FLU SEASON 3: Dawn of the Daughters

LAUNCHING Sept. 1, 2023!

The conclusion to my pandemic/post-pandemic trilogy is about to launch. Officially it is September 1, 2023, but you can pre-order the Kindle edition now. Paperback edition will be available on September 1, too, so you will have something to read over the long weekend.

If you have read Books 1 and 2, then you know what's been happening and will feel right at home on page 1 of Book 3. Although the years aren't clearly spelled out, Book 1 covers roughly 2026-28 and Book 2 the adventurous year of 2028-29. If you haven't read Books 1 and 2, you could still jump right into Book 3 (roughly 2030-2103) and the characters will get you caught up on what's been happening. As a family saga covering the life of the main character, Book 3 is on the long side but reads fairly quickly in my humble opinion (148,000 words). Only my epic fantasy novel is longer (233,000 words). I've already started a "sequel" to the trilogy which will continue the story further into the future.

WHAT'S IT ABOUT?

Book 1 FLU SEASON: THE BOOK OF MOM
The pandemic of 2020-22 has ended, thankfully for us - but what if its worst days continued, extending to 6 years? Follow autistic teen Sandy and his sassy single Mom (& her tuba) as they flee a city in collapse for the hope of sanctuary with relatives in the countryside. But even there, chaos follows them and a crucial Plan B takes them to other relatives' homes, then to an island sanctuary where they hope to wait out the pandemic.

Book 2 FLU SEASON 2: THE WAY OF THE SON
Sanctuary from a pandemic is only good if you can stay there. Rules are harsh, jealousy abounds. When Sandy and his young family are exiled from the island, he struggles to find a way to save them while they face the worsening situation in years 7 and 8 of the pandemic. Without Mom to guide him, Sandy must take on all the responsibilities for their survival in the lawless outerlands. He tries his best but the best-laid plans seldom go as expected.

Book 3 FLU SEASON 3: DAWN OF THE DAUGHTERS
There is no safe space - except maybe hiding away in the forest of a national park. Sandy and his young family settle in a dug-out home and life is briefly idyllic. But when others have the same idea, Sandy's family faces a variety of new opportunities and challenges. While Sandy gets caught up in the civil war between North and South, marauders harangue the survivalists in the national park. As the post-pandemic world starts to recover, it is Sandy's daughter who must carry the family forward, no matter the difficulties she must face protecting her mother, sisters, and their daughters.

You can click over to the series page here, or to the Book 3 page here to read a sample. But I'll give you the first 2 pages right below here. Then you can click over to get a copy for yourself. (I prefer the paperbacks so I can carry them around and show them off to everyone, but that's me.)

The narrator in Book 3 is Isla Augustine Baumann, born in a later chapter of Book 1 and carried around through Book 2. In Book 3 she tells the story of her parents, her siblings, the friends and enemies she encounters. Starting at age 2, she takes us through the full experience of living - or trying to live - in a collapsed society bent on rebuilding but not quite there yet. Nothing will be the same as it was before the 10-year pandemic. That age is finished, forgotten. And with Isla at age 79 so is the oral history of that awful time.

The FLU SEASON trilogy could be seen as science fiction because it deals with a situation in the near-future. It could be classified as dystopian fiction because of the way society falls into ruin and how people must struggle to survive. It could also be called a family saga because it covers about 80 years and four generations of the same family. In these days of genre smashing, I think I've achieved a satisfying melding of all of them - with natural humor and occasional joy as much as horrors and sacrifices. While there is no message in particular I wish to push in this novel, the characters repeat a few that they take to heart - but I'll let you come upon them on your own. I do not take sides but allow Good and Evil to spar on a neutral stage for the entertainment and possibly enlightenment of readers.

I sincerely hope you enjoy reading this dramatic trilogy. If you do, please leave a review on the Amazon page and tell your friends. I appreciate every reader who takes a chance on whatever I create. Thank you!

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(C) Copyright 2010-2023 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

THEN & NOW

The Journey is Complete

Now that FLU SEASON 3: DAWN OF THE DAUGHTERS is finished and available for pre-order (delivered to your Kindle on September 1, 2023; paperback also available on that date), I can shift from my summer travelogue to a reflection of the writing life. It's been a long journey and, like the tip of an iceberg, most of you don't see everything going on beneath the surface of 'Here's my book, please read it."

THEN

How It Started

Even as a young boy I was annoying. I made up stories. Some were like stories I read or saw on TV (having 3 channels), but others were invented from thin air. I liked playing in situations that were not available in real life. It likely began when my mother, a church organist, insisted I attend church every Sunday morning. Bored, I drew on pads of paper a kind of story that was more like a comic three panel strip. After the service, I would give the comic to the pastor on our way out. Sometimes I didn't get to give the paper to him so I kept it. At school I made up stories, partly recounting stories I'd read. It was a way to be popular. This was long before video, computers, games, or cable TV. One 66-page single-spaced story of mine that was a variation on "1984" was passed around, on typed pages stapled together, among friends in my high school and garnered a lot of praise.

