You know you’re back in California when you start seeing billboards for medical marijuana.

We left Gold Beach, Oregon, this morning at 9 a.m., after talking a little walk along the shore. While not as scenic as the drive that proceeded it, there were still some breathtaking rock formations in the ocean, partially covered by fog, before we entered the never-ending Redwood Highway.

Trees that seemed to touch the sky. Lots of them. It went on that way for hundreds of miles.


The Redwood Highway

During the drive, I heard Daughtry’s “Home” on the radio and started to cry, remembering all the people and places we have encountered on this journey, as well as the family and friends who supported us to make the whole thing possible.

It has been an incredible seven weeks and through it all, my faithful sidekick Loren has been just about impeccable. I reached back and petted her on the head as she snoozed, her head on the pillow in the cab.

“I love you, boogie,” I told her. “I’m gonna miss you, but you’re going to have an awesome life with Cindy, your new mom, and your own home. No more driving hundreds of miles every other day. Your own place, for good.”

Blinking amber eyes stared back at me with their usual peaceful expression. Loren is such a love, I just know it’s going to take her no time at all to bond with Cindy. I’ll just be her cool aunt Michelle, who took her on a wild trip across the country. I’ve always wanted to be that kind of relative, like my own aunt Gigi, who took me to the Hollywood Cemetery on her Vespa scooter and the Hare Krishna Festival in Santa Monica when I was 10.

The redwoods soon turned into golden rolling hills with sprawling oaks. It was hot, too - in the 80s. No more coastal coolness. We were in Cali!

Going back to Cali, Cali, Cali...

On the southbound 101, just past the Garberville exit, I spotted two creatures running up the highway. It was a small border collie and a cattle dog. I pulled over and call them to my truck. They came at once, panting in the harsh heat, and happy to see a friendly human. They had collars, but no tags.

If I see loose dogs in a residential area, I tend to leave them be, unless they have tags, so they can find their way home, rather than end up in a shelter. In this case, there were no homes within miles, just lots of hot asphalt.

I called Nancy at Brittany Foundation.

“What do I do now?” I asked after telling her the situation.

“Call the police station or the fire station,” she said. “Call 911.”

My GPS gave me a phone number for the local sheriff station, but a voicemail answered, so I called 911.

“I found two stray dogs running up Highway 101,” I said. “I need to talk to the Garberville police.”

They connected me to the sheriff’s substation, which I found within a few minutes. I had put the dogs in the back of my truck, with a large bowl of water. Loren was unfazed by the commotion, happy to be in the air-conditioned comfort of my truck.

Once at the station, after meeting the officers, I noticed that one of their collars had phone numbers embedded in it. I left frantic messages for both and was told that they would be held in a small, local shelter until the owners were found.

I kissed the little black dog on the head and wished them the best, hoping I had done the right thing.

My phone rang two hours later. It was their owner, who was out of town. The dogs had been left with a friend and broke out of their backyard confinement. They were now safe with a different friend.

The owner was concerned because there was a third, a large white dog with black feet, that was missing from the pack. I prayed she turned up, but felt good that this story had a mostly happy ending.

"Thanks for the ride!"

We stopped in Ukiah so I could get some cash and the teller struck up conversation with me after I said I had lost my ATM card.

“Did you get it in the mail yet?” he asked.

“No, I’m traveling and it should be there when I get home,” I replied.

“Really…where are you coming from?” he said.

For the life of me, I could not remember where we had spent last night. Instead, I pulled out a postcard and rambled on about the overall road trip, that we were on our last day and heading back to Southern California tomorrow.

He took a look at our photo and was quiet for a minute.

“That looks just like my dog,” he said. “We had to put him to sleep last year.”

“Was he old?” I asked.

“No, he was only four, but he had lymphoma. He went from being 100 pounds to 60 pounds and couldn’t function,” he said. “It was the hardest day of my life.”

“I’m sorry,” I said with true empathy. Been there more than once and it never gets any easier.

“Can I keep this?,” he asked about the card.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Be safe,” he said as I left.

We arrived in Petaluma around 5:30 p.m., leaving me plenty of time for a 7 p.m. recovery meeting, which I desperately needed after going three weeks without, and to pick up dinner.

Here it is, folks…my last dinner on the road, an Asian shrimp salad from High-Tech Burrito in Petaluma, which I ate in the truck with Loren. Kind of anticlimactic, I know, but I needed to eat something slightly healthy after my Oregon pig-out sessions. It was pretty good, but I have to admit...salad is not my favorite meal.


Final salad

In our room, Loren and I played with a makeshift woobie, a packet of Kleenex, to release some of her energy. Poor thing had been in the car most of the day.

"Aaa haa!!!"


"You can't get away from me!"


"Gotcha!"


"Alright..."

Tomorrow, we head out bright and early. Home. For both of us. Different places, same meaning. A place where we can just be and be loved. For Loren, it’s been a long time coming. Her Independence Day.

Add seafarer to the list of Loren’s accomplishments. We went out on Michelle & Randy’s boat on Monday night and Loren handled it like a champ, not startled by the engines, nor the choppy water. She sat patiently by Randy’s legs, a canine skipper to his captain.

