Hello! It’s me.

I thought our day started off on a relaxing note … not realizing that the energy would amp-up by late evening.

But then Mom & Dad spent two hours at Wal-Mart, followed by fifteen minutes at a German Butcher featuring an impressive selection of assorted meats.

And then … it was more of this:

There may not be many jobs in Montana or North Dakota, but there’s plenty of room for ya if you need the space.

We stopped at a rest area – whew!

Then, we blew past a few wind farms on our way to Fargo.

When we arrived in Fargo, we did the first thing any reasonable person would do. We stopped at Hardees. We stopped at the Visitor’s Center, where a shrine to the movie Fargo enthralled us all.

First, there were the stars who paid homage to the film.

You prolly remember the movie, right? If not, here’s a few of the deets:

• Jerry Lundegaard is a pathetic man, and an average car salesman.
• He apparently needs money.
• He contrives a scheme to get his wife kidnapped, and then will collect ransom, which he will use to cover whatever silly schemes he is involved in.
• The kidnappers do not follow the script, and while not following the script, we are introduced to a thick, Upper-Midwest dialect that permeates the area, from Fargo to Brainerd (formerly home to Babe the Blue Ox – click here for the deets) to Minneapolis.
• Mayhem breaks loose.
• “Blood has been shed, Jerry” is what one of the kidnappers tells Jerry, much to Jerry’s growing consternation with his plan.
• Jerry’s father-in-law decides to get involved in the recovery of his daughter, and pays the ultimate price, but not before putting a bullet through the cheek of one of the kidnappers.
• Kidnapper with bullet wound in cheek comes back with some of the money after hiding money in a snow bank, splits money with his partner-in-crime (who killed Jerry’s wife), and takes the car as payment for a bullet wound in his cheek. Snappily, the kidnapper with bullet wound in cheek says “Are we square?”, and shows a gun in his pants.
• Partner-in-crime kills fellow kidnapper with an ax (providing proof once again that you don’t stop a mad man with a gun by populating the landscape with other folks carrying guns, you stop the mad man by chopping him to bits with an ax), then grinds fellow kidnapper in the wood chipper.
• Police officer Marge Gunderson catches partner-in-crime chippin’ his fellow kidnapper, chases partner-in-crime, puts a bullet in his leg (ax beats gun, gun beats ax, hmmm, something doesn’t tie out here) … and as a lovely going away present, tells partner-in-crime that there is more to life than a little bit of money. “Don’t you know that?” she says.
• Speaking of more to life than a little bit of money, the movie ends with Marge Gunderson in bed with husband Norm Gunderson … Marge is humbly appreciative of Norm getting his work placed on the three-cent stamp. “We’re doin’ all right” she tells Norm. Never mind she had to shoot a serial killer earlier in the day. She listens patiently while Norm laments that his work is only on the three-cent stamp. Priorities!
• Fade to black.
• Fin.

Now, about that wood chipper. They have the actual one from the movie in the Visitor’s Center. But we arrived  at 6:30pm, and the center closed at 6:00pm. So we had to partake in a replica wood chipper. That’s when things got weird!

Wait a minute.

I didn’t commit a crime!

Let me out!

I’m sorry I pee’d on the carpeting at that hotel in Montana, now LET ME OUT!

Once I navigated my way out of the evil device, I tried to show Dad just what should be shoved into a wood chipper.

At this point, I was perfectly happy checking in to the Best Western in West Fargo, and without a functioning water pump for another week (Thanks Amazon Prime for setting the table for a replacement pump), that made sense to me. But Mom and Dad wanted to put more miles behind us.  So that’s what we did. We crossed the Red River, and entered Minnesota. Did you know, by the way, that the Red River drains into Canada?

An hour later, with the sun setting and pouring rain pelting off of the rig, we arrived in Detroit Lakes. Our first campground choice (with an adjacent bar & restaurant … sounds good to me) didn’t work – nobody would take our call.

So we progressed to another area campground, about ten miles away. With the “low fuel” light adorning the dashboard, we coasted in to the registration line on fumes. It was 8:50pm. For some reason, the OPEN light was still on. Here’s how the conversation went.

Dad: Do you have any campsites available for one night?

Lady Proprietor: I’m sorry, we’re all sold out.

Dad: Ok, just thought I’d check.

Lady Proprietor: It’s Memorial Day weekend, you know.

Dad: Yup.

Lady Proprietor: I’m sorry.

Dad: It’s not your fault.

Male Proprietor: Hun, they only have a van.

Lady Proprietor: We’re sold out.