In school I always excelled at English, especially when we had to write a poem or a story. Teachers praised my stories and I grew emboldened. In real life I tended to see myself moving through an imaginary world populated with annoying real people getting in my way. Gradually I matured and took on the roles expected of me in society. But I continued to enjoy imagining different scenarios. I wrote some of them as stories, mostly with a fantasy or science fiction theme. This continued up through college. My only limitations were how much pounding the manual typewriter could take (later an IBM Selectric) and the cost of ink ribbons/cartridges. 

I had one grand story in my head when I went to Japan to be an English teacher and I finally got it out and onto a floppy disk - several of them as each file could only hold one chapter. I printed it out on the dot-matrix printer I had, bound it at the local copy shop, and put it on my shelf. It was a monument of sorts. I thought that sci-fi tome might be my ticket to the kind of life I'd dreamed of: author. That was THE DREAM LAND (first version completed in 1990). But with more years in Japan, I also crafted a contemporary literary love story drama set in Hawaii and Japan. It took a few years but eventually, with revisions, I got it published as AIKO.

Thanks to the notoriety of the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award competition, which I did not win, I was noticed (thankfully or not). After a few detours I managed to get my first novels published. All were written before the ABNA but I still revised them thoroughly. First of these was AFTER ILIUM, a short novel I offered as a test (first written in 1998). Next came my steampunkish interdimensional sci-fi tome, THE DREAM LAND (which went on to become a trilogy). Then my MFA thesis, much revised, came third: A BEAUTIFUL CHILL, a campus affair anti-romance (written in 2000-02). My actual first-written novel, YEAR OF THE TIGER (from a 1980 short story and a 1983 screenplay; first novelized in 1987), remained on the shelf until I had time to give it a serious rewrite, then finally published it during the pandemic era when people needed lots of reading material (2020).

Between these first four novels and my present trilogy, I wrote an arctic adventure, an epic fantasy, a vampire trilogy, a modern crime thriller, and a hard sci-fi novel with a non-human as the main character. Then I sat around thinking what to write next.

NOW

How It's Going

I've just finished the third volume of my pandemic trilogy. Three books in two years. Very proud of myself. Not in a boastful way but simply amazed I could do it. I've blogged about the origins of this trilogy in other blog posts. Suffice to say, a lot of pressure is now off of me. I would hate to announce a trilogy and then not get that third book finished. But I did, and it turns out to be my second-longest novel (148,000) after my EPIC FANTASY *WITH DRAGONS (233,000). It's long because it covers a lot of years of the main character's life (age 2 to 79). Not good to just say "Grandma was born and got married then had kids and grew old and died." Not too interesting that way. So I wrote out many of the episodes in her life - as you would expect for any family saga covering three-plus generations. (I believe, however, that it reads fast; lots of action and dialog vs long descriptions, etc.)

Now what shall I do? I have other unfinished book manuscripts to work on. I also have some short stories I might put together in one volume. I have a lot of poetry, maybe enough good ones to make a thin chapbook. I've dabbled on a kind of autobiography but not sure how much to share. I've started a sequel to the FLU SEASON trilogy (Isla's youngest's story). But no matter what I do in these final restless years, I've completed my third trilogy, the trifecta, and that might be my crowning achievement.

TO RECAP

The FLU SEASON trilogy begins in the sixth year of the pandemic that started for us in 2020 and, thankfully, ended in 2022. But suppose it didn't end and all of the worst experiences we had then kept going and got even worse? Eventually life becomes so unbearable that a single mom and her autistic teen son choose to drive out of the city with her prized tuba, hoping to wait out the pandemic in the countryside by staying at the grandparents' farm. 

Book 1 THE BOOK OF MOM

When autistic teen Sandy & his single Mom flee a city in chaos they find plenty of dangers in the pandemic ravaged countryside. Gathering relatives, they arrive on a resort island, believing they are safe there but they are confronted by a community with extreme utopian views.

Book 2 THE WAY OF THE SON

Sandy and his young family are exiled from the island and must find sanctuary in the savage outerlands where there are no laws and it's every desperate person for themselves. But Sandy has a plan, what he calls 'The Way of the Son' - definitely not the way his mom would go.