"Need some help, Randy?"

She even managed the metal grated ramp and rough surface of the dock with aplomb.

"Hey, I'm no dummy...I follow the food!"

We cruised briefly around the Everett harbor. The skies were clear, the sun was out, shimmering on the sea’s surface.


"Yo ho, yo ho, the pirate's life for me!"


"I smell seafood!"


Scene from the marina

Unfortunately, high winds made the water choppy so we docked the boat back at their slip to eat.

Michelle had fried up some local razor clams, which was paired with organic greens from her garden and her mom’s homemade potato salad. We cut up the clams with scissors, as they are too tough to tear into with one’s teeth. She and Randy had harvested them by hand on one of their many clamming trips.

Clams a la Vincent


The fantastic cook (right) and her appreciative friend

The Pacific Northwest life sure agrees with them and I find myself happy for my friend, if slightly envious. Besides the rain, living here must be really cool.

Loren and I continued our trek west on Tuesday morning. We drove through Seattle to Olympia and off to the 101, after glimpsing many empty logging towns. It’s sad, these little towns, which probably once thrived but now just looked empty and downtrodden.

After many miles of forest, we turned a corner and caught a glimpse of the sea below. Breathtaking. The Oregon coast looks much like Northern California - high, rugged cliffs with the sea crashing against them, then miles of sandy serenity, some cypresses appearing out of nowhere near the water. Gorgeous.


Scene from Highway 101, Oregon Coast


"Spectacular!"


"Whoa, that's a long way down!"

I had upgraded us to a king oceanfront room with a fireplace at the Fireside Inn and was delighted with the view from our front window. Black, flat rocks, the sound of surf, miles of trail. Perfect for us and the many dog lovers that stayed here - small dogs, big dogs, old dogs, they all enjoyed the endless trail that looped around ever-changing ocean views. At sunset, it looked "Wuthering Heights," without the romance or drama.


Scenes from our window at the Fireside Inn



This part of the trip has been about relaxing, winding down from our long adventure. I had looked at the atlas with my father while camping and was shocked as we added up the states we have driven through during our 50 days on the road. 29. That makes Loren one very well-traveled dog.

We went to Newport to view an old lighthouse. Loren went pee under a sign that said public restrooms and I smiled. She is anything if not polite. There was an awesome view of the bridge, one of many suspended over the ocean, an awe-inspiring man made sight against the natural background.

Yaquina Lighthouse


Man -made meets nature

I have finished two books, which I found at an awesome store called Half Priced Books near Mukilteo, and eaten many great meals, though I’ve been a bit scared to indulge in clams, as my mystery allergic rash has reappeared.

Still, when you’re in one of the great seafood spots in the country, you gotta have it. So, I had the Captain’s Platter at Luna Sea in Yachats, a small storefront with the freshest fish around - the owner catches it on his boat from local waters! The grilled halibut, scallops, and shrimp were delicate, spiced with just a little Cajun seasoning, and served up with hot crispy fries and refreshing coleslaw that boasted sweet, tart bits of apple within its depths.

Luna Sea


Captain's Platter

For breakfast this morning, I went to the Green Salmon, a funky, eco-friendly coffee shop that’s full of local hippies for “The Green Salmon,” a whole wheat bagel with Pacific Northwest lox, matcha cream cheese, ripe tomatoes, and piquant capers.

Green Salmon Plate from The Green Salmon

We brought it back to our room, so I could enjoy the last of our oceanfront view before we head off to Gold Beach, 172 miles away, for one night, then Petaluma on Friday night, before finally making it home.

On the way, I ate Green Salmon’s roasted mango cheese danish with toasted coconut. A thousand flaky, buttery layers surrounded the decadent, creamy center. Quite possibly the best pastry in the universe.

I am taking Loren to meet her new mom, Cynthia or Cindy, first on Saturday. Cindy is retired and lives in Valencia. She had seen Loren’s story in the Signal and put in an adoption application for her. Since she has owned a pit bull mix and a Rottweiler in the past, she is familiar with strong breeds.

“What made you want to adopt Loren?,” I asked her towards the end of our conversation.

“She just seems so sweet,” Cindy replied.

“Loren is a sweetheart,” I told her. “She is a very affectionate dog and likes a lot of attention.”

“Well, that’s good…since it’s just me, she’ll be the only one I have to give affection to,” Cindy said.

Cindy told me that she likes to travel a little, which is perfect, and that Loren will be able to sit on the couch with her at night and watch TV, which warms my heart. Loren is a total couch potato and likes nothing more than to snuggle with a person for hours on end.

Cindy already has a dog bed and a food dish for Loren, as well as toys.

“I saw from the articles that she likes her toys,” Cindy said.

“She does,” I said, touched.

I’m so happy for Loren. After two years in a kennel, she is finally going home. I’ll miss her, of course, but this has been my dream all along, that Loren finds her forever person at the end of our journey and I believe she has.


"What? I have a mom to come home to?"


"I'm so happy...finally!