Male Proprietor: It’s just a van. Put ’em in 7A.

Lady Proprietor: It’s really wet down there.

Male Proprietor: They can handle it.

Dad: We need water (remember, no water pump) and electricity.

Male Proprietor: Will 15 amps do?

Dad: Yes!

Male Proprietor: Hun, put ’em in 7A.

And that’s just what they did. They created a spot for us out of thin air. We shared a power post with the folks in site 7, and we got our own water spigot. What more do you need?

Our day ends, on fumes in many ways, camping in the rain in site 7A. Lady Proprietor came down in the dark to make sure everything was ok. You’ll never meet two nicer people. And for their kindness, they got to put $37.58 in their pocket. And we have water.

Good night!

Hello. It’s me!

Well, the big news is that we deviated from our US-2 strategy early this afternoon. It was time to check out NATIONAL PARKS!! And when you check out NATIONAL PARKS, you lose touch with US-2. So we’re resting along I-94 in Dickinson, ND tonight.

First, let’s have a moment of silence for Dad’s SiriusXM connection, which loosened this afternoon and caused a genuine lack of listening options. Now Dad has to listen to the radio, and that’s not a situation that is going to end well for anybody.

Ok, back to the story. After entering North Dakota …

… we deviated from US-2, and visited Fort Union Trading Post. This was quite the place back in the day … if you were trading pelts, this is where business happened. Sort of like modern e-commerce in Western North Dakota more than 160 years ago.

Turns out I could care less about how people traded pelts centuries ago. Know why? Because outside, there were approximately 22,493,948 Prairie Dog Poop Pellets … or as I now call them, “Nature’s Nachos”. I became obsessed with the little nuggets … to the point where Dad sent me back to the rig for punishment.

When Mom and Dad returned, we drove past the Fracking Fields … the places where large companies inject water into the earth and pull black gold aka “Texas Tea” up for consumption. For the small price of a couple thousand earthquakes and tens of thousands of poisoned wells, we all get to enjoy $2.29 gasoline. How else could we afford to drive an RV across the country and back?

There are a lot of mobile homes on the landscape. In fact, the campground we are staying at tonight is populated with a hundred or so semi-permanent workers in travel trailers.

Mom wanted you to see a video of the excitement (visit the website if you cannot see the video).

Up next – Theodore Roosevelt National Park … by this time, we’re a good 80 miles south of US-2 … it’s becoming a hopeless task to return to the desolate thoroughfare.

We took a 20 mile round-trip drive through the badlands … it sure was a pretty place, though I wasn’t exactly thrilled with Mom having to take pictures of me.

See what Dad did? He put his hand right around my brisket, and then hung a nine ounce leash weight off my neck to keep me in place. Thanks. Dad.

Instead of focusing on nature, I wanted to sample more of Nature’s Nachos … in this case, buffalo chips.

I asked Mom and Dad to take me to the source of this delicious waste product snack.

Mmmmmmm … buffalo.

It’s quite a place to spend an afternoon.

Finally, we headed south toward I-94 … our new home for eastbound travel. We arrived at our campground in Dickinson … and then Mom and Dad introduced me to PIZZA RANCH … nom nom nom nom (visit the website if you cannot see the video).

We started the day with visions of a US-2 trip … the day was muddled with my incessant desire to sup on animal waste … and then the day ended with a belly bloated with PIZZA RANCH goodies.

From here, we take the path most traveled by. We’ll listen to FM radio as we drive to or beyond Fargo tomorrow. I hear we’re going grocery shopping in the morning. With luck, we can pick up a fresh batch of nature’s nachos for the trip #sayaprayerfordash.

Hello! It’s me.

I like to start each day with an honest assessment of campground threats. There are only three types of threats.

1. Real.
2. Perceived.
3. Chupacabra (click here).

All threats this morning were perceived … thank goodness.

So we headed back to the rig, and awaited a visit from “Mike”.

Mike’s job was to fix our water pump. And with a modest amount of embellishment, the conversation went something like this:

Dad:  The water pump doesn’t work.

Mike: Is there water in the tank?

Dad: Yes.

Mike:  Is the winterization switch on?

Dad?  No.

Mike:  Let me take this thing apart.

Dad:  Ok.

Mike:  This thing is broken.

Dad:  Ok.

Mike:  I have another appointment to go to. And the closest replacement water pump is thirty-five miles away. Or one-hundred miles away. You can probably get an appointment for Tuesday.

Dad:  That’s five days from now.

Mike: Yup.

Dad:  That’s not going to happen.

