Too Many Questions??

      “Do you have any questions?” asked the waiter yesterday at Doc B’s in Ft. Lauderdale.
            “Oh, I always have questions,” I say.
      We’ve arrived during Happy Hour; and, although I rarely drink anything alcoholic, I’m considering taking advantage of the four-dollar price reduction in cocktails. “Which one would be the least sweet?” I ask. “I prefer something on the tart side.”
    He seeks assistance. The other server suggests the berry fizz. A great recommendation… it was delicious, although I paid for it later when the dreaded migraine surfaced.
        I also stumped him with my second question. “What kind of fish is on the fish sandwich?”
     When he leaves for the second time, my husband laughs. “Another waiter stumped by your questions.”
       I’m even worse when I go to a doctor’s office. Determined to squeeze out every ounce of the expert’s knowledge on the subject, I come prepared with a list of questions. Sometimes my husband warns the doctor, “She’s been known to block the doorway.”
       This is an exaggeration. I don’t think I’ve ever physically blocked the door. But the doctor must have believed him. He may have left a note in my file, reminding me of an episode of Seinfeld where Elaine fears she’s on a list.
        On two recent occasions, I’ve had two different physicians tell me, “I can answer only one more question. That’s all the time I have.”
      Really? I’m nothing if not fast with my questions. It’s their answers that are sometimes lengthy. I think I’ll put those two doctors on my list.
     As we approach the New Year, I’m considering sharing some of my travel adventures in the upcoming months. I typically handwrite my reflections, and type them up later. Our latest excursion was, of course, to Ft. Lauderdale, but I haven’t typed those notes yet. So, in the meantime, I return to a trip to Yellowstone in late summer of 2022, still in the heart of the pandemic.
Yellowstone, July-August 2022
            Given recent news of flight cancellations and our own history, I was concerned that we had not booked an extra night before our bus tour started. However, things went smoothly, and we arrived in Rapid City, South Dakota, on July 31, as planned. Since the pandemic, most airlines have cut way back on meals on flights, and this was no exception.
            We were hungry when we arrived at the Rushmore, and went to the bar for a snack. We ordered truffle flat bread and some lettuce wraps, which were pretty good. We had a meeting with our tour guide, Matt. This was his first tour since the pandemic. He’s fifty-nine, blushes easily, has a crooked, shy grin, reminds me of an aging Mark Stahr (a kid I used to play tennis with when we were teens).
            I’m glad masks were being required on the bus, since I knew we’d be traveling with the same people (forty-two in all, including the driver and the tour guide) for hours on end. Matt said he wouldn’t be acting as the mask police, but most people obliged. I’m sure this would not have been the case if masks had been recommended rather than required.
            Since we were spending two nights at The Rushmore, we did not have to pack and put our luggage out on the morning of day two. This was a great day, as we visited both the Crazy Horse Memorial and Mt. Rushmore. I enjoyed learning about Crazy Horse and the family devoted to sculpting the memorial, Korczak Ziolkowski. He started the project over seventy years ago, devoted his life to it, and his wife and children carried on after his death. The face has been carved and the finger started, but the horse remains to be done. It’s much, much larger than the presidents sculpted at Mt. Rushmore. We saw the log cabin, now a museum with art and antiques, where Korczak lived. Inside are a model of his vision for Crazy Horse, bronze bust of Wild Bill Hickock and much more. A brief movie introduced us to the story. Because there were no photos of Crazy Horse, the memorial is not a lineal likeness but a tribute to the spirit of his people.
            Mt. Rushmore was interesting too, and we were able to observe the faces from various angles. Apparently, the sculptor originally intended to go farther down their bodies but ultimately settled for faces. In the museum, we saw a host of individuals involved in photographing, carving, figuring out how to create which people would immediately identify as Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt, and Jefferson. Jefferson was intended to appear to the left of Washington (who was carved first), but the rock crumbled and he was, instead, placed to the right of Washington and appears to be looking in a slightly different direction from the others, consistent with Jefferson being somewhat more of a dreamer. On our walk, we stopped to listen to an Indian (Lakota, I think) who explained that Sioux is an improper label given by a French bastardization of their name). He played drums and sang songs in his language, then translated them for us. All of them focused on peace.