After a good night’s sleep in our little makeshift home, aka Michelle & Randy’s trailer in Mukilteo, Loren & I drove to the Whidbey Island Ferry. I didn’t realize that we were supposed to be in the far right lane and accidentally tried to cut in line.

“YOO HOO! You need to turn around and get in back of the line,” the toll taker yelled at me.

Never having done this before, I was a bit embarrassed and a bit angry. It was unintentional. However, I’ve been taught to take accountability for my actions.

“Sorry about that,“ I said sheepishly when I pulled up to the same booth after 10 minutes of waiting. “I’ve never taken the ferry before and didn’t know how it was done.”

“Well, there are signs everywhere!” the woman said, with a phony smile on her face.

My own smile dropped. I hate it when you not only apologize to deaf ears, but are tried to be made to look even more stupid than you already felt.

She got the death stare from me and no response.

The toll taker looked at the magnets on my truck and Loren in the passenger seat.

“I see you do a lot for the animals,” she said, handing me my change.

“Yeah,” I responded flatly, after a pause, averting my gaze and holding my head up high. Loren has taught me this trick. Like, you have hurt my feelings and I won’t acknowledge you anymore. For her, it lasts about 10 seconds. For me, it can last up to 10 years.

There was a half hour wait, where we watched a drug-sniffing German Shepherd do his job and people get out of their cars for ice cream. We stayed put, not wanting to do anything else wrong or miss our turn.

It was strange to pull onto the ferry, which is basically a big, floating parking lot. When we pulled away from the dock, the sensation was one of not knowing if you were the one moving or watching something being moved away from you.


Scene from the Whidbey Island Ferry


"When does this thing stop moving?"

The ride lasted about 15 minutes, then we were on Whidbey Island.

My boss, Michele Buttelman of The Signal, has a part-time vacation home here, a charming farmhouse just blocks from the beach. I think I need to hit her up for a key next time I’m in the area!

Michele had recommended we stop at Seabolt’s for crab cakes, as they tout having the best around. It was about 38 miles from our ferry landing, which took us through woodsy landscape, small restaurants and business, and some gorgeous shoreline.

Seabolt’s was only 10 miles from Deception Pass, our ultimate destination. Inside, it was part restaurant/part seafood counter, with local fish on display and lots of happy customers eating fish and chips.


Seabolt's

I ordered the clam chowder and crab cake. The former was really delicious - rich, thick, stocked with a good amount of tender clams and potatoes. The latter was OK - a fat, puffy fried disc with shredded crabmeat and good flavor. After the Baltimore crab cake experience, however, it was something of a let down.


Crabcake & chowder

Tall redwoods began to appear as we neared Deception Pass, which also boasted a majestic lake on the way to the campgrounds.


Deception Pass Lake

My parents, Jim and Rosie, were already there with their two dogs, Annie and Sammy. I had warned them in advance that Loren wasn’t too fond of other dogs, as she had not responded well to Michelle’s English Setter, Cheyenne, when we tried to introduce them.

This was my first time meeting Annie, whom my parents rescued from an Idaho Falls shelter in February. She’s a cute little terrier, or terror, mix - feisty, funny, altogether adorable. Sammy, meanwhile, is an 85-pound golden shepherd or dingo mix my parents adopted from a litter of farm puppies in Colorado.


"Who's the new girl?"

He’s something of a gentle giant, though he can lapse into herding instinct on occasion and want to chase down small kids on bicycles and joggers. My mom has to be on guard when walking him, which is a challenge since she doesn’t weight much more than he does.

Sammy and Annie, experienced campers, were staked close to my parent’s trailer, so I placed Loren at least 20 feet from them. Sammy was giving her the eye for a while, partial curiosity, partial warning, partial lust perhaps? Overall, the canine campers respected each other’s space and barely bothered one another during our three days together.

"Hey Loren, this is how you camp!"



"What?"


"OK, I get it...zzzzzzzzzz..."

Michelle & Randy arrived later in the afternoon. Since they both are fisherman, my dad and Randy headed out for a quick trip to the lake while Michelle finished setting up camp. Randy must be a good luck charm, because my dad, who is notorious for rarely catching anything, brought back a trout, which he fried up as a snack.


Proud pops & his trout


As fresh as it gets...

For dinner, Mom had prepared spaghetti with homemade meat sauce, garlic bread and salad, while Michelle had made chicken marsala. I’ve decided that camping is awesome when you have someone a) feeding you great meals, b) letting you sleep in their well-equipped trailer and c) giving you tools and ingredients to roast marshmallows over the fire at night.

Loren & I slept on the pullout couch, getting our usual eight hours, snuggling extra tight. It was chilly out and a little damp.

"See, the trick is to get in bed first..."

The next morning, Michelle’s friend Kim arrived and we all went to the North Beach with Randy and Loren.


Beach girls Kim & Michelle

It was getting a little warmer, so Michelle and I got some sun at the beach while Kim and Randy went hiking. Loren, after sniffing and observing everything in her radius, finally took a nap under a shaded log.