Mike:  Alright.

Dad:  Alright?

Mike:  I need to leave, but not before I get $80.

Dad:  Wut?

Mike: It should be $125, but I am not charging you for the trip up here.

Dad:  But you didn’t fix the problem!

Mike:  I take cash or check.

Dad:  I already knew the water pump was broken. Mom already knew the water pump was broken.

Mike:  Now all three of us know it’s broken. Haven’t seen a problem like this in twenty years. Ok, please write a check for $80.

Dad:  Fine.

As of press time, Dad is planning on purchasing a water pump in Williston or on Amazon and plans on installing it himself.

Dad was amply “corked-off”, if you know what I am saying (and Mom knows all too well what I am saying). So corked-off that he wanted to stay in a hotel tonight. More on that in a moment.

We looked for Mountain Goats, but to no avail.

Then we crossed the Continental Divide – it’s all downhill from here!

We enjoyed the last gasp of Glacier National Park from the rig.

As we drove away, Mom admired her stamps from Glacier National Park.

Here’s a gentle observation about Northern Montana … it’s looks a lot like this:

To be honest, the landscape bored me.

So just when it looked like all hope was lost, and my mind would drift into oblivion for the next five hundred miles, this happened:

Yes – that’s the DASH IN!!!! I am so popular in Montana that they are naming restaurants after me. Dad got a malted milkshake in my honor … I reveled in the glow of localized fast food.

Finally, the countryside took on a new personality.

And then, a disjointed rainbow.

The bottom of the rainbow pointed us to a pot of gold known as Glasgow, where we decided to spend the evening. I sat in the rig while Dad ate his way across Glasgow.

That’s walleye and sweet potato fries, coupled with an ice-cold Old Milwaukee Light. Dad offered me some of the walleye – you know what I did with it? SPIT. IT. OUT. No boring whitefish for my discerning palette.

I ended the night searching for threats at our hotel. I decided that any threats were perceived, and for good reason. Any hotel with air conditioning units is safe from chupacabra.

Wait … what is that shadow just below and between the units?

Chupacabra?

Nah.

Before I went to bed, I played some tug-of-war with Dad.

Tomorrow, we arrive in North Dakota. I fully expect a parade when we arrive. Or a fast food establishment named after me. Sound good?

Hello! It’s me.

That’s me – soaking wet after a real deluge here at Glacier National Park.

See, the theme of the day was “WATER”.

Water, as in our water pump failed. Some guy named Mike will make a trek to the KOA tomorrow morning to figure out what went wrong. It’s not the sediment filter, although to be fair, that thing was plenty clogged.

The day began with comfy temps and the Montana border within sight.

Yup – Mom’s feet were up so that my feet could be down below.

We put down the miles too, one at a time, until we arrived in the Mountain Time Zone. Then it seemed like an hour flew by without any progress whatsoever.

As we arrived at the KOA, the sky turned a color we don’t see in the Pacific Northwest all that often.

That’s what ultimately drenched my furry little mass of kindness.

Dad gave me a portion of his dinner tonight – Bison Meatloaf. The expansive flavor of Bison put me in turbo-charge mode … I explored our campground like a Bison might explore Glacier National Park.

But here’s the interesting thing … some dude was playing Native American music on a flute. Now, let me cue you in on a little secret about me. I like odd sounds. Like whistles. Not referee whistles, mind you, but Andy Griffith theme song whistles. And I like the sound of a flute playing songs that might have resonated across the plains one-hundred-and-fifty years ago.

I stood in awe.

But just as quickly, the music stopped, and I moved on … time to get some shut-eye before Mike the random RV repair guy comes to take a look at our water pump tomorrow morning.

Hello. It’s me!

You’d think that when we are traveling, there’d be an even split of things to do, an even split of activities that align with Dad’s interests, Mom’s interests, and my interests.

But too often, I’m the forgotten one – like leaving the Son out of the Father / Son / Holy Spirit equation.

Case in point? Our trip across Eastern Washington today. My friend Erik told us to visit Dry Falls. So we did. First, we followed the Columbia River back to US-2 … in case I didn’t tell you, we are going to follow US-2 from Everett, WA to Ashland, WI … maybe a bit further depending upon how things work out.

And then, it was back to US-2 … and Dry Falls.

I wasn’t all that impressed. But then I got on my tippy-toes, and to be honest, it was quite a sight!

I wasn’t allowed into the Visitors Center, but I’m told that Dry Falls looked like this after the last ice age.

Now THAT would be something to see!!!

