Jamestown, North Dakota

World's Largest Buffalo - 60-ton concert sculpture. I learned that famed western story writer Louis L'Amour and singer Peggy Lee are from Jamestown. Pretty cool. I got a 3'fer on this stop.

Chief Sitting Bull's Grave

   Here is where Sitting Bull is buried, or part of him, or maybe none at all.  As the story goes, Sitting Bull was "accidentally" shot in Fort Yates, North Dakota and buried near where the "accident" took place.  In 1953, members of his Lakota family in Mobridge, South Dakota drove north to Fort Yates at night with backhoe in tow and dug up the bones of their great leader.  They were back home before the folks of Fort Yates knew what happened.  Morbridge didn't try to hide their deed though.  They sealed up the bones in a steel vault surrounded by 20 tons of concrete, buried the lot overlooking the Missouri River and erected a granite pillar with a 7 ton bust of Sitting Bull on top, then dotted the roadways with signs encouraging the traveler to stop and see The Grave of Chief Sitting Bull the Indian Chief Who Defeated General Custer at the Little Big Horn.

   Fort Yates meanwhile laughs at it all for they maintain all that Mobridge got were horse bones or maybe a white man who was buried on top of Sitting Bull.  They say Sitting Bull was buried with quicklime so that he would rot quickly.  Fort Yates soon after covered their grave site with a slab of concrete and a big rock to deter any other grave diggers from Morbridge.  This is just one many stories surrounding the grave of Chief Sitting Bull and the controversy continues to this day as to where the final resting place should be, for bones they are not even sure are Sitting Bull.

   I had planned on visiting the Fort Yates, ND site of Sitting Bull's grave.  But their grave site was an iffy prospect to say the least.  It would require a 30 mile trek down a road that I would only have to return back on.  It is marked by a small hand painted wood sign leaning off to the side held up by the prevailing northern wind.  Then if you were fortunate enough to get that far, the grave was only to be that cement slab off in the weeds somewhere, if you could find it.  I figured if Fort Yates cared so little, then I could too and blew that one off.  Instead I went looking for an old school house that was covered by its now-deceased owner with over 4000 cups.  I never found it and the locals had no idea what I was talking about.

More About Hugh Glass

I learned more on the story of Hugh Glass in a museum I visited today.

The bear was with two cubs, hence the vicious attack. All Hugh could defend himself with was his knife which he thrust into the bear again and again. Glass won the battle but at the cost you already know of. Bridger and Fitzgerald were in the process of digging a grave when approaching Indians frightened them away. They covered the "body" with a bear skin which later would be a factor in saving his life.

When Glass came to he could feel the bare bone of his ribs on his back. He didn't make a raft to float down the river as Indians would see him. This is why he went by land mostly at night. He fashioned a splint for his broken leg and made a sort of carriage for it so as to be able to drag his body.

Many times he lapsed into unconsciousness during his journey. At one time he came to only to find another Grizzly Bear standing over him. He felt the bearskin covering him attracted the bear. He remained perfectly still while the bear flicked off the bearskin and began to lick the maggot-infested wounds. He feels this prevented further infection and most likely saved his life from a slow death.

When he reached the Cheyenne River he felt it safe to travel by water and then fashioned a crude dugout from an old log and floated along the river. This makes his 200 mile journey a bit more believable.

He vowed revenge upon the two who abandoned him but by the time he met up with Bridger again, he was now a man and well known explorer and guide so thought it best to let him live. As for Fitzgerald, he had joined the Army and to kill him would be a crime against the government so had to let him live too.

Why hasn't Hollywood made a movie of this story?

Lemmon, South Dakota

Hugh Glass Memorial

Thirteen miles south of the town Lemmon which sets on the South and North Dakota border, the Grand River forks into the north and south branches (unfortunately it is now under the water of a reservoir).  In August of 1823 fur trapper Hugh Glass, a habitual loner, was hunting by himself when he was attacked and horribly mauled by a Grizzly Bear.  Two men, one being a young Jim Bridger later to become an historical figure in early mountain men lore, were left with him while the rest of the fur trapping party continued on. Hugh’s condition was so grave that the two men had thought he was dead.  They took his gun and possessions and left him where he lay.  But Hugh was not dead.  When Glass came out of his coma and in terrible pain having been slashed from head to toe by the griz, maggots were already eating the rot on his back.  With a broken leg he dragged himself to a stream where he sustained himself on berries and meat from a wolf kill of a buffalo calf after he drove off the wolves.  Fever and infection was his constant companion as he literally crawled the 200 miles to Fort Kiowa, a trip that took him over two months.  Glass eventually met up with Bridger but let him live.  For all Hugh Glass had endured, he met his fate in an Indian ambush 10 years later along the Yellowstone River. 

