I’m not sure what I expected from Glacier National Park. It wasn’t amazing lakes and sprawling vistas. It wasn’t a drive through a quiet valley leading to a drive hanging on to the side of a mountain. It wasn’t the green or the crags or the hills or the falls. It wasn’t temps warm enough to take off our shoes and dangle our feet over the end of the dock at Lake McDonald or water so clear you could see the rock bed until it simply got too deep.

I guess maybe I expected ice? Glaciers? I don’t think I expected to be as awakened to the changes in our Earth as I was.

I know I didn’t expect to find the bar at the Lake McDonald Lodge to be jam packed with people watching golf.

That really shouldn’t have surprised me. Golf fans are die hard, regardless of the fact that they’re sitting in one of the most beautiful places on earth. Which is outside. Not in the bar.

Behind the lodge is a wonderful little spot where a creek comes out to meet the lake.

I had to wade into the cold water first, urging Earl to come on and have fun with me. Eventually, she dipped a toe in to the chilly waters. Then she couldn’t stop playing on the rocks, feet slipping and water burbling and her smiling a mile wide, stopping to look at the peaks around her.

“This is so beautiful!”

That’s putting it mildly.

I’d done very little reading on Glacier before we got there. I had no idea what lay before us as we headed back through the lodge to our car to continue along Going-to-the-Sun.

In this peaceful, serene place, I didn’t expect Earl to lose a little more gleeful innocence as we watched three old friends, fresh from watching golf in the bar, get into their car. A little old man got behind the wheel, a little old woman in the passenger seat beside him, their little old friend in the backseat behind the driver. Only the driver started slowly rolling too soon. The friend lost his balance and fell, his leg going under the car, which was still rolling. His screams of agony stayed with us for hours.

I’m sure he was injured, his leg probably broken. I’m almost as sure he survived. Park rangers are prompt responders, and despite the screams, from our vantage point a few yards away, it seemed much more minor than it could have been.

We stopped at a pull-out about a mile way to pray. God feels very present in this place. It was fitting.

I took way too many pictures along the valley road, trying to squelch the part of my brain that was protesting, “I thought it would be more spectacular somehow.” Then we crossed through a tunnel…

…and I didn’t stop gaping for the next two hours.

The road clung to the side of the mountain, and the overlooks felt like they dangled over the deepening valley below. Even Earl was blown away.

Bird Woman Falls trails down the mountains from an extinct glacier bed. You can tell there used to be glacial activity there by the smooth U-shaped valley between the jagged peaks.

I’m running out of adjectives to describe what we saw.

The mountain goats even have to stop and admire all that’s around them from time to time.

There is still snow in places, and Earl and I tried to discern glaciers from lingering snow patches.

The reality is harsh. The glaciers are mostly gone here. In fact, they are predicted to be completely melted by the time Earl turns 25.

She just turned 10. That’s not long at all.

Only one can still be seen clearly from the road. Jackson Glacier sits clinging to life between the mountains it has sculpted.

It was a sobering view, a jarring moment. Like seeing one of the last survivors of a dying species. How much of this is Earth’s natural cycle? How much is us?

I gave many thanks that we had decided to make the detour, if only so Earl can someday tell her children that she visited Glacier when there were still glaciers to see.

Of course, as we learned earlier in the day, not even Glacier is immune to the realities of life. We got stuck in construction traffic as we approached St. Mary’s Lake. Serendipitous because BEAR!! Not a cow this time, but an actual bear!

A camera shy bear eating berries, but we saw a bear!

Construction cleared, I stopped one last time for a snapshot of the lake and the sun peering through the dark clouds all around us.

The day after we visited, Earl and I were heartsick to hear that Going-to-the-Sun Road had been partially closed due to wildfire that continues to burn not far at all from where I snapped this picture.

“Is the park going to burn down?” she asked.

“No, baby. It’s a small fire compared to the size of the park.”

“But the road is closed? All those people can’t see the views now. We were lucky.”

Yes, yes we were.

