You can tell the season by the highway sign telling the fine folks of Wisconsin to buckle up on the way to their deer camp. That and the naked trees screamed late fall all the way to Devil’s Lake.

We drove up north to pick up Henna. Along the way we decided to stop at one of our favorite points in the Midwest. The thing we love most about Devil’s Lake is that it reminds us of places far from the Midwest. Maybe it’s the cliffs. Or the boulder fields casually strewn about. But the lake feels much more Colorado than Wisconsin. But then you see a fisherman snacking on cheese curds and are immediately brought back to the land of brats and cheese.

I’ll admit being a bit late to the game on this one. Mitchell ain’t exactly some out of the way hole-in-the wall just waiting to be discovered by the Hennacornoelidays Gang. Going strong at a century +, Lou Mitchell’s is the first, last, second and probably also the fifth word in breakfast dining. Hard to believe then that it took us fifty-two years to finally sit down at the joint.

They brag about their coffee (supposedly the world’s finest) and it’s good. But man, what they do to eggs. Had myself some Eggs Benedict and I probably ruined it for every hollandaise mismatch that follows. That sauce! Oh my. It was thick and giving and, honestly, it kind of made me blush. Corey had her eggs Sunnyside up and both of our meals were served with these perfectly fried up scalloped potatoes. Before you order they also gave us each a homemade donut hole and an orange slice. Even cooler, Mitchell’s is known as “the first stop on the Mother Road” due to it being located a stone’s throw from the beginning (or, depending on your perspective, the end) of Route 66.

Afterwards we walked off of our food. We walked it off so far, in fact, that we gave up on the 10:30 train taking us home. It felt peaceful. Maybe partly because the federal thugs roughing up the joint have taken their goon show on the road. I wonder if, in-between their clubbing pastors, harassing brown people and tear gassing children at a Halloween parade, they were able to take a few moments and really appreciate all the city has to offer. I know Bovino did. You can see it in his joyful grin as he posed with his  henchmen by the Bean. They were having so much fun they even took off their masks (which is actually kind of funny since they supposedly only wore it when roughing up the public out of concern for being doxxed).

They will be back. Four times in force I have been told and in Spring which actually kind of makes them the worst kind of tourist. The kind that stays away during winter only to reappear at the same time as the bars lining up the River Walk. In a way it’s kind of a shame. Would have really been something seeing them trying to skate at Millennium Park.

In early fall, Corey and I had a wonderful time camping at Wildcat Mountain State Park. It was really an amazing weekend with the leaves just beginning to color. Everything had that early October feel where it makes perfect sense to wash down an apple cider donut with some apple cider while picking up a peck of apples from your favorite apple orchard (and that my friends is a new world record for saying apples in one sentence).

We love Chicago. But sometimes it feels good stepping away from the noise into something a little bit wilder. In this case it was the Driftless region of Wisconsin which is one of the few unglaciated points in the Midwest. It is, dare I say, mountainous with towns strung out across valleys deep enough that you lose your signal. In one such town, Ontario, we stumbled upon a great poutine-like lunch of barbecue (for Corey it was Mac and cheese) and baked potato with plenty of jalapenos. It was delicious.

There was though one moment where the horror of it all seeped through the fall foliage. It was at the Wild Cat Grill where we saw a man with a MAGA hat. Ain’t nothing particularly special about that, but at that exact same time I was reading about peaceful protestors being tear gassed in the city. Did he know what was going on? If so, was he at all embarrassed? Or was he celebrating this assault on decency?

Truth be told, I also felt a bit guilty. Not just for our beautiful weekend away in the country but also for the knowledge that we probably won’t be the ones dragged away by the secret police. At least not in the short-term. And it’s not because we are US citizens. At least 170 US citizens and counting have been detained, many for several days at a time and without access to a lawyer. No, it’s because we don’t look foreign enough.  If that ain’t privilege then I don’t know what is.

But mostly Corey and I didn’t talk about the world. We did things like drink wine by a fire and watch the sunset from an overlook not too far from our tent. While doing so on the first night  we made friends. On the second night we shared the setting sun with an Amish family, their buggy parked nearby. That night was cloudy but it was still a comfort watching the valley swallow up the light. It felt good to be so small, to be a part of the world without the burden of any responsibility. I fear such future moments will be few and far between.

The thing about being in a 100,000+ crowd is that you mostly never really see more than a few hundred people at any one time. But you always feel the energy. Not just from the crowd at hand, but also in the knowledge of being part of a general resistance several million people strong strung across the whole country. It felt awesome.

After trying our darnedest to save democracy, we stayed in the Loop for the Arts in The Dark parade down State Street. It was a makeshift affair of pickup trucks adorned with folk art blasting music from oversized speakers being followed by dance troops dressed in brilliant costumes. From all over Chicago they came to celebrate everything from Day of The Dead to gospel revivals. It was the most joyous fucking thing we have seen since the federal government waged war on our city about a month ago.

