Rally in Riverton required masks, but at least it DID HAPPEN.

Riverton Rally.

Riverton:
We failed to reserve at Holiday Inn, proven good from earlier; we tried Riverton's Comfort Inn. Respectfully — first night was horrible. We got a room foreshortened by a niche containing an ice-making machine, which rattled and rumbled all night. Under the windows of this non-smoking room, we had an outdoor smoker's area, and one could practically never open the window. I had the impression the whole night that something in the room smelled faintly, but definitely weirdly. The source became obvious the next day, when workers trotted into other rooms on the corridor and began changing carpets. Ours had already been replaced, by a clean, new, beautiful — but industrially reeking one. We could not get the room exchanged in the evening, but now we hoped to get a different room, or have luck changing the hotel. Still we got up at four thirty (but for us, thanks to time zone change, it felt like three-thirty) for the balloons.

Bisons were determined to reach their destination.

Destination was a water hole - here, comparing a small calf and a bull.

Riverton Randezvous was one of the few ballooning festivals that were even happening this year. The rest of them got swallowed by corona-virus hysteria. Still even this rally got affected. For example, for every day of the two weeks preceding the rally, I had to fill out a form stating absence of cold symptoms, and swearing that I did not visit China. Fortunately I managed to convince them that one form per family was enough, since we share a household, and if any of us got sick, none of us could participate. Further, no public was allowed on the launch field. On one hand, it relieved us of having to watch out for some idiot lighting up a cigarette (hint — every balloon's basket contains two or three large propane tanks), from having to explain to over-excited children that one does not step on the balloon envelope fabric, and to their parents that rolling with baby strollers over a crown line (or any line) was not the best of ideas. On the other hand, we missed our typical merry audience, which outweighs problematic visitors many-fold.

Bisons beleaguered by tourists.

Hot springs form a cascade of pools.

The last annoying thing was mandatory wearing of masks. I can generally understand a mask in the basket (with minimum space to move, people breathing to each other faces few inches apart), but while running around a field, it seemed excessive. Still, these were the conditions for the event, and we had to accept them or stay out.

Having flown, the crew went to have a joint breakfast at Trailhead. We had dined there the previous night, but it's a proven restaurant. Then we tried to reserve a room at another hotel, but failed; so we tried to speak with the manager of the one we stayed at — and suddenly everything worked and we were briskly moved to the third floor, to a larger room, with an old (non-smelling) carpet, far from rumbling machines. We took advantage of this luxury and pretty much stayed in our beds for the rest of the day, kids in part doing things for school and relaxing — after seven days on the road and having experienced a lot, we needed to take a day off from our vacation.

The color of algae and cyanobacteria indicates water temperature; orange means average 85 degrees Fahrenheit..

A view to Big Horn River with people's baths.

The kids even refused to have dinner, and so Sid and I set out to check out the night life of the metropolis town. Ballooning is only a small part of local summer festivals and celebrations, and that particular day ended with a parade of vintage automobiles and a street party. Lots of people gathered in the streets, lined with "hot-dog" stands of many varieties, but from California we are sick of eating out from a paper bag, and we looked for a place to sit down. Eventually we found Brown Sugar, which presents itself as a coffee shop and roastery, but they also have very good food. So good that we did not regret stopping there, although service turned out to be very slow.

Getting up in the morning was difficult again, and on top of it we lost a magnetic crew sign on our way to the launch field, and that made us grumpy. And there was no flying that day, not even standing balloons up, for the wind was such that you would miss the skirt opening on the balloon with your "flame-thrower". So we reckoned that the freed-up time can be utilized to a sociable chat, and took Jeanne with Tom to a breakfast at Brown Sugar. The service was, again, incredibly slow, but it just gave us more time to properly cover all topics and plan with our pilots a trip extension to South Dakota. We had previously dropped kids off at the hotel, where they could get the hotel breakfast (included in price). Then we planned to sleep in a bit, and visit Thermopolis in the afternoon.

A view to the cascade and a wooden walkway from the bath.

Vacation.

Thermopolis:
There are two attractions in this small town — bison safari, and hot springs. We told ourselves we would first try the beef, should they be there, accidentally. Two years earlier, they were not, and we only spotted two specimens elsewhere by the freeway. This year we were rewarded by a whole herd, tamely roaming where they were supposed to be. Adults with several calves were crossing the prairie and to our delight headed to a water hole, where subsequently all splashed, drank and refreshed. First to leave the pool was an old cow, seemingly lame and dark-spirited — apparently she tried to give herself a head-start ahead of the herd, as she fell behind on the way to the water.