Book 3 DAWN OF THE DAUGHTERS (preorder; delivered Sept. 1, 2023)

There is no safe space - except maybe hiding in the forest of a national park waiting for the world to return to normal. But when others have the same idea, Sandy's happy family faces a variety of opportunities and challenges. As the pandemic world recovers and the country erupts into civil war, it is his daughter who must carry the family forward, no matter the difficulties she must face.

NEXT: More about FLU SEASON 3: DAWN OF THE DAUGHTERS

ALL BOOKS ALSO AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK!

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(C) Copyright 2010-2023 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

On The Road Again - 8

My Summer Road Trip, part 8

The hardest part of any endeavor is the end. As a writer, deciding when to end a story, much less a novel, is hard. Deciding when you've said enough and any more would detract from the whole is hard. This includes going on a trip. When have you had enough?

As I traveled I devised bigger plans, grandiose ideas, lofty goals. Yet by the time I had checked off the main destinations on my list, I began to feel anxious and eager to return to the comforts of home. I could've gone farther. I had enough money and maps. Gas prices were tolerable. I was wracking up hotel points. But settling into my hotel in Missoula after a long day going through Glacier National Park and the Flathead Lake area, I knew the end had come.

Awaking to a sunny morning with clear skies, I chose to head east rather than west and called it quits. It would still take two or three days to get home, so I chose a slightly different route than what would've been the most efficient. I continued my pattern of revisiting places first seen in my childhood (reported below). I drove on the accursed I-90 gauntlet back to and through Butte, with the same rocky formations on mountainous curves I dare not try to photograph while driving! I continued on to my second home, Bozeman, and continued on to Billings and turned south as the highway bent, aiming for Wyoming.

I needed gas and stopped at Hardin, MT, close to the Little Bighorn Battlefield Memorial, part of the Crow reservation. After filling my vehicle's tank, I spied a Taco John's and decided to grab lunch. Same item at each location where I ate: the super burrito combo. I must say, this out of the way location was surprisingly good in both the experience with staff (the manager definitely Crow, the staff mixed) and the high quality of the food. I would give it my top score among all the Taco John's on my trip. Excellent!

From there, my destination for the night was the same hotel in Sheridan, Wyoming, just over the border. The next morning I continued on but unlike my west-bound trip coming from Devil's Tower through Gillette, I continued south through Casper - where my 2019 trip troubles began - and veered off toward Nebraska. 

Coming south in 2019, I planned to stop at Casper for the night, but no, the city's hotels were full due to the state baseball tournament. So I drove on. Same, same. I got tired of stopping and checking, decided to go on to Cheyenne. But Cheyenne was full, too, because of the rodeo being held there. Thus, as dusk settled around me, I fill up the tank, grabbed a sandwich and heading south into Colorado. But I quickly discovered the interstate going to Denver was a hellish mess of construction - at one point all traffic was forced to exit the interstate for a detour through back country roads and out to the highway again; I could not have found my way in the dark if not for following everyone else. I thought of stopping, did stop twice, no rooms, continued on until I was arriving in Denver late in the evening. I saw the exit for I-70 and took it, heading due east to Limon where I got the last hotel room (a family suite) but damn glad to get it. In total I had driven from Great Falls, across Montana to Billings, spent 90 minutes at the Little Bighorn Battlefield, then ended up driving all the way through Denver to Limon near the Kansas border. Whew!

I refused to go through Colorado again and took the exit to a state highway that took me to Fort Laramie - near the Nebraska border, far from the city of Laramie in the south-central part of the state. I visited this historic site as a boy, maybe ten or eleven, the perfect age for playing cowboys and cavalry. This time, many years removed, I was surprised to arrive and see the roundabout that took visitors to the site with souvenir shops all around the circle. It jogged my memory! The same place as many years ago. I remembered that roundabout being there way back then. I didn't tour the site again but had a good look. Then I continued on until I entered Nebraska.

Now, folks like to say that Kansas is the most boring drive in these here United States, but lemme tell ya, it's actually Nebraska. That I-80 might be a humdinger of a road over in the east but once you get outta Omaha it ain't nothing to write home about no matter what postage is these days. It almost put the orange-barreled I-90 to shame! Yessiree, I-80 crossing Nebraska is a sight to unsee. But arriving at Scottsbluff, however, there were some sites to see: the geologic formations the area is famous for. On a carefully unfolded paper map you might notice how the Badlands of South Dakota kinda continue southward across western Nebraska and reach this southwest corner.

I continued on, as is my tendency, and decided to stop for gas at Ogallala, NE, where the tall signs tooted $3.04 a gallon. I pulled up to the fanciest of the stations around that exit and found the price was actually $3.74 per gallon. Don't know what the problem was but that ain't right. Collusion, I suspected. Well, I was too fed up to care and filled it anyway. Just for curiosity's sake I went over to another station: same deal with the price difference. Next, I slipped over to the Taco John's there, which was drive-thru only because of a sign on the door saying "short staff" - though I suspected there were no height requirements to work there.