Scenes from North Beach

When Loren arose, we went for a brief walk around the beach. A heavy, tattooed guy, probably a metal head or Aryan Nation member or both, who was with his family and a handsome bulldog looked over at us. I knew what was coming. The acknowledgement nod, something I experienced in high school when I saw another rocker type in the hallway. That almost imperceptible tilt of the chin, followed by slight knowing smile.

“Nice dog,” he said after the nod.

“Yours, too,” I replied.

I get more attention with Loren than I ever did with Jake, my black lab (RIP), who traveled many states with me. It’s something of a status symbol, good or bad, to walk with a pit bull. A slight edge. Especially if you’re a kind of secretary-ish white girl. Loren makes me feel secure and cool at the same time. Like, if I can handle this strong a dog, that somehow makes me tougher - perhaps a bit akin to the gangbangers that show off their burly pits to one another. Hmm.

Our evening was spent grilling, cooking, and enjoying each other’s offerings - mom’s broccoli and chicken casserole with fresh baked rolls (can you see where I get this eating thing from?), Michelle, Randy & Kim’s steaks and squash.

For dessert, Kim had brought along a double-sided flat iron to make what she called “pudgy” pies. 

“Rarely is food named after the effect it has on you,” someone observed.

“For good reason,” someone else replied.

Recipe: Take two pieces of buttered bread and in between the slices layer apple, cherry, or a combination of both pie fillings, then squash together in the iron.

Chubby gets the filling...

Then the press...

Kim and Michelle held the iron over open flame until the buttered toast was crisp and the filling nice and hot.


Then the flame...

Once relinquished from their iron prison, the pudgy was sprinkled with cinnamon sugar. Delish.


Voila! The finishing touch!

Almost as good as the camaraderie and conversation around the campfire. After all our time alone on the road, it was comforting to be with family and friends that felt that way again.


Happy campers Michelle, Kim & Randy



The silly Sathes - Jim, Michelle & Rosie


"So, these two dogs walk in a bar..."


"No one can resist my charms!"

We worked a bit of the evening’s feast off on Sunday morning, when Michelle, Kim, Loren and I hiked a few miles near the bridge over Deception Pass, while my dad and Randy went fishing and mom watched the camp. Later on I read, my second favorite pastime on vacation (can you guess the first?).


"Put down the book and pet me!"

Deception Pass is amazing - the sound water blue and green, the woods lush, the sky expansive, the smell fresh. I was told this was one of the prettiest places on the planet and I believe it.

 
View from the bridge

Driving close to 1,500 miles in three days wore me out. That and a rash that I determined to be an allergy, which required Benadryl, made me even more exhausted. The 170 or so miles to Coeur D’ Alene felt twice that, but we made it.

I had planned on staying at a budget motel off the freeway, but once I got a view of Coeur D’ Alene lake, I thought, no way. If you’re here, you gotta do it right. So I drove along the east side, praying to find a cute little lakeview hotel for under $100 a night, so we could just sit and look at the water.

Bennett Bay Inn appeared just a few miles up the road. I pulled over and not only were they pet friendly, they had a room for us! It was $85 with a Jacuzzi. Each room was decorated in a different theme, kind of like a mini-Madonna Inn. Ours was “The Roman Room” with faux plaster walls, tiny Grecian statues, and plastic vines in every corner. The Jacuzzi had pillars. It had a fantastic view of the lake. It was perfect.

"Nice digs, Aunt Michelle...



Comfy bed, too..."


Before passing out for a long nap, we went to O’Shay’s, a quaint little pub and restaurant with a patio just before the entrance to town.


"I'm loving the patio life..."

Our waitress, Sarah, was afraid of pit bulls as she had been bit by one when she was 20.

It was her brother’s dog, or something like that, and it was old, blind, and not familiar with her. When she came in the front yard, he jumped up and bit her in the hand, requiring several stitches.

“I don’t blame you for being scared,” I told her. “But Loren would never hurt a person, unless they were trying to hurt me.”

Sarah still kept her distance, though she was kind enough to bring Loren some water and provided me with great service. What can you say to someone who had that experience? I don’t know if I could be swayed to believe any differently than she did, either. You have to respect everyone’s boundaries.

In the evening, Loren and I sat on the patio and watched the sun turn the lake a shimmering silver before disappearing.

Coeur D' Alene Lake

The Bennett Bay Inn had several Adirondack style chairs and benches for us to lounge on and we had the place to ourselves.


Back of the Bennett Bay Inn

Though I originally thought Asheville would be my top town in the US to live after this trip, I think it has been replaced by Coeur D’ Alene. What a gorgeous place.

The next morning, we got up bright and early, taking a long walk along the paved bike path that encircles miles of the lake, which is the site for the Ironman Triathlon.

A.M. Lake


"Hey, you're having a decent hair day, Aunt Michelle!"

The docks groaned in the water like beseeched animals at times, making Loren cock her head.

Docks on the bay...

She sniffed and even jogged a little bit, looking up in fascination as a women with a big blonde fro of permed hair skated by us or when bikers would whiz by from behind.

Then we headed out for the 37-mile or so scenic drive. I had stopped by Java on Sherman first for provisions - a bagel with lox and cream cheese, a massive blueberry scone, and an Arnold Palmer. The drive was amazing, offering a view of the incredible bridge that perched above the lake, as well as some dazzling waterfront properties and the many boats docked alongside them. Mountains and water…there is no better combo for beauty and harmony, in my opinion.