While Mom & Dad marveled at the sights, I quickly bored of being locked out of the Visitor’s Center. Aren’t I a visitor, too?

I had to express my displeasure with the situation. Humans have “Yelp” to express gratitude or displeasure. Dogs have “Whelp”. This is how you give one star on “Whelp”.

Eventually, Mom & Dad figured out I lost interest, so we boarded up the rig Wiener Mobile and headed East.

We battled dust devils … aka “Satan’s Spinners” once again.

We strolled through Downtown Spokane.

And after another hour or so, we crossed over into a magical land of potato-based bounty known as “Idaho”.

It was at this time that I became FED UP with the situation. When were we going to do something … anything … that a lovable seven month old canine might enjoy?

I made my feelings known.

In a move as stunning as it is unrealistic, I took the wheel from Dad, and pointed us to the most popular stop in Sandpoint, ID.

Amen, brother.

We eventually landed at an RV park down by the river (aka “We were livin’ in a van down by the river’ from Saturday Night Live fame”). We honestly thought this was going to be a nice place. But then we chose our site (lucky number 15).

And while we greatly appreciated the generosity of having our own garbage can, peaceful thoughts were overwhelmed by the intense sound of locomotion.

That’s a train about 25 feet from our rig. They roll through every ten or fifteen minutes, no big deal. And even though it is a well known axiom that every RV park is built next to train tracks, this is a bit close for comfort (#derailment).

Mom and Dad took me for a walk through downtown, then left me alone in the rig to scream myself to sleep while Dad elected to eat his way through Idaho.

Dad brought me back a small morsel of trout – much to the dismay of the wait staff who dutifully tried to collect the sample as waste.

As I write this, my paws are tired. I’m ready for rest. We covered a lot of ground today (see the yellow-colored route – this is our total distance to date, with more than half of the ground covered today alone). Tomorrow, we enter Montana and change time zones. I hear that glaciers are in our forecast.

Hello. It’s ME!!!

No, there weren’t any emergencies today. Just a bit of exploration of the expansive village known to the locals as “Chelan”, a prior home to a tribe of the Wenatchi dialect of the Salish Indians (who, anecdotally, called the lake “deep water” or “tsillan” … I’ll take Salish Indians for $400 Alex).

But I digress.

I’ve been told that this is the “Summer of Simple Hacks”.

But the reality is Dad had to stop at Wal-Mart to purchase a $9 jacket to replace the one he forgot to bring with us. No more purple tie-dyed sweatshirt to appall the locals.

After our visit to Wal-Mart, it was on to a local drive-in, where they were serving hot dogs!

Following our warm greeting, the doxie showed me her nine-year-old teeth, and the embrace ended shortly thereafter. You always have to know when you have overstayed your welcome.

Mom procured products at a local mercantile.

After walking every street downtown, I nixed a potential sip of water.

I waited for Mom to return.

As always Mom returned … we went back to the campground for dinner … tenderloin tips, caesar salad, and some freshly caught trout courtesy of fellow campers.

Then, I waited for fraternization to end, so that I could go to sleep.

Today, we head East … potentially to Idaho, which would be my seventh state while working just my eighth month of life.

I hate to cut our visit short, but the engines are fired, and we’re on our way!!

HELLO! It’s me.

Mom and Dad told me to pack my bags, because apparently every few months we go on a one-month RV adventure. Life is like a box of chocolates.

So pack ’em I did. Or at least Dad did. Somebody packed them, because I have a lot of chewies with me on this endeavor.

One of our first stops was for artery-clogging goodness. Well, not for me. I guess Dad enjoyed 2,773 calories … though he would be the first to tell you that a full thirty percent of the plate was generously garnished with vegetables.

Who knows, maybe this place will eventually land on an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives?

Then it was on to Leavenworth, east of the Cascades, for a couple of days of beet-eating goodness.

Who is that, you ask? Good question! That is a pup named “Cordell”. He’s like a wise old sage. Now, I don’t have a lot of snaps of our two days together, and there’s a good reason for that. Mom and Dad didn’t exactly go camera happy, as they sat in terror hoping I’d be on my best behavior. I believed I earned a grade of, oh, uh, let’s see … how about C-? Sure, there were times when Cordell snapped at me like a nun scolding a tot at Catholic School, but I think I earned my stripes as the weekend progressed. We enjoyed a couple of tender moments. Let’s be honest. Cordell already misses me. And I miss Cordell.

This morning, we packed up the rig, and headed north toward Chelan. We enjoyed the magic and splendor of the mighty Columbia River.