I've come across the story of Hugh Glass several times in books I've read and I just had to see where it all took place.  Not what I had imagined for this is grassland and I had in my mind mountains and forest.

This is what I endure in bringing these stories to you.  That is 40c to you metric folk. 

It really wasn't as bad as the evening before along the Missouri River where the humidity was over 50% at 9 in the evening.  Rivulets of sweat was running off of me while doing nothing but reading a book.  I was miserable.  How do people live in this?  Hugh Glass I am not.

Sunflowers

For my darling sweet wife back home.

Dances With Wolves and Tater Tots

   We came up out of Nebraska into South Dakota on State Route 83.  Where it intersected Interstate 90 at Murdo was to be the movie set left behind from the film Dances With Wolves, starring Kevin Costner.  Having come across left behind movie sets in the wilds before, I had high expectations for this one.  First off, it was not to be seen anywheres around Murdo.  I stopped and asked.  "Oh that is 20 miles west of here on the Interstate."  Hmm...my plan was to see it here, along with a metal art piece then head east to Mitchell for the famous Corn Palace.  Well the Corn Palace I was sure would be too touristy for me and all I would probably have done was stand in front and take a corny picture of myself there.  So it was west to the movie set.  Right off I don't have good feelings about this one as there are huge billboards every mile urging the traveler to stop at the "1880's Old Town".  In spite of all the signs, this is not a good sign.  Well at least there is that metal art piece of the human skeleton walking a T-Rex skeleton to see. 

The art piece comes into view and there is no stopping on the Interstate.  Here are my pictures.

Here is what I missed (thank you mystery person on the Internet)

We arrived at the "movie set".  It is a major tourist scene, completely enclosed behind a 10 foot high fence so as you cannot see anything but the church steeple without paying your 8 bucks.  I am sure it was well worth the price of admission, but after touring The Museum of Fur Trade a couple of days ago, I wasn't ready for more of the similar.  Plus it is 100F (37.7C) degrees outside - tomorrow it is to be 106F (41C), and I was worried about being cold before leaving home!  I looked through a crack in the fence up Main Street (my fears were confirmed), ate lunch and headed north to Pierre.  We crossed the Missouri River and found a nice State Recreational Area, huge, clean, all to ourselves and with electricity to run the A/C.  Also, unexpected free wi-fi somehow or I wouldn't be able to post this. 

Two items of interest from today:

1.  The lady DJ on the Classic Rock radio station said how CBS News went and reported on the little ticker tape news thingy that runs along the bottom of your TV screen about the passing of Neil Armstrong this past weekend.  "Neil Young, the first man to walk on the moon dies at the age of 82."  Neil Young is alive and well and along with his band Crazy Horse are releasing a new album soon.  Oops.

2.  At Big Tim's Cafe in Pierre, South Dakota they have a $6.99 special for Tater Tot Casserole.  I cannot begin to imagine.

Alliance, Nebraska

Carhenge

Carhenge is a replica of Stonehenge, England.  Created from cars of the 1950's and 1960's they are planted trunk down and replicate the dimensions of Stonehenge right down to all of the 38 major stones. 

Neat! Now I don't have to go to England.

This post is for my son as he had a Plymouth Valiant just like the one in the top photo.

He wishes he still had that car.

Nebraska

Finally!

Little America, Wyoming

Other than Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming has little to offer.  The bottom half of the state has even less.  It is bleak, barren and borderlines boredom while driving across it on Interstate 80.  In 1932 S.M. Covey opened up a gas station, hotel and whatever else to attract the traveler to stop.  He named his place Little America in honor of Admiral Byrd's camp at the South Pole.  Mr. Covey thought it a great idea to have a live penguin shipped to Little America for all to see.  Well the bird didn't survive the trip to Boston (surprise!) so in making the best out of a bad idea, he had the penguin stuffed and shipped the rest of the way to it's new home in the wastelands of Wyoming.  Emperor (that's his name - he is an Emperor Penguin and the owners were at a loss to come up with any other name) stands in the hotel lobby inside a glass case on a fake block of ice.

Did Dino meet the same fate as Emperor?  I checked it out. It was just a plaster model. 

