Painted Canyons, More Wine, and Rain Squalls
Day 4, DeDakis Loop: under leaden skies.
July 20, 2024
Well, threatening skies over-delivered on their promise on Day 4. In spades. As we moved toward the Midwest, we finally hit what they’d been dealing with for days: enough rain to turn our knuckles white. Buckets-full of rain. And wind.
As we drove across into the Central Time Zone, we decided that the six hours it took us to drive the 428 miles from Miles City to Buffalo, North Dakota were two and a half too many. But our options were few, hopscotching as we were from Harvest Host to Harvest Host. So, we soldiered on crankily.
We did have our moments of kindness. For example, the Professor demonstrated he’d learned an important lesson. I plan these trips to write about them (and yes, I know it’s not just about me, but sometimes I act like it is ). I love to follow curiosity and write and get heated (passionate?) when we miss a turn off.
That afternoon as we approached the Painted Canyons in Theodore Roosevelt National Park (in brisk, gale force winds and driving rain) he offered (like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth), “Would you like to stop at the Visitors Center?”
“Oh yes,” I said sweetly back. “I would, I really would! Thank you!” I wasn’t above using positive reinforcement. When he found a parking spot he offered to stay in the truck with the dogs. I was surprised but not offended. I made my way across the soggy lawn past a sign of a buffalo silhouette that said imperatively, “Don’t approach wildlife”. Great mounds of bovine scat just past the sign convinced me it was no joke.
Theodore Roosevelt said it’s “…so fantastically broken in form and so bizarre in color as to seem hardly properly to belong to this earth.” Teddy was right and I hated to leave. Next time we’re there, we’ll take a self-guided driving tour through the park – it’s said to be immense and so interesting.
The rain pelted and the wind threatened to carry me off past the Visitors Center, over the fence, and into the Painted Canyons far below, but I didn’t care. The Canyons are nothing short of splendid. I hope to revisit someday.
As we drove deeper into North Dakota and the landscape flattened. By the time we reached our turnoff to our next night’s stay I was watching for funnel clouds. Who lives here, I wondered? Do they worry about tornados? I certainly would. I had a vision of the Nash spinning through leaden skies, me like Dorothy inside, and clutching a basket (and my little dogs, too). But back to the bad. It turned out the winery wasn‘t in Buffalo after all. Waze urged us further along muddy gravel roads.
“Are you sure this is right?” the Professor snapped repetitively with irritation. “Would Waze lie?” I shot back. And when the truck and trailer fish-tailed toward a corn field at least a foot below the road I yelled like the proper lady that I am, “You’d better not run us into the f*ing ditch!” I’m not proud of myself. I did feel briefly better.
When we got to the RV area at Red Tail Vineyard it was still raining, colder, and though neither of us wanted to, we still had to block the trailer wheels, hook up to electricity, change our clothes, and walk over to the winery for a tasting and dinner (in the dark without an umbrella). And worse, the truck and trailer were coated with thick, sticky mud.
The Red Trail Vineyard was named after the Old Red Trail, “one of the first established routes for automobile travel through the northern part of the United States.” It ran from Seattle to New York and actually passed by the property. The Vineyard was established in 2003 when Rodney, its former farmer owner, decided to plant vines – 120 of them though he’d originally planned to plant 1,000. Like Tongue River Vineyard in Miles City, he is limited to cold weather varietals, some for eating but most for drinking. The website has a comprehensive history online at the link above.
The Nash was a mess and we couldn’t step on the running boards without our shoes getting covered in the stuff. It wasn’t our finest hour but once we walked into the dining room we relaxed. Wine helped. Dinner helped too. The gathering place, a 100-year-old former granary and bunkhouse, now Red Trail’s dining room with its screened in porch (“No, we’ll eat inside, thank you.”) were nearly filled with laughing, happy people, many of whom seemed to be local. Our host, Rodney Hogen, sat with us and told us his story as we dined on Red Curry Scallop soup (yum!) and Broiled Salmon (also yummy). Dinner wasn’t inexpensive but it was very, very good. Our moods improved accordingly.
When we walked back to the trailer the rain had stopped and found that the heater had kept Kota and Tex cozy while we were away and they hadn’t shredded, eaten, or otherwise destroyed anything.
As I dropped off to sleep, I didn’t think, not even once, of rain, our good and bad day. Or tornadoes. None came.