mechanic desert with no help within a reasonable distance. I started looking at some of the Class B diesel-powered Sprinter camper vans with envy. Some were home conversions, but most had been purchased as turn key recreational vehicles. One in particular caught my eye: a lifted Sprinter van with 4WD, four solar panels on the roof, custom hardwood and leather interior, stereo system inside and out, driving lights, perimeter floodlamps, enormous off road tires on designer rims, full skid plates, a powerful winch, awning, wine cooler, etc. As I was drooling over that unit the proud owner walked over to brag a bit. He had had the RV custom built two years before for $518,000! More than a little stunned I politely asked how it handled in the backcountry. He sheepishly responded that it had never been offroad; he was too afraid of getting stuck and wasn’t sure how to use the winch.

Meanwhile two families had occupied the site next to ours. There were six children between them, all younger than ten. One of the fathers opened a box and presented each child with a brand new wooden flute. Unfortunately none of the kids had an ear for music, though that didn’t seem to bother them. After a couple hours of chaotic dysphonia, the adults gathered up all of the flutes and tossed them into their campfire. Peace was restored.

Up at 5:30am to find the campground full of deer. Though Glenlivet ignored them, they fled at the first sight of him. We broke camp and packed up, driving south on Hwy 12 with a slight detour to catch Hells Backbone. The road wasn’t much to look at till we reached the bridge at the top, a true engineering marvel spanning granite outcroppings on both sides of a boulder-strewn precipitous gorge! Unfortunately it was raining when we reached that stretch. With the wet rocks so slick we didn’t get to check out the best views.

We reached the North Rim of the Grand Canyon early in the afternoon and set up camp, then hiked to a scenic overlook to soak in the canyon’s magnificence. On the way back to the campground a group of very respectful teens accompanied by their teacher asked permission to pet Glenlivet. He soaked up their affection as they fussed over him. Later they chased us down with one of his protective booties. It had fallen off without me noticing. A long shower removed three days of grime, a cold beer to relax, and a fellow veteran with whom to unwind. We’d both lost friends in the service and sharing their memories was cathartic.

Given the continuing issues with the Xterra I reluctantly decided to skip Bryce Canyon National Park and head directly to Reno NV to see if the Nissan dealer could fix the brake fluid leak and figure out the noise on start up. It was losing half a pint of brake fluid every day at this point.

Marc and Cate, good friends from a past employer (and their dog, Mike) welcomed us to their home in Reno after a grueling day on the road marked by numerous construction delays. In the morning the local Nissan dealer got us right in and quickly fixed two problems with the Xterra, but failed to notice a few others. That oversight would come back to haunt us in the coming days. We soaked in the pool with our friends to beat the heat, then went out to dinner with both dogs. Marc noticed the AirTag on Glenlivet’s collar and remarked that he had just lost one of his own during a pit stop ninety miles from home. He tracked it using his iPhone and knew about where it was, describing the pullout where he’d been when nature called. It happened to be on a route we were taking the following day so I promised to look for it more out of politeness than any real hope of finding it.

Thursday started with a nice breakfast and a heartfelt goodbye to our friends. An hour and a half later I noticed a pullout that looked much like the one Marc had described to me, so pulled over. I thought to myself If I had to pee where would I go? and started walking toward an old fence post. Not ten feet in front of me was Marc’s AirTag!

As I got back in the truck the brake fluid level warning light was flashing, so I refilled the reservoir. Fifty miles later it was flashing again, so I pulled into a small independent shop in Klamath Falls OR. One of the brake lines had corroded and snapped off the junction where brake fluid was distributed to all four wheels. Unable to source a replacement line, the mechanic fabricated one but warned me there was a lot of corrosion and a bit of luck would be needed to get all the way back to Vermont.

He turned out to be right. New England road salt was killing my Xterra.

Glenlivet and I reached Crater Lake at sunset, sitting on a bench watching the light fade before checking into our room at the lodge. The staff were fantastic, our waiter going so far as to place an empty chair over his tail in the restaurant so nobody would accidentally step on it.

We were up before sunrise, hiked for a bit but were limited to a short stretch around the lodge where the deep snow had been cleared. The Rim Road was still buried under six feet of snow and off limit to travelers. I showered, we had breakfast, then I fired up the Xterra to bring it around front to load our stuff inside. The Brake Fluid warning light now had company.

The Check Engine Light was on!