And I continued on, soon realizing that I would not get all the way home by tonight - unless I was willing to drive in the dark several hours. The route I planned to take not being familiar to me, I chose to stop in North Platte for the night. The next morning I continued on, turned south at York to enter Kansas, and made my way to Concordia where I stopped for gas and lunch. More hassles at the pump; I'm supposed to know exactly how much gas I will put into the tank so I can pay in advance rather than swiping my card at the pump? Ridiculous. I guessed low and got $20's worth, which miraculously got me home. I also went to the Taco John's down the street - which was the worst of all of them I stopped at, measuring the condition of the place, the service, and the quality of the food.

Driving on, I encountered more of the orange-barrel curse, plus a few jerks driving aggressively along the gauntlet, cutting me off at one point to get in line ahead of me, including a well-placed finger to indicate their undying love. Mindfulness, baby, mindfulness! And soon I recognized the wonderful exits of Salina, KS, which meant I only had a couple more hours to go. I breathed easy, enjoying the sunny afternoon as I arrived home. I collected a big batch of mail from the box and ordered pizza delivery for dinner, believing I had definitely earned it.

NEXT: The trip is finished so I will shift over to the launch of FLU SEASON 3: DAWN OF THE DAUGHTERS, the conclusion to my pandemic trilogy on September 1, 2023.

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(C) Copyright 2010-2023 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

On The Road Again - 7

My Summer Road Trip, part 7

No, wait! There's more! What can one do after destroying Bozeman and flirting with Yellowstone? Go north, young man! 

(Tip o' the Day: You can click on the pics to enlarge them.)

So I went. After a study of carefully unfolded paper maps lain across my hotel bed, I determined my next move in the great game. I got on I-90 once more, that accursed strip of asphalt, so orange-barreled and too much single-laned, and finessed a drive to the headwaters of the Missouri River. 

Now, the truth is that there are three rivers coming down from the mountains but it is not the Missouri River until the three rivers converge. Only then can we call it the Missouri River as it snakes north to the city of Great Falls and then east across Montana and into North Dakota and down into South Dakota, past Pierre (where I saw it) and by the "Dignity " statue at Chamberlain (where I crossed it), and down to Kansas City on the Missouri side where I once lived and often crossed and on this trip had crossed it, and on to St. Louis where some say it joins the Mississippi River but others (I'm talking scientists) say the Missouri River's current is stronger and so they believe it continues down to New Orleans as a single flowing river, old amateur geographers be damned.

I went to Three Forks, the place where the Gallatin, Madison, and Jefferson rivers meet and give us permission to call it the Missouri River - but in Montana. I came, I looked, I snapped pics. Then I drove on.

About the most scenic area I traversed on this long road trip was approaching Butte, Montana from the east, then exiting Butte going north, and later arriving at Butte from the west because of the mountainous terrain the highway winds through. Dramatic rock formations abound - more dramatic if you take your eyes off the steep up and down grades and curving pavement to take a look at the rock formations! I looked, but there was no way I could hold up a camera or my phone to snap a pic, as much as I wanted to. So you have to trust me.

From Butte, I headed north to Great Falls. Back in 2019 when I drove down from Canada, I stayed in Great Falls. Then I drove east across the vast grasslands to Billings and on home. That drive was part of the reason I wanted to return. Oh, I expected the falls to still be there, but I had missed all of the mountain scenery. And we definitely want mountain scenery. And as I tried to replicate that 2019, I stayed in the same hotel and ate at the same restaurant for dinner. I did not, however, go further into town or stop to see the falls again (picture is from 2019).

Then I headed north, truly north, into the far wilderness, a road so isolated that I thanked my lucky stars I'd visited the Jiffy Lube earlier. Eschewing the interstate highway for a serviceable state highway, I gradually veered to the west until I could make out the mountain range that formed Glacier National Park. Until then, it was all grassland but with a dark overcast that lent drama to the drive. My plan was to traverse the park, as the highway went, again winding through mountain valleys. And, if I could, to turn deeper into the park for the more dramatic views I sought, ever the dramatic viewer wannabe.

As it turned out, the famous road through the towering peaks had just opened the previous day. I showed my Senior Lifetime Member card and was whisked blithely through the gate with a smile and a tip of the ranger hat. The "Going-to-the-Sun" Road is a splendid two-lane mountain highway, around 50 miles long, the only road that crosses through Glacier National Park. At the height of 6,646 feet, it crosses the Continental Divide via Logan Pass, which is officially the highest point on the road. It is not the kind of road you speed along; the turns are wild. Again, I did not have the luxury of driving while snapping pics. I could stop a few places, but once on the road you had to keep going, having plenty of other vehicles behind you. 