Scenic shot from the drive...

The two-hour round trip had me worn out, so we took a three-hour nap this time, Loren snuggled up against me. We awoke around 4 p.m., so we went for another walk before going back to O’ Shay’s for a dinner of Shepherd’s Pie and salad. The pie was delicious, a huge slab of rustic mashed potatoes, vegetables, and savory ground beef smothered with a rich brown gravy. It comforted my soul.


Shep Pie at O'Shay's

I got Loren a cut up grilled chicken breast, so she was pretty pleased, too.

For dessert, I had spotted a homemade ice cream stand called Michael’s, so I pulled up for a vanilla scoop for Loren and a cookies and cream with hot fudge for me, which we polished off in the car before heading back to our place.

The night ended with us in the Adirondack bench, Loren laying by my feet as I read, before we retired to watch Wipeout and crash. She really is the perfect travel companion. Never a complain. Okay, so she’s occasionally stubborn about where she wants to walk and it can be annoying waiting for her to go (already), but other than that, Loren’s been the best.

I
"Best Girlfriends!"

t feels good to be back in this time zone, heading home. We made it 335 miles to Mukilteo, Washington tonight, where we are staying with my good friends Michelle and Randy, as well as her mom, Vicky. They made us a dinner of fresh clam chowder and made us a home in their RV, which we’ll also be staying in over this weekend at Deception Pass. My parents are meeting us there tomorrow night.

Yeah! Family, friends, nature, and good food. It doesn’t get any better than this…

We left Indianapolis with no particular destination in mind, just as far as we could get in Wisconsin in one day. I was in particularly good spirits, determined not to let my occasional homesickness get in the way of the present. Time will pass nonetheless. I better enjoy every minute.

This spirit held up until we hit Chicago and got stuck in two hours of traffic. In the rain. Having to pee like never before. It was miserable. Despite having fantasized about a few ways I might be able to relieve myself in the car without getting caught, I couldn’t go through with it and pulled over to a grocery store.

By the time we made it to Tomah, Wisconsin, my caffeine buzz was gone and huge clouds were rolling in.


Hurricane? Tornado?

As I checked into our hotel, it started pouring fiercely. The clerk said a town 20 minutes away had quarter sized hail and we should brace ourselves. While that never came to pass, the skies never really brightened until the next day.

We headed out bright and early for North Dakota. I was coveting a cheese store across the road and couldn’t believe my good fortune when they were open at 8:30 a.m. Wisconsin is not only a very pretty state, it has entire stores devoted to cheese! That’s awesome.

Love me some cheese store!

I perused the aisles and settled on some cheese curds, a garlic beef stick, and some caramel pecan clusters called “Snappers.”


Decisions, decisions...



The winner!

Loren gratefully accepted my offers of the first two, which sustained us until we made it to St. Paul, the skyline poking out in the distance, becoming clearer as we came to our off ramp to the Tavern on Grand.


St. Paul, MN

What a neat city. Lots of mature landscaping, brick, iron, and a really nice college town feel, which I’ve come to realize, is my favorite type of city (like Asheville). I found a shady spot for Loren and headed to the tavern across the street.


Tavern on Grand, St. Paul

Of course, I had to order the pike, as their logo says “Minnesota‘s State Restaurant Serving Minnesota‘s State Fish.”

As I ordered it, I asked the waiter a question.

“If this is Minnesota’s state fish, why do you import yours from Canada?” I pointed to the menu where it listed this information.

He smiled. “The fish from Canada is consistent in size and quality. We can’t say that about the fish from our lakes, unfortunately,” he said. “We serve the most pike of anywhere in the country. Something like 2/3 of the pike caught is sold right here.”

“Wow,” I responded.

The waiter recommended the pike grilled (it also comes fried or blackened) and I wasn’t disappointed. The flaky, delicate fish was moist and clean-tasting, lightly spiced, and enhanced with a good dollop of Bernaise sauce. Rich and buttery. Accompanied by simple grilled potatoes and vegetables, it was one of the best meals of the trip.


Pike, glorious pike, at the Tavern on Grand

Feeling better about the world, we barreled on to Fargo, North Dakota and stopped at a hotel. They said they were booked and I was glad to have a reason to leave. It felt weird, all that open space, that nothingness, filled in with big box stores and restaurant chains. People were lingering about the hotel, smoking. The whole scene said tweaker to me. We moved on.

About 50 miles later, though I was still amped on too many Arnold Palmers, I came to my senses and found us a place to stay. I know that weird state of thinking you can drive forever - I once made it from Portland, Oregon to home in one day, driving close to a thousand miles, and felt like I was hallucinating over the last three hours. Better safe than sorry.

The Super 8 at sunset - Jamestown, ND

The only room available had a Jacuzzi, so I ponied up an extra few bucks and took it. It felt like kind of a waste on just me, but I enjoyed relaxing in the nice hot bubbles before calling it a night.


"Enjoy the Jacuzzi...I'll just hang here..."