Whew!

Today we face another day of driving just to get out of Wyoming.  If we don't survive, we don't want to be stuffed, mounted and put on display...please!

Wendover, Nevada/Utah

Wendover Will

63 feet tall (90 feet including his pedestal) Wendover Will greeted travelers as they arrived at the Nevada/Utah state line.  When the Stateline Casino changed hands the new casino owners felt they didn't need Will anymore and he was junked.  The Nugget gave Will to the city of West Wendover (a couple miles down the road) where he was restored and given his new place to stand.  A big ribbon cutting ceremony was held on June 9, 2005 for Will.  At night he is lit up by 1,184 feet of neon while his left arm moves up and down.  I guess Will needs to rest his arm during the hot daytime hours.

We have Utah and Wyoming yet to get through before we reach the Great Plains and the fun stuff really begins.

Imlay, Nevada

Thunder Mountain

There is no mountain, nor any thunder, at least while I was there.  This art house stands just off on Interstate 80.  It was created by an eccentric fellow (aren't they all?) as a memorial to the American Indian who suffered greatly at the hand of the White Man.  You can read more about him, his family and his project at thundermountainmonument. 

Great photo opportunities to be had.  If you are ever in the area, take Exit 145 at Imlay.  Fred Lewis is the caretaker there, a real nice guy who unlocked the gate and left me all to myself to wander about.  "Just lock up when you leave."  Thanks Fred.  Hope your prostrate condition gets better. 

Plan, Research, Go!

Sinbad and I are preparing to set sail again.  I never have a plan for a road trip, just a general idea.  On our last big trip (this time last year) we came south out of Montana, skirting the western edge of South Dakota and passed through the panhandle of Nebraska.  I was smitten with the Great Plains, the grasslands, the vast open space of the prairies.  I want to go back and explore the Great Plains more in depth.  But which route shall we take?  A couple weeks ago an idea came to me and I spent most of last week investigating the states we plan to go through.  I'll seek out the unusual, the quirky and different, but places of historical interest are not to be ignored.  This proved to be a bit of work so I set a goal to do one state a day for my research.  My eyeballs cannot handle anymore computer screen time than that.  When finished, I had 15 pages printed out with 90 goofy oddball things listed to check out among 9 states.  We always avoid major cities and stay off the interstate highways as much as possible.  It is the little back roads for us.  Also the popular touristy sites, we'll pass on.  And so this is how our "planned" route came to be.

We will be on the road for around two months, give or take.  I am really concerned about cold weather in the north and hope I don't wimp out.  So if you're ready, off we go!

The Way it Was

As I prepare for an upcoming road trip I cannot begin to imagine how it was for the pioneers preparing to set out into land unknown in a vehicle such as this.

Scouting

The day before the mountain bike race I was out scouting for a good spot to take pictures from when off in the distance I saw what looked like an Indian war bonnet lying in the grass.  Closer inspection revealed it to be the remains of a turkey wing and breast bone.

Now before you say "poor turkey" consider that there are oodles of them here in California and that they are not native to our state.  There once was a turkey indigenous to the California area, Meleagris californica, but it became extinct probably due to climate change during the end of the last glacier period along with hunting by early human inhabitants.  Also remember they provide a valuable food source for coyote, bob cat and mountain lion that live here.  Besides, do you think "poor turkey" before you poke your knife and fork onto one at Thanksgiving?

I didn't pick any of the feathers.  I already have a couple poking out of my hiking hat so I left it for someone else.

The Mountain Bike Race

I situated myself at the 13 mile mark - half way for most, but there was a long course that added 6.7 miles of agony if you so desired.  That added loop was 5 miles past this point.  Here is your leader at 13 miles.

See him sweating any? I don't.

Here is the pack chasing him about 20 yards behind.

I missed the first two women as they were side by side gabbing to each other as if they were out for a Sunday ride. It was Saturday. "Hi, what's your name?"  "Melissa."  "I'm Jennifer.  I think I remember seeing you at the Cow Mountain Race." "Oh yeah!"  Good grief ladies.  Okay, so here is woman #3 about 100 yards behind trying to catch up to all the chit-chat.

One of the first youngsters demonstrating the proper method for climbing.  This kid was way up there in the race too.  I plan to try the curled tongue technique myself next time I have to climb a hill.

Those in the latter half of the race were having a lot of fun.