I had such a good plan. I did.

I realized while we were in Canada that we were going to be close to Glacier National Park. Close enough to make a detour. Close enough that I decided I’d regret it if I didn’t try to make it happen.

Only I have become the Queen of Sidetrips. I yell “Squirrel!” a lot. I swerve across traffic lanes to hit a last minute exit (safely. stop worrying, mother.). Earl rolls her eyes a lot, but she usually stops a few minutes in when she realizes I’m right.

Mother’s always right, right?

Anyhoo…

We were merrily plugging along through big sky country when a brown sign caught my eye: Bison National Range.

Ooh! Bison! Wildlife! Squirrel! Swerve!

Earl’s eyes toward her frontal lobe. “But it’s 40 minutes away! I thought we were going to Glacier?”

“Don’t believe a word Velma says. It’s only 8 miles. See? It’s right around the corner.”

40 minutes later…

Turns out, there are a couple of different drives you can do at the BNR. One is a 2-hour mega-loop that climbs up into the hills overlooking the prairie and passing by not just bison, but bear and elk and all manner of other creatures. One is a little one mile out and back that’s mostly just for pretty-ish views. Then there’s the short drive: a 2-lane road that the lady at the counter claimed would about 45 minutes to go to the turnaround and back.

Hi. Let me introduce you to my camera tendencies. Ahem.

Bison have no regard for roads or human boundaries. They can also run up to 35 mph, which means do not tick off the bison because they will chase you and you will not win.

Did I mention they can also jump 6 feet in the air? Yeah. Give the bison room, people.

When there weren’t bison on all sides, the views were stunning. From the little river running through the land to the Rockies in the near distance to the west and the gentle hills of the prairie to the east, I oohed and ahhed and stopped to take pictures every 2.2 feet.

But, really. How am I supposed to resist taking pictures when the pronghorn are posing?

At one point, Earl’s eyeballs rolled so far back, I swear they made a full rotation.

The shoes switched feet when, as we left BNR an hour and a half later, she started seeing signs for “Museum.” Odd signs. Obscure signs. A lot of signs.

Then we hit Polson, MT, and the truth of the matter was revealed.

Remember eons ago when I was lamenting the untimely closure of the Million Dollar Museum near Carlsbad, NM? The Miracle of America Museum almost made up for my sadness. Almost. MoAM didn’t have a mummified alien baby, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

You know right away it’s going to be an interesting stop when the first thing you spy from the road is a red pickup with enormous cherries in the bed.

Oh, and there’s a boat sticking out through the front. A big boat. A tug boat called “Paul Bunyon.”

The entrance ups the level of that “this ain’t your typical museum” feeling.

“Sometimes 8 to 8 by chance.” This is my kind of place.

Earl and I approached the lady at the counter, who was on the phone with someone about something that sounded far more important to the person on the other end. Eventually, she hung up and sold us our tickets. “And when you finish in here,” she said, “There are 40 buildings out back to explore.”

Um…’scuze me? FORTY BUILDINGS?

Okay, the Million Dollar Museum just got cheap.

We trotted off to the indoor portion of the museum and immediately started battling with our feelings. We couldn’t decide if it was more “Okay, this is WAY too cool” or “Okay, this is WAY too much.”

Earl was highly offended by the eagle headed dancing stick. “That is offensive to me as a person of the United States as as a former OP Eagle,” she proclaimed, hands on hips and head shaking in dismay.

(My kid takes serious pride in her elementary school mascots, lemme tell you.)

The mouse traps in the next case were far less offensive.

I must say, I’m very glad we had moved past this technology by the time I started getting my perms.

It was at this point that Earl’s fear of mannequins came out in full force. Oddity #1: She loves wax museums, but give her mannequins and she gets the heeby jeebies. Oddity #2: Her defense agains the heeby jeebies, even if what’s scaring her is entirely visual, is to put her fingers in her ears.

We spent a lot of time in this room with her ears plugged, her eyes slammed shut, and my hand on the back of her neck guiding her through the veritable maze of seemingly random…things.