Loren seemed to love me again. It took a little coaxing to get her on the bed, but she jumped up, stretching out, letting me rub her belly until I heard her snore and drifted off myself. Slept like babies.

Driving from Jamestown to Billings was a challenge, especially without a Starbucks in sight, but we did it. Wide open spaces. For hours and hours. Huge sky. Massive clouds. It was pretty, in its own way, but not very stimulating. Thank God for the books on tape that I had picked up near Tomah. I don’t know how else we would have made it through.

Of course, there’s also the exciting side trips, like seeing “Elsie” the world’s largest Holstein cow, looming over a small town. The entrance gate was deserted, so we drove up the gravelly hill to see her up close. She was a big girl.

Elsie & the Toyota


"Not sure I like the big cow...let's go!"

Hungry, I consulted Gidget and we ended up in Ulin, which was three miles off the highway. It was almost a ghost town, save the few cars and people in Annie’s Place, a little restaurant that seemed to have all the post-church action. These were farm folk, plainly dressed, drinking gallons of coffee and enjoying a chat. They stared at me when I walked in, like I was an alien of some sort, which I probably was. I imagine they don’t get too many visitors.


Hello? Is there anyone home? Ulin, ND

I had placed an order for roasted chicken, took Loren for a walk, and when I came back it still wasn’t ready - they hadn‘t even started it. “Forget it,” I told the cook/cashier/owner, who seemed grateful that I cancelled. The smell of grease lingered on me for at least an hour in the truck. I found a Subway later on down the road, which was unusually satisfying, in a familiar, comforting way.

The landscape changed towards the Montana border as we passed the off ramp for the Theodore Roosevelt State park. It was beginning to look more like New Mexico and Arizona, the flat, leveled-off mountains in a kaleidescope of colors - red, green, beige, even purple. It made my eyes happy. Little patches of water began to appear, too. Now it felt like we were heading West and home. The time zone changed, too, as did the atmosphere - no more humidity. Yeah!


Montana...



We stayed in Billings the first night, leaving the next morning for Missoula, but had to stop for an oil change at Corridor Automotive first.

It seemed we found the most dog friendly service station around. Loren was warmly greeted with pets, smiles, and enthusiasm.

“We love dogs here,” Tom, the manager, said. “I have five myself, all rescues.”

“I get all my dogs from the Prison PAWS program,” John, the owner, said.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“They pair shelter dogs with women prisoners, who train them before they go into homes,” he replied.

“I love that,” I said. “What a great idea.”

“Yeah, it gives the prisoners something to do, something to care for and be compassionate about,” John said. “And the dogs that come out of there are fantastic, really well-trained.”

I took Loren around the block for 20 minutes while my car was worked on. The area was rife with rundown rentals and industrial buildings. We headed back to the shop, where Loren was presented with a bowl of water and some dog biscuits.

Tom’s wife Darlynn, a mail carrier, came in and saw my truck. “Think you have enough paw prints on there?” she asked, laughing.

When I explained what we were doing, she smiled brightly.

“I fought against the breed specific legislation they were trying to pass here a few years back,” she said. “I told them, as a mail carrier, that I had way more problems with poodles than pit bulls.”

“Did it pass?” I asked.

“Nope,” she said proudly.

“Right on,” I said.

Loren seemed quite at home at the shop, sniffing around, very curious, greeting everyone that came in.

“I think she wants to be your shop dog,” I told the guys.

They laughed and were happy to take a picture with her for our blog.

"Call me Shop Dog!"

On the way to Missoula, we stopped in Bozeman, another little college town with great restaurants and stores lining the streets. I spotted a patio adjacent to a funky little diner and pulled over to ask if they took dogs. They did, so Loren and I had lunch at the Garage Soup Shack.


"Another day, another patio..."

Considering the name, I had to order the soup - a rich, not-too-thick bowl of delicious clam chowder that had a little kick, along with a refreshing spring mix salad and a tasty grilled cheese with tomato and bacon sandwich. I snapped off the bacon ends and gave them to Loren, who, as usual, made herself right at home on the patio, charming the waitress and thwacking her tail like crazy whenever someone came near her.


Soup Shack Special

Snow-capped mountains begin to peak through the clouds and my heart lifted. I love that sight. It was cold, too, in the 50s and 60s, depending on whether or not you were in the sun, but I didn’t mind. Better than the heat.

After the 350 mile journey, we were happy to see our hotel in Missoula. There was a dog show going on, so we couldn’t have a first floor room - they were overrun with dogs and their owners! So, we went up to the third floor, Loren totally cool with both the stairs and the elevator.

As we went on our last walk of the night, a minivan with a traveling kennel towed behind it pulled up. There were five small compartments, each containing a spaniel of some kind, their people getting out to take them for a walk before checking in.

It struck me. The shelter dog was traveling in higher style than the show dogs. Funny.

 TOTALLY RANDOM PHOTO:

Gas station in North Dakota...or Montana...I can't remember anymore...

Is it me or is this a funny name for a gas station? Second only to the "Fit n Fahrt" - which cracked my dad & I up when we were in Germany. 

