Medora is a very cool little town indeed. Which is, of course, why Earl and I spent most of the day hanging out in the hotel room.

What can I say? 37 days is a long time to be on the road, and the day before had been a wee tad exhausting. Fairy tales and driving and steaks and storms and wrecks, oh my. We were both starting to fray.

We did get out and wander around a bit. Earl wanted to hit a local family fun park which boasts the world’s largest inflatable slide, but with winds whipping in the 20-30mph range, they were closed. So we strolled and shopped in the drizzling rain while she sulked and everybody ever employed by my insurance agent’s office called to make sure we were okay.

Yes, we’re fine. Can you just make the wind stop so my child can go slide? No? Some good you are.

Anyhoo…

The Pitchfork Fondue was yummy enough and reasonably priced enough that Earl and I decided to hit it again. When the time rolled around, we headed up the hill extra early to get a good spot in line.

At least the clouds were dispersing.

The wind, however, was a problem. They couldn’t get the vats lit, one guy burned himself in the process, and the fondue was moved back down into town to a local buffet joint.

The staff looked petrified, like someone had just waltzed in and said, “Hey, party of 300 for dinner in half an hour?” Because, well, that’s pretty much what happened, I think.

But they pulled it off flawlessly, if not a few minutes behind schedule. I didn’t blame them in the least. Earl entertained me by giving me the last few days of the trip in facial expressions:

We’d scored a table for two by the window on the best side of the building, which meant we got to go through the food line first. By the time the last person got in line, we were done and posing with the bison.

Our tickets from the previous night’s cancelled Medora Musical had been rebooked for that night, so it was back up to the hill for us, where they were starting to let folks down into the amphitheater.

It’s a long way down there. Long enough there are two insanely long escalators to take folks down the hill. If, by some bad luck, you have to get back up to your car before they reverse the escalators at the end of the show, there’s a ramp full of switchbacks you can climb. I patted myself for having all my ducks in a row: coats, blanket, license and credit card. There wasn’t anything I could think of that we might need back in the car.

We got in line for concessions, the girl gathered our order, I handed her my credit card, and she rolled her eyes. “We only take cash.”

So much for having my ducks in a row. I hadn’t thought to tuck cash in my pocket. It was locked in the car.

Dangit.

Back up the hill.

I left Earl to stare at the popcorn, drooling while the girl wouldn’t let her touch it, while I scaled the hill. A guy with a golf cart had just dropped an elderly couple at the bottom of the ramp, though, and he took pity and drove me back up. Twenty minutes later (it was a long way up, a long way to the car, and a long way through the line back down), I paid for our food and earned another eye roll from the girl behind the counter.

Our seats were excellent.

Jared Mason, who’d performed a stint at the Medora Musical before going on to Broadway as Jerry Lee Lewis in Million Dollar Quartet, came out and did a couple of songs for us, including “Great Balls of Fire” and a crazy awesome yodeling run.

He was just a taste, though, of what lay ahead.

Medora Musical is not quite what I expected. It was more musical variety show than the musical performances I’m used to. There was a good balance of cheese, patriotism, plain ol’ fun, Teddy Roosevelt (because Dakotas), and Mr. Bubble.

Yes! The same man who started the Medora Musical came up with Mr. Bubble! Which explains the random Mr. Bubble shirts mixed in with western themed Medora gear in the gift shop!

They called all the kids in the audience up on stage for a picture (it’s their 50th year and they’re putting the nightly photos in a time capsule to be opened in another 50) and gave them each little bottles of the bath goodness. Yay for free souvenirs!

Tennessee was well represented by Candice Lively from Strawberry Plains. Earl was very excited to see a face from home, even if she’s a complete, but very talented, stranger.

The highlight of the evening for me, though, was the featured act, The Chicago Boyz. It was dark and my battery was dying (yes, again) by the time they took the stage, but their acrobatics and jumprope skills and absolute personalities were amazing.

I could have watched them for hours, no lie. So entertaining and just oozing with positivity and fun.

It was getting late, though, and the later it got, the colder it got. We both had on coats and I’d grabbed a blanket out of the car, but we were still cold. Earl got a hot chocolate, but it leaked everywhere, and despite our best efforts to stay in good moods, the remnants of yesterday, over a month of travel, and the cold got to us.

By the time we left our seats after the show, we were snipping at each other. By the time we got to the parking lot, we were flat out fighting. By the time we got back into town, we were both in tears. By the time we got to the hotel, we had talked it out and forgiven each other and, to some degree, ourselves.

Although that last one is sometimes the hardest.