            The town of Rapid City contains life-size statues of many American presidents. John F. Kennedy and his son, John Jr. as a child, are right outside our hotel. On the second afternoon, I found an upscale restaurant, Tally’s Silver Spoon, that was serving small plates and 2 for 1 drinks from 4 to 6 pm. We were told that all their tables were reserved for dinner, but we could have one so long as we could finish by 6:30. We ordered two beers (I took a couple sips), a shrimp scampi, brie with berries, tuna (seared), and a delicious kale salad with a lemony dressing.
            On the 3rd day of our tour (Tuesday, August 2), we drove into Wyoming and headed west across the high plains. We had a picnic lunch in Sheridan. It was sprinkling rain but we found a sheltered picnic table. We had roast beef sandwich, ham sandwich, big chocolate chunk cookie, and an apple. Next we drove into Montana, where we stopped at the Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument in the Crow Nation. The battle, though triumphant for Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull, led to harsh repercussions from the white men later. We spent the night in Billings. We went to dinner at Jake’s, sat in the bar area, and enjoyed a tuna dish and some Asian tacos. I swam in the indoor pool and hot tub at the Billings Hilton Garden Inn, very refreshing.
            On August 3, 2022, we visited the Buffalo Bill center of the West, and learned the story of Bill Cody and his showmanship, friends (Annie Oakley and Calamity Jane, among others), and troubled marriage. “Know the power that is peace.” Black Elk
            We drove into Yellowstone National Park on August 3. We stopped at the lodge at Yellowstone Lake for photos. The lodge was painted yellow, and an old-fashioned yellow bus was parked out front. Tour guide Matt was confused, dropping us off at the Old Faithful Inn, only to discover we were actually booked at the Old Faithful Snow Lodge. Once we sorted this, we were in time to walk over to Old Faithful Geyser for an eruption. Then we walked around the Old Faithful Inn, took some photos, and plopped down in some comfy rockers on the second floor overlooking the lobby. Matt had warned us the rooms were old and squeaky, but the lobby was lovely. Norm and I went to a Grizzly Grill near our hotel and ate goat cheese-pepper soup and shared a double cheeseburger. Very tasty, but did not sit well later. My legs felt tight from the drive and the elevation (about 7300 feet).
            On day 5 (August 4), we drove all over Yellowstone. We visited hot pots, fumerols, springs, geysers, and travertine terraces. The theme of Yellowstone is to leave things to nature. I was amazed by the number of fallen trees and branches, lying there and waiting to be reclaimed by nature. We saw bison dung before we saw bison, but by the end of the day we’d seen plenty of bison and followed one down the street waiting for him to cross. The first one saw up close was injured, limping and holding up one foot.
            “They’ll be getting lots of calls about an injured bison,” Matt told us. “But they’ll do nothing unless it was hit by a car. If so, they put him out of his misery. Otherwise they let nature take its course, and he’ll become food for a wolf. Circle of life.”
            We’d already seen a few prong-horned antelope, which aren’t really antelope despite the song “…where the deer and the antelope roam.” Apparently, antelope are only found in Africa. These are more closely related to giraffes, though they look more like deer. We saw more today, as well as several waterfalls. We stopped at Yellowstone Falls, both upper and lower, not in elevation, but position along the river.
            We stopped at Canyon Village for lunch and bought wraps in the General Store, which was very crowded. Norm had beer and chips, and I had carrot cake, sparkling water, and a diet coke. The second bison we saw up close led us through traffic before making his way off the highway. We got some great photos. We were lucky because the seat rotation on the bus had placed us at the front today, right behind Matt.
            Matt loves to ask trivial pursuit type questions about everything from historical events to sports to famous people from the various states we enter. Norm answers more than everyone else on the bus combined. “I think you’re looking them up on your phone,” Matt says, and later, “You’re really good with that phone.”
            “I’m not that quick with the phone,” Norm protests.
            Matt cautions us never to approach wildlife, especially bears or bison, and to stay on the paths. “The pools are very acidic so don’t touch the water.” He tells us of a family with a dog. The dog supposedly jumped into the pool, the man followed and died. His last words were, “I guess that wasn’t a very good idea.”