At times, the road wound around odd-shaped peaks.

And at times, the road just bullied through peaks.

Tunnels terrify me.

Late in the afternoon, we arrived in Chelan. Pretty country.

We parked the rig.

We shared our food with the locals.

And then we headed down to the beach!!

Sure the wind was blowing us sideways, but I wanted to get there!!

Did you see the ducks down there? Oh yes, I ambled over to introduce myself to the curious Anas Platyrhynchos, but they weren’t having any of the love that I could offer them.

We finally made it to the beach.

It was at this point in the proceedings that I introduced myself to sand (visit the website if you cannot see the video).

So here we are. We’re on our way East. We’ll spend another day here, and then we begin heading to a mysterious land called “Wisconsin”. Is that a place from the TV show “Game of Thrones”?

Hello! It’s me!

Look, I don’t know what the heck I’m doing there. But it was fun to bunny hop my way into the mess. More on bunnies later in the program.

Last weekend, we toured Lopez Island. This, which some call the “Land of Enchantment” and others call “The Place Where All Drivers Wave At You”, was a destination full of vim and vigor.

At first, I was indifferent when Dad said “Do you want to go to Lopez Island?”

But then we arrived via ferry.

Now this is a true story. Dad said on Friday that we walked more than 12,000 steps. Well, if Dad walked 12,000 steps, then I walked a minimum of 24,000 steps! And my steps are small, so I am going with the moderately embellished fact that I walked more than 100,000 steps on Friday.

Wow!

We searched for the best hiking destination.

We followed tourists …

We identified canine companions …

… and we pursued canine companions!

But the best part of the vacation was this part … please visit the website if you cannot see the video via email.

I mean,is that sheer heaven right there or what? I get it, that was no cuniculus I was chasing, but I’ll play with a speedy rabbit any day of the week – and for a half hour on a Friday!!

So you take a hundred thousand steps and you chase a couple dozen rabbits for a half-hour, and you wear down.

And then finally, you crumble to the ground.

Mom tells me that we’re heading east for a month. East as in a few miles away, or East as in 2,000 miles away? Sounds like the latter. #OhBoy!

Hello. It’s me.

Yeah, I don’t look too happy, do I?

There I am, running across the street (Dad tells me to “hustle” when we cross the street, so I hustle), when I come across a pleasant appearing middle-aged woman. I smile, as only I can.

She looks down at me, then looks up at my Dad, and says, and I quote word for word (please use your own version of a condescending tone, and please imagine her face turning bitter like she just found out her only choices for President were Trump or HRC):

• “Yeah, yeah, we all get it, your name is Dash and you are so darn cute. Geez.“

She then made a motion with her right hand, a dismissive waving motion no less, you know what I’m talking about, right? That’s how she finished her dismissive sentence.

I haven’t been so offended since a random ginormous poodle-mix clamped me to the ground a week ago, jaws locked around my tender neck.

Look, I get it. The middle class is eroding, and nobody is standing up for hard-working folks. Our Government has been bought and paid for by special interests. And the plot for ABC’s “Once Upon A Time” has steered into an unrecoverable hole. There’s a lot to be upset about.

But do not, I repeat, DO NOT take out your frustrations on a 6 3/4 month old puppy trying to hustle across the street so that traffic may progress smoothly. Just like you, I’m trying to keep my feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars.

Hello! It’s me.

I am told that this is the most glorious spring in the history of the Pacific Northwest. A spring more resplendent than most summers.

All I know is that I spent the month of March in sunny Arizona, and somehow, I brought comparable weather 1,500 miles north.

Or maybe our planet is tilting toward the sun, causing temps to warm. What do I know? I’m just a puppy.

Dad says that when the weather is nice, we must be outside … walking, touring the countryside.

Sometimes we journey to distant realms.

Sometimes I get crabby.

Our adventures frequently bump up against uncertain circumstances.

But the reward is finding a pot of gold.

Or getting a quick roll in the sand (visit the website if you cannot see the video).

No matter how you slice it, I need a pedometer.

In fact, I am so brainwashed that tonight at 8:30pm, I rang the bell to go outside, and then put one of Dad’s shoes in my mouth … my little way of telling Dad it’s time to go for a sunset walk … a walk I spent the first 79 steps pulling my own leash via my new teeth.

Tonight, I tried to pull a root out of our gravel road. With a dearth of rainfall, my best efforts failed to extract the cedar-based tuber. You have my solemn word that I will not rest until the rootstock has been pulled. Or the leash pulls me from the root.