Exasperated, I went online to find the nearest Nissan dealer and found one only slightly off our route in Medford OR. At this point I’d lost confidence in the vehicle, so was willing to entertain the idea of trading it for something more reliable. Initial impression of Medford Nissan was favorable. We were greeted warmly and as our Xterra was checked out by the service department I noticed a top of the line 2015 Pro-4X Xterra in the same color as ours. It was a rare 6-speed manual with only 45,000 miles. New clutch. Zero rust. A veritable unicorn. The asking price was way out of line, but I really liked mine and if the dealer would either move some of my accessories to the new truck (front and rear bumpers, roof rack, rock sliders and skidplates) or let me use some of their tools to do it myself I would have gone for it. But the salesman showed little interest or empathy, and as I was in a hurry to meet friends at my next stop I started looking at other options. By the time I had looked at two other vehicles the salesman seemed bored, almost annoyed, not caring that a retiree on a fixed income needed to make wise financial decisions. In the end I settled on a gently used Rogue SV AWD, and asked that the deal be handled quickly so we could be on our way. “Give us an hour and a half,” said the salesman.

Four hours later, driven by their impending closing time, several higher ups in the dealership finally got things going. In the meanwhile I had completely unloaded all of our gear from our old Xterra in 95 degree heat, been repeatedly ignored when I asked if they could move a luxury SUV out of the only shaded spot on the lot so we could at least get out of the sun, and endured six increasingly high-pressure sales pitches for a very high priced extended warranty package. If I wasn’t hurting for time I would have walked, but they seemed to know they had me over a barrel.

We left in that Rogue, speeding up to the coastal town of Yachats but arrived too late to meet up with our friends. But we’d reached the Pacific, so I set aside my resentment and set out to explore that delightful seaside town. We shared an excellent clam chowder, watched the sun set over the ocean, and checked into a very nice room at the Dublin House Inn. The Rogue was much smaller than the Xterra, so we spent most of that evening going through our gear deciding what to keep and what to ship home. Having lost our 4WD high clearance SUV, backcountry camping was no longer a possibility, so the majority of our camping gear would have to go. Stuff to keep went inside our room, and stuff to ship stayed in the truck.

Using the inn as a base, we drove to a Staples in Coos Bay as they had a UPS Center inside. I purchased two large boxes, filled them with all the gear in the back of the car, and freed up a lot of room for the journey home. Then we played tourist, visiting several of the places we had missed on our last sidecar trip due to rain and heavy fog: Heceta Head, Cape Perpetua, Bob Creek and several scenic overlooks. Back at Yachats we shared a huge plate of halibut n’ chips, then walked around town some more. Glenlivet sniffed noses with an artful sculpture of a sea lion as we walked back to the coast. Sitting side by side on a park bench we snuggled together and watched another sunset.

Sunday morning we set off at a leisurely pace, stopping at the Tillamook Creamery to share a bowl of ice cream. Glenlivet and I sat on the floor facing each other. One bite for me; one bite for him. When the bowl was empty I looked up to find us surrounded by tourists recording our shared moment with their iPhones. Continuing north I took a scenic route to check out Three Capes, but the area was completely socked in with fog. We reached Fort Stevens OR early in the afternoon, checked out the skeletal remains of the Peter Iredale shipwreck, then Battery Russell, and finally checked into our yurt. The furnishings were vintage YMCA camp, but it was dry. Having been rained on so often on previous trips to the Oregon coast I wasn’t taking any chances.

We were on the road by 5am. (I’m convinced this is why others don’t enjoy traveling with me.) Our first brief stop was the waterfront in Astoria OR where, unfortunately, we couldn’t find a diner open at that hour. We wandered around the piers for a bit, took a few photos of the magnificent bridge over the Columbia River, then continued to the west side of Mount St Helens. It was there, in a grassy clearing with a view of the volcano, that I spread the last of Barley’s ashes. It had taken me eight years, but with that act I had spread his ashes in every spot we’d traveled to in our 55,000 miles of shared adventure.

From there back south into the chaotic traffic of Portland to the home of my beloved niece, Kate, and her husband Dan. It felt great seeing them so happy together! Kate, with her dogs Mika and Maverick, took us for a walk around their neighborhood, then we all went out for dinner. I’d visited Portland once before on a warship, but had never left the riverfront. This time I found it a huge and vibrant city separated into delightful and distinctive neighborhoods.