So I drove, patiently and carefully, so I would live to read another colorful paper map. Eventually our line of vehicles came to the famous lake everyone takes pictures of, and I followed suit, because who am I to go so far and at such great effort to merely look and not preserve for later the image gathered in my eyes and interpreted by my brain to be a mountain lake - or, to be more accurate, a lake among the mountains, with an isle in its center, a place forbidden to non-swimmers such as I who also possess neither boat nor kayak. Sometimes the gods, they mock you!

When the day began, I expected to stop the next night somewhere on the west side of Glacier National Park. I had checked places in Whitefish, Kalispell, and even Polson at the south end of the large Flathead Lake. But I arrived on the west side of the park quite early. I should have taken more time to hike into the shade of the forest, call out some bears, and maybe step into a quick rushing stream for some fishing. That would have used up most of the day - and possibly ended my trip rather quickly. I did, savvy blog readers will be happy to read, stop for gas and a Taco John's lunch in Kalispell. Then I drove on, pausing at a dockside restaurant to not eat but photograph the lake. 

On my judiciously folded paper map, I noted the National Bison Range on my southward route, but when I got close I missed the sign and the turn-off and, thankfully, also missed the bisons. And continued on.... 

For the previous few days I had debated how far I would go on this trip. I wasn't limited by anything more than my own fatigue and interest. I thought I might continue on to the Pacific coast and lollygag on the beach somewhere. I saw I could reach Coeur d'Alene, Idaho easily for the night, then Spokane, and a long day crossing Washington. But my lack of stopping in Kalispell for the night threw off my schedule such that when I got to the bison range (actually, I missed it), I was tired and decided to just give it up and start back home. 

So I mounted that I-90 strip of paved civilization and turned not west, not north, but southeast and eventually arrived in Missoula for the night.

NEXT: The Road Home

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(C) Copyright 2010-2023 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

On The Road Again - 6

My Summer Road Trip, part 6

I wasn't planning to visit Yellowstone National Park on this trip. However, once I got my Senior Lifetime Member card, the parks' the limit! I knew Yellowstone was near Bozeman, me being a map geek, so it seemed like something I should do, especially as I had begun sending selfies to my cousin by way of boasting about the many places I was visiting. A shot of me at Old Faithful would only add to my cousin's aggravation.

But first an oil change! Feeling a bit dry in the first leg of my travel, I thought I'd better get loaded up for my next adventure. So, first thing in the morning, I waited my turn at the Jiffy Lube in Bozeman, arriving before they opened but still only third in line on a Saturday.

Then I hit the road, driving south into the mountains, along the river, with a short stop at Big Sky to see what all the fuss was about (ski resort town), then creeping into the borders of the park as the highway went. Finally I arrived at the town of West Yellowstone where I met the tourists at the intersection of souvenir shops and amusements. The line to enter the park wasn't too bad - early in the season, recently opened - and I could use the member card line to speed past many of the folks who hadn't planned ahead. I had no particular agenda; indeed, if not for my Senior Lifetime Member card, I would feel obligated to make full use of my time in the park just to get my money's worth of the entrance fee.

For those of you who do not know, Yellowstone is the largest of the national parks and covers a huge area, mostly in northwest Wyoming but partly in Montana on the north and west sides and a little of Idaho on the southwest side. The whole thing sits over the hot spot of an ancient volcano. Hence, all the geysers and other geothermal activity. In fact, geologists are expecting it to erupt again rather soon. 

Trivia: I used the coming eruption as a point in my futuristic dragon-heavy epic fantasy novel; the effects of the blast were felt as far away as the future remnants of Pittsburgh, PA, drying up the Ohio River and reshaping the landscape of the story - 8000 years later.

But I digress....

I had my map and I had my plan: get a selfie at Old Faithful to send to my cousin. So I followed the line of cars, moving at a steady clip, into the park. At times it didn't so much resemble a park as a wilderness. Plenty of forest and meadow with lots of elk out showing off. Fishermen along the stream. Finally arriving at a big intersection, I determined that everyone in the park today would be converging on Old Faithful, so I made a command decision to go the other way. That other way sent me north, ultimately to the north entrance and homeward. But I still had quite a way to go in miles - and dramatic mountain scenery I did not anticipate.

One reason I didn't plan to visit Yellowstone was because I had visited it as a boy on a family vacation trip. We did stop and see Old Faithful erupt then. For a young geologist wannabe, it was impressive. We waited for a second eruption. I couldn't remember exactly what our route was back then but as I drove north toward Mammoth Hot Springs, the resort town at the north end of the park, I didn't seem to remember seeing the area previously. At the end of the day, I was glad I visited the park again.