After our brief overnight in Charleston, West Virginia, we had a 400 mile trek to Indianapolis, where we were scheduled to meet with Christine, a friend of Stacey’s at Animal Farm, who ran the Indianapolis Humane Society.

Since we were heading this way in large part due to the breed ban in Ohio, I was horrified when Gidget was sending us towards a Cincinnati highway. So much so, I pulled over and actually consulted my Atlas. (Unheard of, for anyone who knows me well). I even asked a truck driver what to do, just to make sure I was on the right path.

The new route took us through Louisville, Kentucky, which looks like a really cool city. Lots of independent music stores, book stores, ethnic restaurants, and boutiques, surrounded by the lush Kentucky landscape and charming architecture. We stopped at Homemade Ice Cream and Pie Kitchen (!), which was in the Roadfood book, for a hummus and spring mix sandwich, as well as a piece of mixed berry pie, which I wolfed down on the Interstate. (Pretty good, but I would compete my own blackberry pie against it confidently).

Indiana wasn’t as flat or as dry as I expected. The rolling hills were less hilly, but the trees were still there. Loren and I rolled into town around 5 p.m. and stopped at West Park for a stroll. The area we stayed at, near the Pyramids, was very suburban and the park gorgeous.

West Park

A wooded path looped around a little lake, festooned with lily pads, ducks cruising along the surface. Loren, though hot, was fascinated by the new environment, sniffing along contentedly before the humidity took over. She took many a break, under whatever shade she could find. Taking her cue, I laid out too, for a few minutes and gazed upward. There’s something special the Midwest sky, so open, so blue, and today, big fluffy clouds abounded. It was beautiful.


"Break time!"

For dinner, I had to try a local specialty - spaghetti and chili - also known as four way with onions. That means meat sauce, cheese, and onions over pasta. It had a cinnamon tang, similar to what you find in Moussaka, which I found really tasty. I also ate a Greek salad, to balance out the damage.

The skies turned dark the next morning, when we went to Indy Humane. I was immediately struck by spacious play yard in the front, complete with a picnic bench and dog houses. Inside, the space was warm and inviting, cheerful even. We were greeted cheerfully by staff. Loren immediately made herself at home.

"Hellooo...I'm here!"

Christine gave me a tour. She only started there in December, 2008, but her passion and commitment were palpable, as Christine has been involved in the animal welfare movement for over a decade.

We looked at the cats first.

“The policy here used to be to euthanized cats with feline HIV, but we’ve instituted a new program and have adopted out eight since then,” she said.

Like all the shelters I visited, cat intakes were more than that of dogs, especially in the summertime, the peak of kitten season. Thought admittedly a dog person, I once had a cat named Pookie, a fat orange tabby I adored.

There was a young version of Pookie there, whom Christine interacted with.



My Pookie lookalike, getting TLC from Christine

Many cats were waiting in the back, until a spot on the adoption floor opened up.

Christine & the cats at Indy Humane

In the dog areas, I was happy and surprised to see many of the kennels empty.


A quality problem

“We had a huge level of adoptions this weekend and last,” Christine said. “We’re putting in calls to other shelters to bring their dogs here.”

One reason the adoptions were so high was a well-publicized puppy mill bust, which brought 20 survivors to Indy Humane.

“Those dogs were snapped up in no time,” Christine said. “Best of all, all our little dogs went with them, because of the publicity.”

Of the big dogs, a nine-year old purebred German Shepherd was one of the sadder stories. His owners, who claim they paid $15,000 for the dog and brought all his papers to Indy Humane, had surrendered him once they lost their home.

"Where did my family go?!"

On the opposite end of the spectrum, a trio of chocolate and black lab mix puppies played in an adorable tangle amidst their small crate.

 
"Hey, wassup?"

Thankfully, Indy Humane’s overall adoption rate is extremely high. Over 90 percent. Of the dogs they take in, approximately 10 percent or less are pit bulls due to their location as well as their demographic.


Indy Humane pit mix


Bulll breed? Hard to tell...

“Go to the city and the kennels are overflowing with pits,” Christine said. “We bring in a lot of them to Indy Humane, but have to be careful not to overdo it. Some of our long-term adopters don’t want to see high numbers of bully breeds. We have to keep it balanced.”

For the harder to place animals, Christine, a married mother of a three-year old adopted son, as well as four dogs, four cats, and fish, goes the extra mile.

“I’m up until midnight, looking at our inventory, trying to find foster homes, rescue groups, whoever I can find, to take our dogs and cats,” she said.

Several members of Indy Humane’s staff belong to a non-profit pit bull advocacy group called Indy Pit Crew, which provides training, free spay/neuter vouchers, and other resources to owners.

“We’ll offer people free dog food to get their dog spayed or neutered,” said Nina, Indy Humane behaviorist and Indy Pit Crew volunteer. “Whatever it takes.”

"Nina tastes good!"

Nina and Lisa, also an Indy Humane behaviorist and Indy Pit Crew volunteer, are proud parents of pit bulls themselves. Stella rides around with Lisa in her “Indy Pit Crew“ emblazoned SUV, cheeks flapping in the wind. Coal, a gorgeous gray and white bully taken during a drug bust, has a slight, silly underbite and awesome demeanor. So much so that his mama Nina uses him for temperament evaluations at the shelter.