Although this is perhaps the best sign I’ve ever seen on a piano:

If it’s hard to read, the big sign reads: “Pianists are welcome to play as long as they wish. No Plinking. No Heart & Soul. No Chopsticks. Absolutely No Pounding.” The small sign says: “Pianists are welcome to play a tune (NO Chopsticks or Heart & Soul). Plinkers better practice at home.”

Those signs should be mandatory on all pianos in public places. Just saying’….

From the piano, it was into the motorcycle room. Which, wow.

Of course, on the other side of the room were these gems:

Have I mentioned that MoAM is delightfully random? Highly organized, but don’t try to figure out the organization. You’ll wound yourself.

I almost bailed when I came around a corner to this monstrosity.

It’s a 7′ high flying monkey from “Wizard of Oz”. That right there? Is the stuff of nightmares. Authentic nightmares, no less.

Sufficiently spooked, we headed outside to tackle a few of the 40 buildings.

Now I ask you, how many museums can you visit that have a port-a-john jail complete with authentic jail doors and gallows just hanging around out back?

The boat has a front!!

I am such a sucker for a good, cheesy alien display.

E.T.’s cousin, A.T. took it over the top. He wants to pose for a photo with you! He can even drape his right arm around your shoulders!

Earl wouldn’t go within 20 feet of him or his transportation methods (yet lately she wants to start watching X-Files. Huh?).

Boat motors, cars, and tools galore filled shed after shed.

Earl stopped going into the outbuildings after the paratrooper mannequin freaked us both out.

 Did I say I was immune to this “creeped out by mannequin” thing? Nope. I did not.

MoAM has a bit of a cynical side to it. Not only was there a revolver with the barrel facing backwards that was billed as (paraphrased) “Janet Reno Approved Jack Kevorkian Gun: For use by NRA members.” There was this guy.

“Straw Walker: After millions of tax-payer dollars and an ounce of common sense, it was decided that this ‘Ferrosaurus’ evolved from particles of iron ore to spend its useful life inside a farmer’s combine separating the straw from the wheat.”

I must admit, there was a degree of relief involved when we realized the 40 buildings out back were tiny. But an hour of wandering around back there and I’m pretty sure we didn’t see it all.

Earl got to pump water from a real, live, working well!

‘Real’ and ‘live’ as in it pumps water from a reservoir underneath, but the mechanism is the same.

I’m not sure how we escaped a visit inside the General Store, although I’m pretty sure the allure of the soda shoppe inside was involved.

They actually did have drinks and hot dogs and ice cream in the soda shoppe, crammed in among all the stuff. The fridge was a museum piece and non-functional, so the big vat of ice cream was starting to melt.  Earl opted for an ice cream cone while the lady doing the dipping practically begged me to have one as well. “It’s all starting to melt.”

It was at this point that I realized we would not be making it to Glacier that day, so we snagged a room in Kalispell. I peeked out the window and did a double take.

It must have been all of our wildlife watching at Bison. Or the oddities at the Miracle of America Museum. But at first glance, that sure looked like a bear. Especially before it turned its head.

Hi, Cow.

(It fooled Earl, too.)

(Clearly, we are getting tired.)

Moo.

The best thing about road tripping is that, if done right, you find weird and wonderful things around every bend.

Coeur d’Alene, ID, was about as surprising a town as we’ve stumbled across. I’m not sure what I thought would be there, but I wasn’t expecting the hip, artsy, resort vibe that suffuses the air. Cool little shops, a beautiful and expansive lake, mountain views.

It was a just a fast food stop, honestly. Earl and I were starving after a late start from Spokane, and a break in Coeur d’Alene gave us a Thing to Do in Idaho rather than just driving through on our way to Montana.

While we were in the drive-thru for food, I realized it was Saturday. Now, we are in desperate need of postcard stamps, which I know you can probably get everywhere, but I haven’t had the chance to be everywhere for whatever reason. Velma the Nav told us the post office was through the main drag of town, but it wasn’t far, so I crossed my fingers that they would be open on a Saturday morning before noon

It was not.