We shared breakfast with Dan and Kate, then hugs and goodbyes as they both had to work. Setting out just in time to become ensnarled in rush hour traffic, we proceeded on the Interstate at 2mph for half an hour, then 15mph for nearly another hour till traffic began flowing freely. Switching to secondary roads we took a couple of breaks on the shoulder of Mount Hood, then a longer one at Smith Rock. Volcanos certainly give this region a distinctive look!

Arriving at the rally grounds we checked in two days early (those who pitch in to help can do so), then found a nice spot with power for Camp Glockenspiel to set up. I texted the location to our dear friends, Robert and Mary Ellen Bolton, and they soon joined us. Others in this welcoming group soon gathered to catch up on events of the past year. All of us, being the helpful sort, went to the volunteer dinner then chatted till a cold wind drove us into our tents.

Wednesday morning we were up at 4:45 and had the showers to ourselves. Did I mention there are advantages to being early risers? I’d signed up for volunteer duty with Signs, but they had finished setting up the previous day so we moved over to the Prize Drawing team and helped there. Most of the vendors arrived that day and the fairgrounds began to look like a small town as they set up. Tents for campers sprouted up on every grassy patch. I was greeted by new acquaintances with the standard “You must be Glenlivet’s dad!” We went into town as a group for dinner, my saintly dog curled up under our table, then returned to the rally grounds and talked till once again a cold wind chased us under cover.

The BMWMOA Rally officially opened on Thursday. Glenlivet and I drove a shuttle for four hours, ferrying rallygoers and their purchases around the grounds, my dog riding shotgun. We attended a few informational seminars, checked out the vendors, consumed mass quantities of saturated fat offered by food trucks, and mingled with old and new friends. Evening was once again spent with our expanding group of Camp Glockenspiel friends as total strangers were welcomed into the fold. Long time member Alice celebrated her 80th birthday surrounded by her BMW family. Once again the evening wind picked up, this time to the point where we had to hang onto the guy lines to keep the tarp from blowing away.

An early morning shower was followed by a team breakfast building exercise. Then we were off to more seminars. Bob Henig talked about what makes a great dealer. Louise Parson gave a great presentation on mistakes adventure riders commonly make; I learn something every time she presents. We shipped more non-essential stuff home to make more room in the car, then headed off to the Brewfest where several local microbreweries offered samples while new friends introduced themselves and got dog fixes.

By Saturday morning my bum knee was aching badly. It sort of took the fun out of the rally. Camp Glockenspiel went into breakfast overdrive to use up all their food. There were many sloppy cooks and eaters but Glenlivet pitched in and did his part to help with cleanup. Many hugs and hearty goodbyes were shared when I announced we were leaving a day early. Reece Mullins and Jennifer Ott showed up to help transport our gear to the parking lot. With hugs and waves we unfurled our sails and headed east.

Decades ago I had served aboard the USS Gurnard, SSN-664, a fast attack nuclear submarine long since decommissioned. In the tiny town of Arco ID we found the sail of her sistership, USS Hawkbill, informally known as the Devilfish because of her hull number: SSN-666. Though the largest town in Butte County, Arco has a population of less than nine hundred. Near Craters of the Moon National Monument, its claim to fame stems from the fact that in 1951 it was the first town in the world powered by nuclear energy. Experimental Breeder Reactor 1 is now a tourist attraction.

Across this great nation we sped, experiencing small town friendliness in places like Kimball NE and Ottumwa IA. Picking up US-24 we followed a familiar route with dog friendly play stops long since memorized on previous adventures: South Pointe Park in El Paso IL, Mann Park in Gilman IL, Key Park in Monticello IN. Road construction had closed US-24 in Monticello, but Google Maps on my iPhone refused to accept that. With just a single Detour sign pointing vaguely south and the iPhone insisting on routing me back to the closed bridge I found myself doing laps and getting nowhere. On the third lap I made an illegal U-turn and was pulled over by a local deputy. “You seem to be going in circles,” said Deputy Tyler Barnes. When I admitted I was hopelessly turned around trying to get past the construction he chuckled and told me to follow him. Not only did he not cite me, he led us through twists and turns, the entire time the iPhone complaining, and finally pulled over and waved us on. The intact portion of US-24 was just ahead of us. From there we arced up to Findlay OH, Rochester NY, then across the Adirondacks to our home in Vermont were I found two enormous boxes delivered by UPS bearing the excess gear we’d shipped home.