“He gets along with everyone, he’s just a solid, solid dog,” Nina said.

Indy Pit Crew is just one way Indy Humane is partnering with the community to benefit its pets. Plans are in the works for a resource center, closer to lower-income target zip codes, that will provide pet owners with options other than turning their pets into a shelter.

Until then, Indy Humane is focusing on using online social networking, such as Facebook and email blast programs, to increase its visibility in the area and encourage its residents to adopt, rather than shop for pets. An “Adopt 500 Animals in May” campaign met its goal (slightly late, on June 4).

Tristan, Indy Humane’s communications manager, realized the power of online marketing before he went to work at the shelter. At his previous company, located in a lower income area, co-workers would often find stray kittens and dogs, especially pit bulls, in the parking lot and just beyond.

“I started posting them on Craiglist and also sending out emails to staff whenever a dog or cat would be found,” Tristan said. “At least a dozen animals were adopted out that way.”

We discussed the complex nuances of the animal welfare issue: education, low cost or free spay and neuter, providing owners with the resources they need to keep their pet, and what an uphill battle it felt like at times.

“It’s easy to preach to the choir,” I said to Christian. “It’s reaching those outside the circle that’s so hard.”

“Yeah, I know. A lot of people in this country don‘t understand why there‘s a movement to help homeless pets when humans are suffering, too,” Tristan said. “But I believe that we have to have compassion and recognize these creatures as the living, sentient beings that they are. Otherwise, what hope is there for us as a society?”

"I agree with you, Tristan..."

My feelings mirror Tristan’s. When we turn domesticated animals away or dump them or mistreat them, we not only violate their trust and right to a decent life, we create a far-reaching social problem with a shameful, unacceptable solution. The killing of millions of homeless pets each year.

I wish there was no need for me to volunteer at the Brittany Foundation or tour shelters with Loren on our road trip. I wish none of it existed. Unfortunately, like the abuse of children or the elderly and war and all the other horrible things in this world, the situation is manmade. All I can do is my little part to make things better. Be a part of the solution rather than the problem.

At Nina’s suggestion, Loren and I took drove to the downtown area and went for a stroll on the canals that start on 10^th street. What an oasis in the big city, the water calm and serene, surrounded by sidewalks and lawns on either side.

Scenes from the canals of Indy





Apartments and town homes faced the water. Couples walked by hand in hand, one lounging on a bench, the girl with her head in her boyfriend’s lap. An older man walked his small fluffy white dog. Joggers jammed by, Ipods in place. The scene was really peaceful, until a group of young teenage boys rode by us on their bikes.

One of them made a kissing sound when he spotted Loren. “I’d do your dog in the butt!” he screamed as his friends laughed.

OK, that was a first…and hopefully a last. I predict a lot of therapy in this kid’s future.

Craving something semi-healthy, I spotted a falafel place a half mile from our hotel and placed an order. As I waited, a man came up to me, commenting on my Indy Pit Crew T-shirt.

“My wife’s dog keeps having babies. I don’t know why,” he said with a smile.

“Well,” I said, trying to hold back my sarcasm. “You could have your dogs spayed and neutered.”

“Oh, I know. But my wife’s from the country and she’d never go for that,” he responded. “People in Rockville, where I live, want Yorkie puppies.”

“There are lots of great little dogs for adoption at the shelter, right here, at Indy Humane,” I responded.

“Yeah, but people don’t want to drive all the way out here and there aren’t any shelters where we live,” he said.

He continued to tell me about his dogs, his barn cats, the country way of life in general. I just stood there, growing slightly numb as one does during an unreciprocated conversation. Finally, the cook came out and handed the man his bag of food.

His parting comment shocked me.

“I appreciate what you’re doing,” the man said. “Things might change someday. It’s just going to take a long time.”

Hungry and tired, I took Loren for a potty break before going to the room. She was not ready to go back in yet, not only stopping in her tracks, but crossing her legs, too.

I was in no mood. After trying nicely to cajole her in the door, my food growing colder and my hunger increasing by the minute, I dragged her in.

Loren gave me a dirty look, a pout even, and for the first time on our entire trip, did not jump up on the bed with me when I called her. I tried and tried, but it was no use. She laid out on the floor near the foot of the bed instead. She was clearly over me.

I couldn’t help it, I was hurt. I cried. I was all alone. Thousands of miles from home. Without the comfort of my best canine girlfriend to get me through the loneliness.

I finally feel asleep, when the phone rang. It was my boyfriend, three hours behind in California.

“Loren doesn’t love me any more,” I said and explained the situation.

“Aw, you poor thing,” Wayde said. “You’re really alone, huh?”

“Yes,” I said sadly.

“Don’t worry, she’ll probably jump up on the bed in the middle of the night,” he said.

After we hung up, I went to the bathroom. When I got back into bed, there was a red and white lump laying near my pillow. I kissed her head and cried a little more. This trip was making me a little nutty.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.