Glancing at my official park map, handed over gleefully to me by the pretty park officer at the entrance, her hair tied back in a tight bun, smiling at the presentation of my Senior Lifetime Member card, I noted the places to stop and see something. I needed a place that would scream "Yellowstone" so my cousin would be further annoyed. I considered stops here and there as I followed the other vehicles. There were places to pull over and others stopped, but some spots did not have (in my humble estimation) an easy in and out compared to the relative suitability of the location for photography (i.e., worth the stop?), so I drove on. I decided my best chance to get a good selfie with a background that would shout "Yellowstone" was what they called the geyser basin. A multicolored "hot pot" was the famous subject there.

I pulled into the parking lot, hit the lavatory, and hiked down the trail to get the view of, yes, a basin full of spouting vents. A vast field (definitely not a grassy field!), like a desert. With gas. I've always been sensitive to sulfur (Hawaii was a smelly experience for me.) so I cringed at the families taking their babies and toddlers in buggies down the trail. I could barely stand it long enough to take a few pictures. Then I returned to the gift shop and bought another, better map and a water bottle - a Montana brand which were in aluminum cans.

Continuing along the steep mountain roads, I eventually arrived at Mammoth Hot Springs. The grounds around the rustic hotel and shops were spotted with very tall elk making their way at a leisurely pace over to munching patches further afield. Everyone drove slowly to let them pass. I took a wrong turn trying to continue north and found myself instead heading out east to the northeast entrance, which would be much too far in the wrong direction. So, after a couple miles, I found a spot to make a U-turn and head back the way I came. 

As I approached Mammoth Hot Springs again, I had to stop for a huge mama elk who paraded onto the roadway where she paused as if playing crossing guard. Then, after checking me out, making sure I'd come to a complete stop, she glanced back over her shoulder and out from the brush bounded a little elk kid, as cute as could be! Both continued across the road and disappeared into the brush. There were other elk nearby that I managed to get pictures of, being stopped to let mama and child pass.

Then the real adventure began! The road continued north, but it began twisting and turning to hug the mountainsides and I was forced to view dramatic scenes of sharp drops and rugged slopes. There were few places to stop for pictures but one I did pause at was so crowded that many cars came close to bumping into each other as they jockeyed for parking spots. Otherwise, I thought it best to focus on driving the challenging road rather than trying to also snap a photo. Thus, I don't have a lot of pictures of that scenery.

The route winding down from the heights to the town of Gardiner, the village at the north entrance to the park, was quite grand, despite the gathering clouds which darkened the view. Arriving at the village after too many switchbacks and steering wheel clenching near-wipeouts, foot on the brakes, more elk greeted me. 

I came to the famous Roosevelt Arch where too many folks huddled to take their turns getting pictures; I slowly drove through, making them wait. I had to stop behind a car at the only stop light in the village and was about to honk for them to go on when suddenly I saw the elk strolling past in front of that car...and on to the souvenir shops lined up there, no doubt wanting a t-shirt. The elk seemed quite unimpressed with us mere humans.

I exited the park as the clouds darkened and drizzle fell. The road north to Livingston was less mountainous than the highway going south from Bozeman, but 

it had its own special scenery: grassy valleys and a snaking river, some patches of bare rock on the bordering mountains. From Livingston, I turned onto I-90 again and headed home to Bozeman. Dinner was at Taco John's.

NEXT: Three Forks & the Great Falls

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(C) Copyright 2010-2023 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

On The Road Again - 5

My Summer Road Trip, part 5

I didn't actually throw a dart at a map to decide where to go. I had a plan. After visiting three minor destinations (Cedar Falls, Waldorf College, Devil's Gulch), I drove on to visit three major destinations (Badlands National Park, Mt. Rushmore, Devil's Tower). After leaving Sheridan, WY, with a stop at the Little Bighorn Battlefield memorial and a detour through Billings, MT, I continued west on the orange-barreled I-90 to my next destination: Bozeman.

On the way to Bozeman I pulled into the only rest stop along the route (near Big Timber), with mountains rising on my left along the Wyoming-Montana border and pastoral hills to my right, and the darkening sky ahead of me as storm clouds billowed over the mountains to the west. The rest stop was surprisingly crowded with vacationers but I continued on.

As scenic as the route was, I couldn't take any good pictures. The shaking of the car, the dirty windows, rain, and my speed prevented quality photography. Later, as I drove up and down narrow and curving mountain roads, I needed to focus of the road as much as I would've wished to take a dramatic shot. Seldom was there a place to pull over. Even when there were pullouts in the national parks I didn't want to stop at every one for a picture. So you get what you get here; I have the full pictures locked in my mind's eyes.