            I think back to Hot Water Beach in Coromandel, New Zealand, where we can safely sit in the hot waters if we time it properly. We’re also reminded of the pools at Taupo and Rotorua, as well as Hanmer Springs on the south island of New Zealand. The colors there are amazing, and there are a number of thermal spas safe to bathe in. Not so at Yellowstone.
            On the drive, people are chiming, “We need to see a bear.”
            Just as we’re about to despair of finding one, we do. A grizzly with two cubs. They are pretty far from the bus, but we stop and take a lot of photos. Unfortunately, we did not bring our camera with a zoom lens, so our phones do a poor job at this distance.
            We’re also wanting to see elk. No one else does, but I’m pretty sure I spot one of this drive. We’re in a quiet period (Matt does not stay silent for long), and I’m staring out the window. I see movement, something emerging from the ground. A head begins to pop up. For a moment I think it’s something small crawling up from a hole in the ground. Then the head emerges fully into view, and it’s quite large. She stretches her neck but we’re moving fast. “Look!” I say.
            “What is it?” Matt asks.
            “It was a head. I think it was an elk.”
            We’re far past by now. “What color was it?” he asks.
            “Brown.”
            “Probably she was taking an afternoon rest, lying down,” Norm says.
            “And just lifted her head,” I say. This makes sense. I wish someone else had seen, but I know what I saw. I look at faces of elk on my phone, and I’m pretty sure. Her coloring was more uniform than that of the prong-horned antelope. Plus, Matt said this area attracted elk.
            Perhaps my favorite part of all was Mammoth Hot Springs in the northern part of the park. The travertine terraces are constantly changing. On this day, there are tiers of brilliant white, with nearby shades of copper and golden brown, some black and charcoal layers. The spring are running, so some sections glisten with water while others appear completely dry.
            This evening we go back to the Old Faithful Geyser in time for another show.This one seems to go on longer and shoot even higher than on the previous night. The wait is longer. We’re sitting beside a friendly man whose teenage kids sit in front of us.
            The geyser shoots a little and gurgles in anticipation. “That’s not all there is, is it?” the man asks.
            “No,” I say. “Much more yesterday anyway.”
            “My fourteen-year-old is disappointed,” he says, and she turns around enough to grin at us.
            “If you’re not disappointed at fourteen, what does that say about your life?” Norm jokes.
            Afterward, he asks her, “Was it worth the wait?” She grins again, doesn’t answer, but I catch a barely perceptible nod.
            For dinner we stay in our room and eat the leftover wrap from lunch. We’re pretty tired. The elevation and long drive may be getting to us.
            On August 5, we check out of the Yellowstone Old Faithful Snow Lodge and enter Grand Teton National Park. At the Continental Divide, the elevation is 8391 feet. I’m wearing my compression stockings today and my Grand Canyon tee-shirt. Should have worn it the day we saw the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. I’m off a day or so, as is Norm, who’ll wear his matching tee-shirt the day after I do.
            It’s raining today, so I get out my pink collapsible hat. I’m a hodgepodge of color: turquoise sweatshirt, copper tee-shirt, pale green dotted jeans, and pink hat. Oh, well. Norm and I have rain jackets, which isn’t true of most people on the bus.
            We do not see the Teton Range, with peaks over 12,000 feet clearly, because of the rain and clouds. Still pretty. We stop at Jenny Lake, where the movie “Shane” was filmed. We take photos.
            We continue on to Jackson, Wyoming. A lot of women on the bus have been asking about shopping, and Matt wants us to have plenty of time here. Jackson has restaurants and bars and shops aplenty. An arch (actually, two) made of antlers marks the entrance to the town square. Norm takes a photo for a family with six kids, and the man takes ours.
            “Probably Mormons,” I say.
            “Or Catholic,” Norm says. “But probably Mormons.”
            They seem very happy and clean-cut, at least on the surface, and I’m reminded of my colleague Mike at Vanderbilt. Mike was always upbeat, even when he was ultimately denied tenure. “The Mormon applicants are so nice,” Paul Chaney said. He was in charge of recruiting. “From now on, I’m only hiring Mormons,” he’d say, only half joking.