Most of the women with long hair had their hair in braids.  I am a sucker for women with braids.  This girl wins the Braided Hair Award with the added touch of red ribbons.

In case you didn't think these women were serious and tough, check out the scars on this girl's leg.

Can You Imagine?

Yesterday I sat on the sidelines to watch a mountain bike race at my next door State Park Annadel.  Can you imagine riding a tandem bicycle over 26 miles of rough up and down mountainous terrain?

I have a hard enough time just getting myself over...half that distance.

How Evolution Works

I'll end my stories about my grandparents here.  What started out as a mere observation of my age last Monday being the very exact same as my grandfather's the day he died evolved into several days of reminescing about my grandparents.  I had no plan or idea it would go there,  but it was a great journey and it seems my readers enjoyed it as much as I.  And I thank you.

As for the title of this post, you expecting something profound from me?

My Other Grandmother

So those who have been following this week's posts you may be wondering What about your other grandparents?  I'll get this out of the way first - I had no other grandfather.  Only the one I've written about previously and he was as good as two for me.  My mother's father died at the age of 29 when she was a young girl.  My grandmother re-married years later and although I have very vague memories of him, he was always "Bud" to me and not Grandpa.  More like a friend of my grandmother in my child-like mind.

My two grandmothers lived in the same town less than 5 miles apart so on weekend visits I was shared between the two.  Guess I need to lay out some other pertinent information - I am an only child, as was my father and mother.  So one could think little Johnny was spoiled.  I suppose in attention yes, but as far as being showered with toys and gifts, not really.  I just had it all to myself.

My two grandmothers were light years apart.  My grandmother Florence (above) kept her home neat as a pin; so clean you could slide a donut across the floor, pick it up and eat it without a care, even though she always had two little spoilt dogs in her home.  While grandmother Lois' home had a multitude of things for me to get into,  grandma Florence had one drawer of old toys, most of which left over from my mother.  Yet I was never bored there.  When an only child you learn early on how to entertain yourself.  Grandma Florence had the biggest avocado tree in her backyard and it was prime for climbing high up into, much to the consternation of my grandmother.  Grandma Lois would just let me loose in her backyard - the "Jungle".  Grandma Florence also had a great sloping cement driveway and smooth sidewalk perfect for roller skating.  You couldn't see grandma Lois' driveway (or even inside the garage) for the piles and stacks of boxes and crates of her "collection".  I'll make this clear here grandma Lois kept me in line.  Grandma Florence had little control over me.

While grandma Lois exposed me to the arts, grandma Florence exposed me to religion.  Every Sunday it was to church and I was thrust into Sunday school early on.  I must have grew bored with Sunday school for later on I would sit with her in church.  It was all entertainment to me - the sermon which meant little to me and all the singing which I usually just hummed along out loud since I didn't know the words until I could read them fast enough from the hymn books.  But I was fascinated with the stories from the Bible which she gave me several books written as so they made sense.  When the movie "The Ten Commandments" with Charlton Heston came out, you can bet we went to go see it together.  Loved it.  The only other thing that was as important to her as church was Knotts Berry Farm.  Oh how she loved that place.  This was long before it became the Disney-like place it is today.  I think it brought to her pleasant memories of life in rural Missouri as a young girl. 

I loved both grandmothers equally and never favored one over the other in time spent staying with them.  Although my grandfather and grandmother died unexpectedly at home, I have greater regret over my grandmother Florence's death.  She became ill and went to the hospital in October 1989.  I was unable to get time off from work to go visit her, but then I didn't think it that big of deal either as she'd surely come home soon.  She died there in the hospital.  She was 82 years old and I should have known better.  At least my wife and her two great grandchildren were able to see her one last time.  At her funeral, I was unable to sit up in the front row.  I just couldn't.  I sat in the back upon the last of the vacant rows of benches, and my wife stayed by my side.

Grandma

Lois and Julius

My grandmother was a unique woman, albeit a woman who herself was deeply scarred with the sudden tragic loss of her only child, my father.  She never showed her hurt and carried on with life in a most cheerful, kind and compassionate manner for all she knew.  But behind the scene of her outside existence lay the evidence of her pain.  She became a hoarder after my father died.  Having watched the television series about hoarders I now understand.  Photographs of her home before my father died show a clean, tidy, well-kept home like all others.  But my memories are all of clutter, chaos and heaps piled high that led to "avalanches" as she casually referred to them and I loved it all.  Grandma's house was a world of adventure for a young boy like me.