But know what was? The Museum of North Idaho! And my kid is a su-u-u-u-ucker for a museum these days.

We parked in a lot full of beach-goers (“There’s a beach in Idaho?” I asked myself.) and my child disappeared into the building.

Admission was cheap, parking was included, and it was already a win.

The lady up front asked if we were interested in a quick video about the area. Obviously, neither Earl nor myself knew a lick about town, so we excitedly nodded and followed the lady into a small room off the small museum and settled in. Earl wrapped my arm around her shoulders as we learned about Coeur d’Alene area’s native Schee-Chu-Umsh/Coeur d’Alene tribal history, the arrival of the black-robed Jesuits, the mining, the logging, the steamboats, and the boon of tourism.

I’m not sure which surprised me most: That I had no idea, or that I was surprised I had no idea, seeing as I’ve never been to Idaho and was one of those ignorant Americans who thought it was all about potatoes and salmon.

We left the museum chock full of new knowledge of a new place and figured we’d be-bop our way straight on to Montana.

Until something caught my eye off the interstate.

And Earl shot me a dirty look for my fast and rough exit to go explore.

The Mission of the Sacred Heart (or The Old Mission or Cataldo Mission) was built in a cooperative effort between earlier mentioned Jesuit priests led by Father DeSmet and the Coeur d’Alene Tribe. It stands today as the oldest original building in Idaho, although it’s been renovated a couple of times for preservation’s sake.

I walked around and gawked at the colors and the handiwork.

The vision and craftsmanship that went into this building are amazing. The ceilings were stained blue using native huckleberries.

The statues on either side of the altar were hand-carved by De Smet with a knife out of wood. He painted most of the pictures himself. The chandeliers he made to look like expensive fixtures…using tin cans.

The floors were hand hewn, the walls decorated with painted newspaper before they were able to get enough fabric. It’s a true labor of love, and the power within those walls still reverberates. I can’t imagine how heartsick the Coeur d’Alenes were when they were removed from this truly sacred space.

We finally made it to Missoula and checked in to a Holiday Inn right in the thick of things. There was a cycling event going on, and we had to dodge cheering sections and roped off areas to walk to dinner at an awesome little Mexican joint recommended by the desk clerk. Earl watched cyclists zoom by while I added our stops to Roadtrippers.com and marveled that this trip has gone bonkers enough that we have reached the max number of waypoints (60), and we were still 2,500 miles from home. Uhh…time to be less specific perhaps?

Post-dinner, I was done for the day. Earl, however, was not. Or perhaps she was over done. I just know as soon as we were back in the hotel, I lost her (and my iPad) under the sheets of the cozy bed. I figured she deserved it. It’s been a few days since I’ve let her indulge in non-trip related device time.

That didn’t last long, as one of her favorite shows came on TV and we watched, but two hours later, she was flipping and flopping and kicking and punching pillows and grunting.

“What is the problem over there?” I asked, flipping on the light.

“I hate these pillows!” she growled.

“Why?”

“Because they’re too soft! This bed is too comfy! It’s gonna make me go to sleep!”

“Which is…kind of the point?” I replied.

“I hate sleep. It’s my least favorite part of the day. And these pillows are so comfy they’re EVIL,” she pouted.

Sigh.

If only she’d take that same attitude in the morning when there is nothing so wonderful as another 5 minutes of sleep.

(Yes, mother, I know.)

* * * * * * * * *

Disclaimer: It must be disclosed that Holiday Inn, in collaboration with Roadtrippers.com’s Extraordinary Journeys, was generous enough to give us plenty of IHG Reward Points to cover our room for the night in exchange for a mention in this post. The opinions are entirely mine, Earl’s words are 100% Earl and unsolicited, and those beds really were evilly comfy. Oh, and Holiday Inn? Your wi-fi officially wins as the rockingest free wi-fi we’ve encountered on this trip so far. Thanks!