One of the many things learned on the road is that RV parks are either like neighborhoods from the fifties populated by people who are generally happy, with kids riding bikes, people sitting out front smiling to passersby and lots of ‘good mornings’ and ‘good evenings.’ Or, they are like a David Lynch plot device – a freak-show waypoint in a road trip to introduce the viewers to new ominous characters or to create tension. We’ve seen both kinds of parks.

Today was a travel day to get us a little closer to Grand Teton National Park, but one without a defined stopping point.

After a late wake up, the team rallied for a quick pack and go. The boys have been getting very good at the routine, and Angela and I have gotten quite efficient as well. We can set up or break camp in thirty minutes or less.

The drive took us back through Custer then wound north to Devil’s Tower, Wyoming. Like Rushmore, Devil’s Tower is okay to see, but not a must. It’s probably much more fun if you’re a rock climber. Traveling tip: the best picture spots are outside the park. Everything inside is too close to capture what a unique geological feature it is.  With our visit, the boys added another state to their list of those visited.

We passed through Gillette, Wyoming, re-fueled and grabbed a quick bite (and chocolate shakes) for lunch. The drive west took us across the southern end of the Bighorn Mountains, and up and over Powder River Pass at 9666’. The truck had no problems with the pass – neither up nor down – though the brakes were hot when we pulled out for a photo at one of the lower turnouts in Tensleep Canyon. The Bighorn Mountains are highly recommended for anyone traveling through this part of the country. Angela and I passed through them 19 years ago and marveled at their beauty, and we loved the opportunity to share them with our sons.

We estimated the amount of time I could continue driving without getting too tired (aka, grumpy) and also avoid having to set up in the dark. That estimate put us in the town of Thermopolis, Wyoming, which is named for its natural hot springs. The only place with an open spot was the Fountain of Youth RV Park. When we pulled up, the proprietor was sitting in a lawn chair out front, shirtless in cut off jean shorts, tussled gray hair, smoking a cigarette with a can of beer tucked underneath the TV tray next to him. In fairness, it was 95 degrees. The campground’s signs were all homemade – stencil-sprayed on plywood, splintered along the edges and with misspelled words. And for a good long moment, Angela and I looked at each other trying to decide if this should really be our stop.

The park has two hot springs – one developed and configured into three cooling pools so that guests can swim or soak in the mineral waters; the other locked up behind barbed wire fence with the water just boiling up onto the ground. The entire park smelled like rotten eggs. Yet Asher, never one to miss a chance to swim, convinced Angela to jump into the natural hot springs and soak together for an hour.

It was windy when we arrived, and the threat of violent rain hung over the campground. Trash rolled through like tumbleweed – red solo cups, aluminum foil, used paper towels and fast food wrappers. Rusted machinery sat behind chain-link fences with “POSTED” warnings. Along the eastern edge, less than 50 yards from our site, were train tracks for high-speed freight – “they usually pass by a couple few times a night,” said the park manager.  Most of the RVs looked like relics from the 70s and 80s: white vinyl-sided boxes, browned or sun-bleached, rust-stains dripping from fasteners and bolts.

Eventually, the storm passed through around 1:00a, but brought no relief from the heat – just more humidity.

By the way, Thermopolis, Wyoming was the home to Clayton Danks, three-time winner of the Cheyenne Frontier Days. Although you may not know Clayton Danks or his favorite black gelding, Steamboat, you certainly know the icon they inspired – the Bucking Horse and Rider famous as the symbol of Wyoming.