My wife enjoying probably one of my grandmother's stories during a dinner at my aunt Florence's home. 

She exposed me to classical music (my car radio is tuned to the classical music station out of San Francisco and I listen to classical music through satellite radio when on the road), the ballet, movies of the 30' & 40's all of which I appreciate still to this day.  She was a prolific letter writer and story teller which has influenced me greatly.  She was the middle child of three brothers and a sister who was the youngest.  The two sisters could be no greater different from one and the other. My aunt Florence out-lived them all to the age of 100.  The three brothers were all travelers of the world and I suppose that is where the vagabond in me stems from.  My grandmother lived another 7 years after the death of my grandfather and died at the age of 64, at home where she was found by her last remaining brother.  It was nice she died in her home where I know she would have wanted death to come just as it did for my grandfather, quick and painless.

My daughter being shown how the flash works by my uncle Arthur who would be the one to find my grandmother.

I could tell many stories about my grandmother but I think the best to be told would involve me. It was a day, now grown and owning my own car, I had to stop by her house for some reason.  I had my girl friend (who would later become my wife) with me at the time.  I don't recall what exactly went through my mind at the impending awkward situation of my girl friend at my grandmother's home, but I knew I had to protect both women some how.  It was the very first time in my life I actually ever really considered my grandmother's abnormal lifestyle for what it was, just that.  I asked her to remain in the car which she thought very strange but fortunately did so without complaint.  I made the visit brief and she was not exposed to my grandmother's life.  And I had protected my grandmother's secret. 

When my grandmother died we were married and with two kids living in northern California.  We went down to help my aunt and uncle with the formidable task of cleaning out the house.  My aunt did not want my wife to come in and see the house but I explained to her that I already had prepared her for it.  In reality there was no way a person could be adequately prepared.  I wasn't even myself for it was greatly worse than my memory recalled.  My wife did fine and soon the two of us were treating it like a great adventure of discovery for that is exactly what it was. I regaled her with childhood tales as we worked our way through the my grandmother's world avoiding the occasional avalanche. When it was over she loved my grandmother even more than she had before, knowing her now better in death than she had in life. And I had learned something about my grandmother that few if any ever knew.  She was a member of Mensa, the International High IQ Society.

Four months after this picture was taken of her with her friends she would be gone.

An interesting thing I discovered while putting together these last few blog entries was that the photo at the top of this page was taken by my other grandmother at her home.  She was always a great one for taking pictures and would note on the back of every photo of who, what, where and when.  This photo is dated two days after my father was killed.  They look happy to me and I cannot help but wonder if my grandmother wrote the incorrect date, but she hadn't.  She was always precise with her details in life and if you look at the photo from yesterday's post the hurt is there in their faces.

Grandpa part 2

My grandfather enjoyed salt water fishing either from the surf or from a pier such as at Seal Beach, CA. On weekends when I would go stay with grandma and grandpa a fishing trip was always in order. Those trips fishing, out to the desert to shoot .22's at tin cans and just lying on the bed with him to watch old western movies will be memories that I'll never forget.

On that fateful day it happened to be the first day of week's vacation for him.  His old late 40's Plymouth sedan was in the shop and he wouldn't get it back till Friday.  With no car for work he took that week's vacation that his boss had been pestering him about.  My grandmother took him for a ride to Seal Beach to see how the fishing was and maybe meet up with a few of his fishing pals on the pier.  But it was a cold windy day and as they started out on the pier he turned to his wife and said "Sugar, this is miserable isn't it?" and with that they returned to the car.  He didn't feel ambitious and as my grandmother wrote - in looking back I could see he was way under par for that day.  A stop at the store, then a roadside stand for some strawberries and back home.  He relaxed on his bed that afternoon watching TV (an old western I bet) and listen to news radio.  They had a late lunch that day of a chicken tamale each then later in the afternoon some strawberry shortcake.  Dinner at 6 was a chicken sandwich, a cup of cocoa and he saved the dish of peaches for later.  Around 7 he came out and asked my grandmother for some mending tape she used that morning and then returned to the bedroom.  She was writing a letter and finished at about 8pm then went in to see him.  That is when she found him lying across the bed with his head and right arm down over the far side where his radios were, as though he was reaching for something.  She said "Hi - what are you doing?"  When he never stirred she knew immediately.