I’m the mom. I should always be good. But I’m human, so I’m not. I screw up, and while Earl may forgive me that downfall, I’m not always sure I do. Especially when I know my bad behavior has nothing to do with her and everything to do with me. Especially when, with the passage of a few hours, I don’t even remember what got us both so riled up in the first place.

It brought us closer in the end, though. This whole trip has.

And we are, sadly, blessedly, happily, approaching the end.

“This is the best day ever!!”

What can I say? My kid’s a sucker, it seems, for the quirky and odd. Storybook Island qualifies for both. It also qualifies for heaps of fun and h-o-t.

But any place that has a bridge named Bennie’s Bridge in honor of the guy who built it (and happens to be named Bennie Bridges) is ace in my book.

There are also lots of benches dedicated to loved ones, mostly grandmas and grandpas named as such, which is immeasurably charming.

There’s playground equipment and swings and trains and fairy tale characters out the wazoo.

And there are lots of characters that made me ponder whether or not this would be a copyright lawyer’s wonderland.

I let Earl do her thing for a bit before we had to get on the road. We were trekking north from one Dakota to the other and had to be in by 4 to make it for dinner.

I was not going to miss dinner. We had tickets to the Pitchfork Fondue in Medora where the view promised to be as spectacular as the food.

It didn’t disappoint. North Dakota has badlands, too.

I know what you’re asking. You didn’t click the link, did you? You wanna know what the heck is a Pitchfork Fondue?

It’s where a bunch of cowboys put a bunch of big ol’ ribeye steaks on pitchforks and cook ’em.

The result is a heaping helping of Holy Mother of YUM.

I downed that sucker in record time.

I’m sure it had nothing at all to do with the growing storm that was organizing into something mighty impressive as it neared us.

Did I mention this pitchfork fondue is in an open-on-3-sides pavilion way up on top of a hill? Because, oh yeah. It is. And that storm coming toward us had us feeling like a bunch of sitting ducks, all huddled in the back corner of the building.

Earl was freaking out. I was weighing the options in my head: we could stay put with 250 other people, most of whom were taller than I was, we could make a run for the gift shop, or we could go sit in the car.

We opted to stay put. I was afraid we’d get hit by lightning if we ran for the shop, and I wasn’t sure my car, which was completely unloaded for once, wouldn’t just blow away. I checked the radar, handed Earl my phone, and waited for all hell hail to break loose.

The wind blew gangbusters. It sprinkled a little.

I’d have been disappointed if I hadn’t been so relieved.

“I don’t like this day anymore,” Earl lamented as we walked out to the car. Dinner was the precursor to the Medora Musical, but with more storms popping up along the horizon, there was debate as to whether or not they’d be able to go on with the outdoor show. So we’d decided to take our desserts and wait for the decision in the car where I could charge my (yet again dying) phone.

As we spotted my car in the lot, I noticed a police car parked near my space, a man talking to the cop. “Somebody’s not having a great night,” I thought to myself as I sidestepped the cop car and walked around the front of my car to get in.

Earl climbed in, I hit the accessory switch so I could charge, and we started to dig in to our brownies. That’s when the guy tapped on my window.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but someone backed into you.”

Uh…really? I hadn’t noticed anything when we got in the car? Wait, was the cop there for my car? The one I was sitting in?

Yep.

Earl and I are both blind as bats.

While we were eating, a camper backed into my car. Fortunately, the guy who’d just tapped on my window works at the facility, saw it happen, got the camper’s license plate, and called the police. Police showed up, took the initial report, called in the plates, troopers caught the guy the next county over, escorted him back, while the sheriff, who had actual jurisdiction, took his report.

Earl was beside herself. She called both my mother and El Jefe in tears, sobbing because we’d been in a wreck. “Yes,” I said, “But it was the best kind of wreck, really. We weren’t in the car, we weren’t moving, nobody got hurt, and the damage isn’t that bad.”

I finished talking to the officer and the deputy just as it was announced they were cancelling the night’s performance. The Medora Musical folks assured us they have the best rain policy anywhere around (they do), and we had one of our tickets refunded and traded the second in for two tickets, which we rescheduled for the next night.

Earl wailed.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” I asked on the way back to the car, my arm around her shoulders.

“This is the worst day ever!”

“Oh, but it’s not. Know why?”

“Whyyyyyy?”

“Because we’re safe. Everything is working out. The dent in the car is just a story. And look.”

Later that night, the guy who backed into me called to apologize. The next morning, before I was even fully awake, I heard from his insurance company and mine. All is handled, all is well.

Earl is still undecided on the day.