As I drove I was reminded of an episode from my youth. In one childhood road trip with my parents, we stopped at the small town of Livingston (just east of Bozeman) because my father wanted to visit a certain fly fishing supply store he'd read about in a fishing magazine. He wanted to get all the materials for making fishing flies (lures) and have me make some for him to use. I suppose he thought it would be cheaper than buying a ready-made lure. But I was the creative type and constructed all kinds of "flies" according to my whims, not matching flies based on actual insects that fish leap at. I used up all the materials and my father never caught any fish with the flies I made. 

Why Bozeman? Besides being an excellent base for exploring the 100 miles in every direction, I'd gained an interest in the town because of a friend moving there (from Canada) and posting about her new life there over the past couple of years. It is a scenic place: forested mountains on all sides with grassy valleys sprinkled with cattle, and featuring Montana State University. I mentioned to my artist friend, who has designed many of my book covers, that I would be driving up there. She said she was going to Europe at that time but I could stay in her family's house. She gave me the door code but I politely declined, afraid of messing it up, and opted for a hotel by the I-90 exit.

The rain I met driving west to Bozeman intensified as I arrived and I struggled through the deluge, checking in and then going out for something to eat - all while everyone was heading home. I knew from maps there was a Barnes &Noble bookstore at a mall on the west end of town. I made my way there through a dark, rainy, rush hour on streets I only knew vaguely from what I remembered from the Google map on my phone. But I made it: dashed inside, got a hot coffee and an apple tart, then gathered some maps and browsed the shelves as usual, before returning back through the town to my hotel. With the rain continuing into the night all I could do was study my maps and plan my three days there.

The next day was much better: sunny and cool. First, I went to the Montana State campus and toured it almost like I was a prospective MSU parent. As is my quirk, I went through the library, hit the bookstore in the student union, checked out their selection of English textbooks and got a university logo t-shirt (Bobcats). 

Next, I drove around the town and the area, dodging more orange barrels, and noted what my friend had complained about: a cowboy town that grew a university was now a hipster community where many people flocked, expecting a paradise for ski bums and the freedom-loving camper crowd. (Wait until winter!) The expanding "suburbs" appeared rather Disneyesque as carefully planned neighborhoods, with a patina of artificiality that made you wonder if cameras were monitoring your every move. There seemed little of the rustic and country left outside the "old town" blocks. 

Indeed, apartment complexes sprouted everywhere, some yet under construction, hurrying to house the influx of new residents, far beyond just making more student housing. It wasn't unattractive, but I could understand how the locals would take the developments as a destruction of their traditional home. Honestly, I wouldn't mind living there, could wear cowboy boots and cowboy hat and speak with a country drawl.

When I travel, I like to imagine living in the place, seeing how life would be were I to be a full-time resident. I did that in Bozeman. I even shopped at Walmart, rubbing shoulders with the locals, much to their chagrin. But I had to be honest with myself: if I were a full-time resident, at any location, I'm likely to spend most of my time indoors, writing and reading, and only go out for errands - and that would be the only time I enjoyed the great outdoors. Now I'm no longer the great adventurer, ready to hike anywhere my whims lead me.

What else to do? I thought through my next novel as I drove, then typed notes in my hotel room. I watched TV. I downloaded pictures from my phone and my camera. I thought I'd seen enough of Bozeman. However, I realized that, using Bozeman as a base, I could visit Yellowstone National Park...because it was right there, 90 minutes south through the mountains, plus I already had my Senior Lifetime Member card.

NEXT: Yellowstone National Park

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(C) Copyright 2010-2023 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

On The Road Again - 4

My Summer Road Trip, part 4

If you've stuck with me so far, it's about to get better. I began with some minor goals, completed them, then swung out into the great unknown for bigger fish to fry. I toured the Badlands like yo mama did, then continued on for more, heading west to Rapid City.

As was my plan, I got off the dreadful I-90 and took a lesser highway south into the Black Hills, a mountainous region in the middle of vast prairie. When I was a boy, my parents brought me to Mt. Rushmore on a summer vacation roadtrip - and it was my intention to replicate such trips during this travel effort. I recall back when I was young, it was very impressive. On this day (same day I toured the Badlands, so it was afternoon now) I felt underwhelmed by the monument. You have to admire the carving skills, but we also acknowledge the desecration of the mountain that is a sacred place to the local Native population. In this visit, I did not have to use my Senior Lifetime Member Card - nobody was selling entrance tickets - but it did cost $10 for parking. It didn't seem too crowded at that mid-afternoon time so parking was not a problem. (Read more here.)

