The two guidebooks that have been our faithful companions both said Yellowstone was fifty-five miles up the road (and I mean North) from Jackson, Wyoming. So we started out this morning figuring to wander along the way but still arrive around check-in time at Old Faithful Inn, our home for the next two days.

We drove the length of Grand Teton National Park and then stopped at the entry to Yellowstone, having done our fifty-five miles. We asked where the Inn was and were told it was another thirty-nine miles inside the park.

This is what got me thinking about mileage and distance. It’s the same thing I recall from my travels in West Virginia. Mileage refers to the actual miles on the road from Point A to Point B. Distance refers to the amount of time it takes to cover those miles. Both Yellowstone and West Virginia are mountainous with curvy two lane roads where the speed limit is around forty-five miles an hour.

So another thirty-nine miles was almost as far as we’d already come; and, in terms of distance, it was another hour. I suspect this will be the norm for the next few days in Yellowstone. It’s a far cry from screaming down the interstate in Iowa where you can cover seventy miles in sixty minutes. Note to self: Chill out.

Earl said it more than once: “What a lovely day.”

And it was. Jammed packed with nature and history and art. And marvelous macaroni and cheese for dinner.

We started the day by driving into Grand Teton National Park and taking a side road to Kelly, a small residential community inside the park limits. Our guide from yesterday’s whitewater rafting trip lived in Kelly, so we thought we might take a look. It wasn’t that interesting. However, on the return trip to the main road we saw several pronghorns grazing. At the time, we didn’t realize what they were; so this didn’t turn into a photographic event. It did, however, alert us to be more vigilant to local animal sightings.

As for history, we took an hour trip around Jenny Lake and learned all about its past and its present under the guise of the theme, “Change.” We saw up close and personal (that is, as up close and personal as you can get if don’t plan to climb) the three main mountains in the Teton Range. We learned of forest fires and microbursts and avalanches. We saw trees embedded in the water and landslides scraping the mountain sides.

After that, Earl and I took a couple brief nature walks where photography was the prime reason. Then we headed to the National Museum of Wildlife Art.

It’s an amazing place, perhaps even more so because it isn’t particularly well known. But with over 3,000 pieces of art and sculpture – only one quarter of which is on display at any given time – it is a remarkable diary of how naturalistic art took shape. By the time Remington and Russell arrived on the scene in the 1800s, wildlife was already well advanced, thanks to artists in Europe.

Perhaps the most impressive work was called “Chief” by Robert Batemen. It is a life-sized portrait of a bison coming out of the mist, and it cannot be ignored. In fact, Earl and I bought a print to bring home as a souvenir of this trip.

Finally, we parked ourselves at Cafй Genevieve for a light supper. Earl had the macaroni and cheese of a lifetime, while I had a caprese salad and a crab cake. We both were stuffed at meal’s end and came home to our cabin to relax. Tomorrow it’s on to Yellowstone.

Where I come from the snake refers to Jay “The Snake” Cutler, starting quarterback for the Chicago Bears. Here in Jackson, WY, it refers to a winding river that can be both tranquil and turbulent at the same time.

This morning we embarked on a whitewater rafting trip down eight miles of the Snake River. At the put-in point, the water was almost glassy in its calmness. The guide gave us and the other adventurers basic paddling and safety instructions that hardly seemed warranted. In fact, one paddler asked if we were going to get wet.

We didn’t have to wait long. Around the next bend were the first whitewater rapids, and our inflatable raft began to pitch as the guide called, “Paddle forward.” The idea is that the “guests” provide additional rowing power through the rapids as the guide, in the back of the raft, uses giant oars to keep us on course. Otherwise, instead of our being in charge the rapids take over and can push a raft into the wall of the canyon or onto some rock.

There are varying degrees of difficulty for whitewater rafting, ranging from one to six. Did I mention that Grade Six is so dangerous that rafts such as the one we were on would simply break apart in such waters? But since there were two small children on our raft, I assumed we wouldn’t be anywhere near a six.

In fact, because of the drought conditions the rapids we ran were graded no higher than three this summer. We’d seen more challenging waters when we were first introduced to whitewater rafting in Costa Rica. There we even wore helmets in addition to our life jackets. And the safety instructions were more detailed.

Nevertheless, it was a great way to spend a few hours in the outdoors. And, yes, we did get wet. Soaked, in fact.

Today we left the comforts of family and headed to Wyoming enroute to the Tetons and Yellowstone. But there is much to see along the way.

In Laramie, we stopped to tour the Wyoming Territorial Prison State Historic Site, which was originally built in 1872 and, at one time, housed the infamous Butch Cassidy who spent more than one night incarcerated there.

After paying our admission, we were each given a pseudo-identity of one of the prisoners and were told to find out what happened to that person. It was a most creative way to get a tourist involved. Then we headed to the various buildings.

Restored in 1990, the prison still exudes the feel of the previous century. We saw the Warden’s quarters, the intake room in the actual prison, and the cells themselves. Imagine being confined to a 5x5x8 cell with another inmate. You each had a hammock, a small bench, and a common chamber pot. You were not allowed to talk; if you did, various privileges were taken from you. Your waking hours were spent in some form of labor that provided income to the prison to keep it going. Such activities included broom making, furniture making (depending on whether a certain inmate had carpentry skills), and musical instrument making (again depending on the population’s abilities). Ultimately, the warden obtained needed revenues by hiring his inmates out to local businesses. At $.75 per person per day.

There were approximately 1000 plus men and thirteen women interred here before the prison closed in 1903. One interesting aspect to today’s tour is that the life of the prison is described through the eyes of some of the inmates via their photos and biographies framed on various wall. That is how we learned what happened to our alter-egos.

Earl, alias James Brown, entered the prison at age 64 on a charge of forgery. He was sentenced to four years, but managed to escape before his time was up. Ultimately he was recaptured and sentence to thirty years and was paroled at age ninety-nine. Nobody seemed to know how long he lived after that.

My alter-ego was Minnie Snyder who, with her husband, was incarcerated for manslaughter; however, the evidence seems circumstantial. They were in a feud with a neighbor, Mr. Aldrich, and were ambushed by his men near Belnap Creek. Mrs. Snyder – who was handy with a gun – shot one of Aldrich’s men to death in the melee. She and her husband pleaded self-defense at their trial, but both were confined to the Laramie prison until paroled. By then Aldrich had taken their land.

After a wonderful time at the prison – who could say that back then – Earl and I returned to the office where we received “parole” papers and were sent on our way.

When we sold our big house on the river three years ago, the idea was to free ourselves from all the maintenance that lawns, docks, decks, fireplaces, kitchens, bathrooms, and you-name-its required. In turn, this would allow us to take to the open road more frequently with less concern about home.

Since then we’ve done several road trips. But now we are embarking on our longest one ever. Five thousand miles, four weeks, three suitcases, two people, and one Conestoga Toyota. It isn’t exactly roughing it across the Great Plains, but as we start I feel like a pioneer.

We’re headed west with the farthest destination being Yellowstone National Park, but we plan to stop at every tourist attraction along the way. That includes the Iowa-80 truck stop, of course, so Earl can have his fill of chicken fried steak, and I can laugh at it.
I’m sure it will be the first of many great times.

We’ve left our small condo in the hands of a caretaker and are on our way.