            We found a coffee shop, where I ate a chocolate chocolate-chip muffin and drank a smoothie. We did a little shopping, and ended our stay in Jackson in the Silver Dollar Bar & Grill at the Wort Hotel. Norm had beer, of course, and I drank his water and mine, and ate a cup of asparagus cream soup. Tasty but woody.
            Apparently, I drank too much liquid because I’d only been on the bus a short time when I needed to use the bathroom. “How much longer till we stop?” Norm asked Matt.
            “Another hour or more.”
            It was the only time I used the toilet on the bus. Not clean, so I guess I wasn’t the only one. Relief, though.
            Rainy all day, as we traversed farm country on our way to Pocatello, Idaho. It was late when we arrived. Matt likes to get us to our hotels by five or 5:30pm. This time it was after seven, due in part to a couple of wrong turns. We made our way to a nearby Italian (Tuscano) restaurant and took seats at the bar.
            Despite my compression stockings, I began to feel ill while we waited for our food. “I’m going to walk in the parking lot,” I told Norm.
            “Do you need the restroom?” someone asked me, as I undoubtedly looked lost.
            “No, just some fresh air.”
            I felt better for a few minutes, but then the nausea returned. I made my way back to the bar.
            “See if you can catch the waiter’s eye and ask for some crackers or something,” I suggested to Norm.
            I caught her eye. “Could I get some crackers, or bread perhaps?”
            She returned with some bread and butter. I scarfed it down. It was delicious, but I still felt ill.
            “Maybe some orange soda,” I told her.
            “We don’t have that. We have juice.”
            “Okay.”
            The juice made me feel better. She brought some more. I sucked it down too. But, later, after we returned to our hotel, the juice came back up.
            The salads we ordered were very slow coming—admittedly, they were busy—but delicious. I ate what I could, picking the parmesan crust off the salmon.
            I went to the indoor pool, hoping the cool water might revive me, but the man on our tour (a minister) who had been coughing all day was there. Nervous about the coronavirus, I was reluctant to get in the hot tub with him, unmasked, even though his wife said it was bronchitis. I felt bad for him, as he’d been too sick to enjoy much of the tour at all. He had a pacemaker as well, and was sensitive to the high altitudes.
            I’d hear Matt ask him one day, “How are you feeling today?”
            “Awful,” he said.
            Hard not to wonder if he has COVID-19. One day, when he was coughing constantly, he and his wife sat across the aisle directly from us. Perhaps, I was a bit paranoid due to having caught the virus the first time on a tour of Bordeaux, France.
            On August 6, it’s raining again. We go to the Fort Hall Trading Post, popular for travelers on the Old Oregon Trail. Norm and I stay inside, where there’s plenty to see, rather than braving the rain. I’m reminded of old country stores from Meme’s era, where they sold a little of everything, something I try to describe in the first book in my trilogy, Bell City Bottom. These stores served as a gathering and communication center for the community. Farmers could discuss crops and exchange gossip, and sometimes play checkers. Store owners would often accept items in trade instead of cash. Many stores boasted a phone, at a time before phones were in most homes.
            Here there are myriad tools on display, a miniature doll house, and more.
            Next, we head to Salt Lake City, Utah. We stop at the Great Salt Lake, and we enter the Utah State Capitol Building. It’s raining hard by the time we get to Temple Square. We learn about the Mormons a bit on the bus, and more at their History Museum. Because of the rain, most of the tour participants opts to go back to the hotel and bypass the temple area.
            Norm and I stay, enter the Assembly and the Tabernacle, and spend some time in the History Museum. I realize that Brigham Young replaced Joseph Smith upon his death, and we watch a film on a huge circular screen of the revelation that inspired Smith. The film moves in a way that makes me dizzy, then nauseated, but I recover. By the time we leave to catch our bus, I’m feeling better and the sun has popped out.
            This evening is our farewell dinner at the Salt Lake Hilton. Norm and I have salmon, salad, rice, and vegetables, with New York style cheesecake for dessert. We sit with a table of southerners and swap stories about travel. A couple from South Carolina recommend Vantage for Alaska, and I tell them about New Zealand and Fiji. I’ll definitely share some of those stories in upcoming blogs, as they are among my favorite places to visit. I’m scheduled to return to New Zealand in 2025 for the first time since the pandemic struck in 2020 while I was still there.