Being good little tourists, we first walked the top side of the hot springs, along the walkways all the way to a suspended pedestrian bridge over Big Horn. We found less water this year in the pools, but people were swimming in hot spring heated side of the river below, and we went there to join the fun. It was difficult to find a parking spot there, but we squeezed in somehow — even found a spot in shade under a tree, with a view of the river. Sid and Lisa did not feel like swimming much, Tom and I made it to a bend in the river. It does not seem much, but Big Horn River proper is icy and has a strong current, especially on the outer perimeter of the turn, and on our way back we were glad to reach the bottom and walk against the current.

Sunday launch.

Landing in the back yard of a supportive veterinarian.

Touristically sated and well washed, we went to have a dinner in a proven Thain restaurant in down-town. It seemed to us that the owners have changed, but food remained excellent, just as we remembered it, and it was another success.

Riverton:
Flying weather ensued on early Sunday morning, and balloons could begin to hover as desired. Jeanne landed at the end of town we have not seen before, and we liked it there very much. We chased and packed in the back yard of a local veterinarian, who seemed quite open to such fun undertaking. We also got a chance to speak with local mayor (who's grand-daughters got to fly), which was a very interesting experience — mostly because we met again a person very proud of their small town (ten thousand people) and its successes.

We had a breakfast at the hotel for a change, and then we packed for our trip extension to South Dakota. We had agreed to meet with Jeanne and Tom at a hotel in Hot Springs. Apparently they followed the same schedule, for we kept meeting on the way at rest areas, and arrived more or less together. They drove a bit slower, towing a balloon trailer, and we got tied up in Casper, where we in vain hoped to get our windshield fixed — a rock hit us near Lander and we did not want the crack to spread. Alas, the glass shop was closed on a Sunday — despite advertising emergency hours online. We reckoned we would deal with it in our next destination, and continued to Hot Springs.

Bisons in South Dakota, roaming free, without reservations and fences.

Four-legged bandits hold up cars and demand carroty toll.

We had a joint dinner in a more-or-less only local place, which doubles as a bowling hall. But the food and company was great. Night brought a crazy thunderstorm and rain, and we quickly ran to close it, once we realized we have been keeping our bus windows cracked open and venting. It does not rain much in California, and we keep our cars in the garage most of the time. South Dakota demonstrated such habit as unwise. When I came back to the room, Lisa sat on the bed nearest the open window and gazed, fascinated, into the stormy night. For an asthmatic living in California, fresh air is a miracle.

Black Hills:
In the morning we all piled into our bus — and we were not sure about Jeanne willing to go along, for there are people who would never again share somebody else's car on account of the black death coronavirus, but Jeanne is obviously not afraid of dropping dead on the spot, when being near someone who's not a family member (this journal being written with such a delay, we can confirm Jeanne has not dropped dead even several months thereafter, and instead is perky as ever) — and embarked on a loop through beautiful Black Hills. Accidentally, herds of free roaming bisons grazed alongside the road, and since bulls were coming into season, they made crazy rumbling noises. We continued on the Wildlife Loop, where the main attraction were wild burros (donkeys). Well... wildly... begging for treats in the road. One baby donkey was funny, having decided to make its stand in the middle of the road, and blocking traffic. It just stood there, you could see the resolve to not move — it will likely grow into a very strong and very strong-headed donkey.

Twins are unusual with wild horses and donkeys, but here both yourg and the mother made it.

Here is a practicing young donkey - surely will grow into a successful strong-headed adult.

A round trip covering pretty places took us through Needles — a beautiful area with rocks — but I have not seen so many crowds in a long time. One could not even park near Sylvan Lake, much less walk and see something. And the most famous spot was still ahead of us — Mt. Rushmore with heads of presidents carved into rock. At least there they are ready for lot of people, and have built a huge underground parking garage. Jeanne and Tom kept assuring us that the place was rather empty — while wading through tourist density comparable to downtown Prague. It got better on a path under the monument, a few hundred steps discourage a great deal of people. We could check out the four presidents - George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Theodor Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln from relative closeness. I was most intrigued by their eyes - instead of empty, dead eyeballs the rock is carved into likeness of real eyes that look like — "looking".

We stopped for a late lunch / early dinner at Firehouse Brewing in Rapid City. It started to rain lightly, and we pulled out jackets and Lisa was ecstatic. She kept enthused until morning, when she declared she was not checking out of the hotel and would not be returning with us to California. We assured her that we would not stay in the way of her desire, and that we noticed a sign in the hotel that they were hiring housekeeping, and suggested she'd go inquire. That took her aback a bit, but one thing stayed clear — South Dakota jumped up to the top rungs of a ladder of places we would like to move to.