She writes:  Of all the plans we made and all the things Gramps and I talked about, we'd never once ever thought of anything like this happening.  Oh later sometime, perhaps - after he retired and we'd settled quietly in some little rural area where life could go on peacefully for us both for a little while longer at least.  Gramps longed most for three things, I think:  to die quietly in his sleep, to live for a few years after retirement and enjoy life a bit, and to spend those few years in that "quiet little place somewhere far away from HERE".  His death was as near as to what he desired as one could come - it wasn't in his sleep but it was instant and painless.  And he was at home and he was with me."

He never wanted to be buried in California but as things turned out there wasn't much my grandmother could do to follow his request.  She was able to get two plots up the slope from where my father lies.  She ends the letter with  But if he knows, I think perhaps the knowledge that he's near Terry and one day I'll join them both, will make up for my having done as I have.

Grandpa

Today is a significant day between my Grandfather and I.

Here is my grandfather as a young man.  He loved baseball and was quite a good player.  Good enough in fact that a major league baseball team wanted to sign him up for their farm team in the minors.  He was underage at the time and needed written permission from his parents.  Unfortunately his mother saw no value in such nonsense and refused to sign the forms.  I cannot begin imagine how much better his life could have been had he been able to pursue his passion.  Well yes I could.  At that time he would have been able to play for the love of the game and not for the love of money as baseball players of today.  Anyway, moving on...

My memories of him really begin at between the ages of 5 and 6 for me.  This is at the very same time as when he suffered the greatest loss in his life, the loss of his only son, my father, at the all too young age of 27 to a drunk driver.  I can look back now and see the sadness and emptiness in his life that I was then unaware of as a child.  He was a tile setter all of his life, a true craftsman of the trade - an artist in a profession that we just do not see much of anymore.  In his later years he was delegated to doing repair work in the projects of central L.A., the epitome of despair and poverty in the black community. When he was eligible to retire on Social Security he pondered his options and chose to work one more year so as to benefit with a slightly larger monthly Social Security check.  Here he taught me one of the greatest lessons in life.  He died before that year was complete.  Therein is the significance of this day, for today I am exactly the same age, to the day, as was he when my grandmother found him dead.

I was re-reading the letter to me from my grandmother detailing the events of that day, May 1, 1967 but was unable to get through it.  Maybe next time.

In the News

I saw this in the "Odd News" online, about the only news of the times I find worthwhile reading that isn't doom & gloom, depressing, disheartening and basically written to put you into a funk for the day.

JOHNSTOWN, Pa. (AP)  The "squirrelly" configuration of a western Pennsylvania road helped cause a state road crew to paint a double-yellow line over a dead raccoon.  Pennsylvania DOT spokesman John Ambrosini says paint crews usually have a foreman on the job who clears away any dead animals before the paint-spraying truck equipment passes by. This crew didn't have a foreman and the equipment was too big to turn around in traffic, remove the animal and repair the paint.

And it is for things like this I enjoy travelling the back roads of America.

Unhinged

but not by much.

Motivation

A selfie from Bodie Ghost Town.

I kind of like this picture but don't know what to do with it except share it with you.

I mentioned how I haven't taken my camera out for some exercise in quite sometime and therefore have been going through some old material - tours through RV's and the like.  Well today I think it finally dawned on me why I haven't been in the mood for any picture taking.  In a couple of weeks Sinbad and I will take off on a long road trip and we're excited as to what we will see.  And when you are excited about seeing something new and different, you naturally want to take pictures of it.  Therefore, with so much excitement building over being in such exotic and fascinating places, how can one get motivated to go out and take pictures around home?  Anyway, this great revelation came upon me as I was doing research today as to what to see in the various states we plan to pass through.  It is all too much to do at once, so I do a state a day.  Whew!

Sinbad in the View

Well the little guy really doesn't matter what type of vehicle he is in, just as long as he is with me.

The steps on the View do provide a better outside viewpoint (no pun intended)

but with no greater range to roam than did the Box.

The preferred sleeping area while in motion or at rest, doesn't matter. I added the shelf so as to provide extra space for shoes.  Shoes go elsewhere now.

Sinbad in the Box

More from the archives.

So these are my little buddy when he was younger (5 years or more) from today.

On the back of the seat that I placed carpet so he wouldn't dig his claws into the vinyl when we hit bumps or took a turn too fast.

Yep, he liked the dash of the Box.  Not so of the View.

A good place also to watch what was going on outside in the dark .

The seat cushion at the table is nice

but I think I'll go outside for awhile

and roll in the dirt.