Wandering home along the trail of pioneers
My husband, David, had been an exceptionally good sport about my itinerary across Canada that was published here last week. Three weeks later, Montreal was in our rearview mirror as we re-entered the US through Detroit to begin our two-week trek home. David is a California history buff and was eager to follow the Emigrants Trails west. I, on the other hand, couldn’t fake enthusiasm about fort hopping across the Midwest and Nevada, so I vacillated between wanting to be fair and being a brat. My adventure partner’s historic route sounded tedious and lacking in scenic drama, but a little attitude adjustment and a map reignited my sense of discovery.
Crossing the border into the United States was astonishingly easy, but navigating the road construction maze that funneled us into Detroit’s abandoned and dilapidated neighborhoods was utterly depressing. The freeway to Indiana was a welcome escape from that heartbreaking reality and Johnny Appleseed Park in Fort Wayne offered an adequate campsite with a chance to visit the legendary nurseryman’s gravesite.
We launched early the next morning for St. Louis, Missouri, “Gateway to the West.” St. Louis’s steel “catenary” arch built in the 1960s has been the main attraction on the banks of the Mississippi River, but the museum recently added to the 100-acre national park was our primary interest. The expansive interactive exhibits paid tribute to explorers like Lewis and Clark and the daring pioneers who set out to fulfill “Manifest Destiny,” an idea that essentially ended the Native American’s way of life.
We camped outside St. Louis and after a night of trains and traffic, we skedaddled off to the Museum of National Historic Trails in Independence, Missouri. The museum’s short film depicted the challenges faced on the California, Oregon and Santa Fe trails.
Nebraska surprised me with a more undulating landscape and a spirited pro-choice rally on the steps of Lincoln’s capitol. At Fort Kearney State Historical Site, a resupplying outpost on the Oregon Trail and later a Pony Express station, we appreciated a chance to slow down and wander around the parade ground before enjoying a picnic in an idyllic grove of cottonwoods.
Wagon train history came to life when Chimney Rock and Scottsbluff National Monument’s red sandstone escarpment appeared in the distance just as pioneers’ journals described these Great Plains geological landmarks near the Nebraska-Wyoming border.
The restoration of Fort Laramie at the National Historic Site was impressive. The fort’s strategic location at the confluence of the Laramie and North Platte Rivers shaped it into an important trading and military post that evolved into the Northern Plains hub for boosting the expansion west. Although the National Park Service has been successful in preserving the historic site since the acquisition in 1938, failed treaties with the Plains Indians are a stain that time has not erased.
I was beginning to feel saturated with forts and frontier life and frustrated by the childish “you’re not the boss of me” attitude toward “masking.” One woman’s unbelievably blatant disregard for the posted mask protocol, even after the park ranger’s courteous reminder in the visitor center, had me fuming. At this junction of our expedition, David and I agreed on a change of trail, so we pointed the truck south to get reacquainted with Colorado and New Mexico. We traced the mountainous divide to Boulder and by dusk we were cooking dinner in an ALodge creek-side campsite happily bundled in our down jackets breathing in the heavenly setting.
I looked at the map and began calculating how much fun and activity we could cram into the many miles of our last six days. The next morning we drove to Colorado Springs and hiked around stunning red rock spires in the aptly named “Garden of the Gods” on our way to Taos. I was salivating for Taos Pueblo fry bread all the way to New Mexico. Unfortunately, the 1,000-yearold living community designated as a World Heritage Site was still closed to the public. We changed course and parked in downtown Taos for a visit to Kit Carson’s home and gravesite. A biographical film with Carson’s great-grandson playing a young Kit added a fresh twist to the museum tour.
The High Road’s scenic byway to Santa Fe took us past several picturesque historic churches and small artist enclaves tucked on dusty mesas overlooking the Santé de Cristo Mountains. The snow-capped Truchas Peak under cloud-filtered light flooded me with memories of villages in the remote corners of South America’s Cordillera Blanca. In Santa Fe, we indulged ourselves at the Loretto Inn in a pueblo guest room, steps from the vibrant Native American Market Plaza and Canyon Road’s art
Mecca. The town’s new blocks of organic architecture weaving around hidden historic alleyways pumped our excitement as we rediscovered this southwestern jewel. We basked in the colorful culture punctuated by sensory-stimulating family recipes at Casa de Chimayo. David was euphoric eating the “Chiles en Nogada-stuffed Poblano” drizzled in a light walnut cream sauce complemented by a pear and apricot accent.
Two days later, we forged ahead along the Turquoise Trail passing funky artist colonies toward Albuquerque before suffering one night in downtown Phoenix. The next day we braved another grueling 500 miles all the way to Southern California’s Carpinteria State Beach. My nomad spirit was reluctant for the adventure to end so we stretched our last day along Highway 1 to San Simeon for a gourmet food truck lunch on the Hearst Ranch Winery picnic grounds. It was late afternoon when we decided to gamble on snagging a campsite on the Big Sur coast to crown our last night on the trail. It paid off with a spectacular spot on Kirk Creek Campground’s grassy plateau where David and I celebrated our 38 years of soul compatibility at the edge of the Pacific’s blue infinity under a star-lit dome.
Our five-week odyssey had been a mix of cultural adventure and culture shock, but I was grateful to have resisted the urge to rush back to our Peninsula bubble every time the vibe was uncomfortable. Now I couldn’t wait to set out and peel another layer of America.