Following my I-90 plan, my next stop would be Devil's Tower just over the border into Wyoming. But I didn't think I could get there, sightsee, and then find a good place to stay for the night before sundown. So I decided to stop at Sturgis, SD, known for its motorcycle rallies. I like to stop about 4 or 5 pm and get plenty of time to rest, have dinner, offload my photos from my phone and my camera, and check the next day's weather, study my carefully folded paper maps and go to sleep early.

Not sure why impressive geological features are named after the Devil (Devil's Gulch, Devil's Tower, etc.) but they are. I'd seen plenty of pictures of this tower and I saw the E.T. movie which featured it, so I wasn't especially in an oo-ah mood when I first spied it while driving up the winding road to the site. Not so crowded in the morning when I arrived (9-ish) but was quickly filling up by the time I was leaving (10:30). I took my pictures, absorbed the ambiance of volcanic rock (granted, it was granite), and continued on to my next destination. I traversed lovely woodlands, and descended into a vast grassland devoid of any sign of civilization to the four horizons but for the powerlines strung along the road. Eventually I passed a large lake and began to wonder (glancing at my elegantly folded map) where the next gas station might be. (Read more here.)

I reconnected with I-90 and continued west to Gillette, WY, the nearest and next town of any size marked on my judiciously folded paper map. I exited and got gas. Down the main road there I saw the sign of a Taco John's restaurant and decided to have lunch since I was already stopped. Now, the tale of the Taco John is not widely known. In my youth, my cousin and I would hang out on Saturday nights, usually hitting the foosball parlor or shooting pool or otherwise courting mischief. But always we would make a pit-stop at the local Taco John's. I would always get their featured product: the Taco Bravo (a taco wrapped in a soft tortilla with frijoles as buffer, for a bigger, better taco experience). Then I grew up and moved away to places where no Taco John's existed. 

View of Bighorn Mountains from Sheridan, WY

So I had some nostalgia for a Taco Bravo...but it was the Super Burrito that caught my eye that afternoon in Gillete, WY. When traveling I always get out and go in to a restaurant (rather than use the drive-thru) because I like to stretch my legs and use the restroom. So I got my order, sat and enjoyed my meal. Feeling a taco-sized space in my belly, I decided to go back and get a Taco Bravo. Well, I don't know what the deal was but it didn't taste right, wrong seasoning, sauce too runny, so I didn't finish it. As I would discover, there are a lot of Taco John's scattered around the Western states and I would continue to patronize them as I traveled. I compared them, too. All subsequent TJs were better than the one in Gillete. (Sorry, Gillete folks, maybe it was an off day, who knows?)

I continued on I-90 to my intended destination of Sheridan, WY, just south of the Montana border. It's the obvious choice with not much to speak of for hours' driving on either north or south sides of the town. Trivia: my grandfather's middle name is Sheridan; he said he was named by his father after visiting the town back in its cowboy days. My grandfather was hardly a cowboy, however. I relaxed and planned my next day. I liked the hotel I was in and plotted to claim a room in the same chain at my next destination and made reservations by phone.

The next day, as was my plan, I headed north into Montana and stopped again at the Little Bighorn Battlefield Monument. I say 'again' because I stopped there heading south in 2019 after coming down from Canada. In 2019 I paid the full price. In 2023 I used my Senior Lifetime Member Card to go in for free. But I did buy a t-shirt and a book in the visitor center. I did the full tour in 2019 so in 2023 I did the minimum: the walk to the hill where the actual last stand happened. Nearby, they have built a memorial to the Native warriors killed on that day; in 2019 it wasn't quite finished but now it was. It's always a tragedy, in my thinking, when anyone has to die in a battle (compare to Ukraine) and it matters less at the end of the day who was right and who was wrong. As a fiction writer I make my bed and sleep in it with the sheets of gray, never an easy black and white for anything. The shades of gray make the story interesting. Otherwise everything is Mary Sue and the boy next door, happily ever after, the end. (Read more here.)

I paid my respects and headed on to Billings, MT. My only reason to stop there was to seek out the taco shop I had a fabulous meal in coming south in 2019. I had stopped for gas coming from Great Falls but cutting across the interior grasslands/ranches rather than taking the southern interstate route. Next to the gas station was the restaurant. So in 2023, I drove through the city (I-90 at that point forced a detour on everyone anyway - straight through the downtown area, stoplight by stoplight thankyouverymuch.) but I didn't see what I was looking for. Doubling back, I joined the flow of traffic and saw a Taco John's (definitely not the same place I was looking for but it would do). A good meal, and I continued on, slogging along I-90 until it finally broke free into two-lane full-speed interstate...all the way to Bozeman.

NEXT: The Bozeman Experience & Yellowstone

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(C) Copyright 2010-2023 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.