We liked the landscape in Black Hills, South Dakota, very much.

Needles - beautiful, but hopelessly overcrowded.

We have been considering to move for several years, on and off, and on our trips we have always been looking out for signs, what would make sense and what would not, what is a priority for us, and what we could be without. But more about this next time — now we had a long journey home ahead of use. We began by trying to engage a local glass repairman, to let him fix our windshield — but he eventually did not; we had a feeling that he would prefer to remain in the virtual mode, waiting for customers being a lot less work than actually — working. So we let it be, thinking we'd stop somewhere along the way, and drove into Nebraska.

Nebraska • Wyoming • Laramie:
We de-factor only passed through Nebraska, and it surprised us on several accounts. First, we spotted beautiful rock formations — Scotts Bluff and Wildcat Hills. Then we realized we really did not find cities there, though according to maps we drove through several. It would seem that local habitation consist of an endless array of huge farms. Farmers are sure to shop, go to school and have their cars fixed somewhere, but apparently they have some secret ways to do it off the main roads.

From Nebraska we re-entered Wyoming again; in Cheyenne we pumped gas at the intersection of interstate freeways, and continued to Laramie, where we had spotted another glass repair place. Re-entering the freeway, we got illuminated by a big sign over the freeway, announcing a thunderstorm ahead. We did not understand much the significance of such statement, for the storm was visible on a horizon anyway. We got it in the moment hail the size of marbles began pummeling our car. By then we found ourselves in a stretch with no escape, not even under an overpass like we did years ago in Montana. Eventually we reached Laramie, even found the glass shop. When we told the repairman we needed a windshield crack fix, he said expertly, "so you went through the storm". We agreed we did, but assured him the storm did no damage; ours was from an earlier stone. So he let us have a look at a car that came just before us — dents in the hood, windshield smashed in five places — apparently we got ass-hat crazy lucky and skirted but a tendril of the hailstorm with marbles, not catching the main part with baseball-sized hail. The glass man then told us about three more customers calling ahead and coming down from their trip through that storm.

Faces stone and flesh.

Eyes of the presidents are carved so that they look and are not blind.

The windshield was to be fixed in an hour, and we ventured to a pub named Speed Goat. I'm sure you understand that given our affinity to goats we did not have much choice. Speed goat is an Indian name for the local antelope, and indeed, the animals look very goat-like. This convinced us that Laramie was a very civilized town — they'd fix our car without push-back, lady at the desk chatted with us amicably despite it being after hours, and they have a Speed Goat Brewery!

Going back:
Still we had to start biting off those many miles back home, and we had reserved a room at a hotel in a town named Rowlins. The hotel was... peculiar. It must have been a classic American motel at one time, with room entrances directly from an open porch. Then somebody thought it suboptimal for a windy place with cold winters, and glazed the porch over. Now, in ninety degrees heat, it formed a nice hot-house — and with porch windows not possible to open (for our safety, I'm sure), the rooms had individual air-conditioning, which, alas, vented into the glazed-over porch/corridor. Which, naturally, jointly with all the rooms, smelled like a monkey pavilion at a ZOO, hundreds of past visitors having marinated here in their own un-aired juices; it was strong and powerful! Eventually I discovered that back side porch windows could be cracked open to an inch, and it smelled less there, so we asked to be moved. Unfortunately we had no other choice; tried other hotels and they were sold out.

Young mammoth bones.

Mammoth jawbone with ribbed molars.

We drove through Utah the next day, where we — to Lisa's delight — got caught in another nice thunderstorm, and stopped for the night in Elko, Nevada. There the restrictions began to build up again, but we were still able to have a dinner out in a restaurant, and got a decent breakfast at our hotel, in a dining hall with tables, and silverware. When we pumped gas in Minden on the border to California, we were greeted at the station by an aggressive sign "no mask, no service" — regardless of the fact that there are people (e.g. asthmatics), who cannot endure a mask.

And it was to be worse; being deep in California when dinner time hit, we faced a hard lock-down — restaurants may serve food only outside. It was eighty degrees, and we had to sit out on a smelly parking lot, at greasy formica tables, slurping food from paper bowls and cups. How hygienic! Yes, we could have bought groceries, haul them for several more hours all the way home, and cook them by midnight, well...

This time there was no joy in coming back home from our trip, although we were gladly reunited with our animals, slept again in our own beds, and living in our own house. It was a return to the reality of a masked totality, full of nonsensical edicts and drunkenness of power.