Sunday was also spent downtown. This time for Open Chicago which allowed us the chance to see just a bit more of the city. That’s the thing about Chicago, there is always one more layer to peel back. This time it was a deep dive at the Chicago Board of Trade where we were allowed to check out the old vault. Then we had a quiet few moments in the Fine Art Building’s Venetian Court followed by lunch at the Art Institute. The Bears won and all felt right in the Chicago universe.

I fucking love Chicago. I love its neighborhoods, its restaurants and its old, hidden away, can’t believe you’re still in the Midwest spots. I also love its many, many stories waxed eloquently on TV, the news, novels, short stories and poems. Want to know Chicago? Spend time with Bill Kurtis at the Printers Row Lit Fest. Saw him there today talking to Rick Kogan about his new book. Watch The Bear. Season 1 and 2 anyways. The last two ain’t as good. Or read Stuart Dybek (The Coast of Chicago) or Joe Meno (Book of Extraordinary Tragedies) or Adam Langer (Crossing California) or anything by Saul Bellow. And while you’re doing that rock out to the Smashing Pumpkins or Wilco. Just don’t watch Fox News. Those Fuckers have it in for us.

The f’ing President of the United States, a walking PSA for the ravages of syphilis, wants to go to war with us. His deranged post today shows him all Apocalypse Now poised to bomb us or some other despicable action. Sadly things are probably going to get worse before they get better. But in times like these it helps to think WWTBBD (what would the Blues Brothers do)? They would probably take a deep breath. And then after an epic car chase take a moment to lead us all in a tightly choreographed gospel infused bluesy sing along. Some of us would probably hurt our back. We all would be out of breath. Not sure it would help any but it sure would make a lot of us feel better.

Stay cool Chicago.

Woke up in our tent and a few days later we were back home. On the quick descent home we managed to see the profound (the Mathew Shepard memorial in Laramie; a simple bench on campus adorned with heartfelt sentiment by the current Wyoming University student body), the fun (so much fun visiting family outside of Denver- thank you again Sarah, Rob and Elias!) and the random tidbits that can only be appreciated toward the end of a six week summer road trip.

Worlds Biggest Truck Stop off Interstate 80 and also the free museum situated on the other side of the parking lot. Very cool museum.

Trip 27 is a wrap! After 42+ nights on the road it feels good right now to be hanging out on my front porch with Corey and the cats. It also felt mighty nice sleeping in my own bed. Didn’t even mind the cats waking me up around 2. So for right now I think I’ll finish my coffee and settle into the book I didn’t finish on the road like I thought I might. And then sometime later, maybe tonight or the next day, Corey or I (more likely me) will begin to map out the next great travel idea.

About an hour south of Jackson is the small town of Pinedale whose official motto is “All the civilization you need.” Lucky for us a great coffee shop made their cut.

Housed in a former auto shop, Pine Coffee Supply makes the most of their bay door by creating this really cool indoor-outdoor space. Located just off the main drag, it also has a really nice vibe of locals going about their day while tourists sit in the background while checking out their social media feed. For us it meant one last mug up before the coming interstate.

We go back home again. Or at least one of our homes. And in doing so begin to prepare to come back to our fixed address home. This home is actually a pretty cool place to be due mostly to our family, friends and neighbors whom we miss dearly. We are lucky because a lot of those people count toward more than one category. We relearned this fact while heading out for tattoos near Jackson (didn’t happen) when a small but possibly big house issue was solved in real time by our house sitter (amazing friend and great neighbor) and then a different great friend/amazing neighbor (or maybe Chris is an amazing friend/great neighbor but Stephanie is the great friend/amazing neighbor; it’s hard to tell sometimes). Anyways, together they swapped out an outlet, reached out to a relative in Italy for more information and managed not to electrocute any pets. At the end of the day what more can you ask for?

It was, though, an awesome few days in the Tetons. We swam, hiked, checked out the stars and avoided the news as much as possible. That is until last night when from our hotel room in Laramie we stayed up very late to track the tsunami while texting with Henna who is doing cool geology stuff at Hawaii Volcanic National Park. She is literally on the highest ground there. But still you worry when your daughter is in the middle of the Pacific and a tsunami is barreling toward her.

The tsunami isn’t the only worrisome thing in the news. Deep cuts to education, comics here being silenced as a way to appease a wannabe dictator and other similar tidbits kind of make us wanna stay unplugged and unburdened. But it’s time to come home. Thanks Stephanie and Chris for keeping that home safe.

Instead of spending our last few nights of the trip at a pricey Airbnb outside of Bozeman, we instead chose to revisit our favorite National Park, our second home if you will, Grand Teton National Park. It’s French for Big Boobies by the way. Seriously, it was named by lonely French fur traders. Anyways, we love the place.

An added bonus to us coming back to Big Boobies was a trip through Yellowstone, the O.G. of National Parks. Yellowstone is your favorite National Park’s favorite National Park. It is huge. It is a carnival. It is a place where nature can definitely put you back on your butt which, incidentally, it did to me. On the gentle descent down from Bunsen Peak, with my self feeling a bad ass after reaching the summit, I tripped over a rock and fell hard on my side. It was the same side holstering my trusty bear spray (purchased sometime in the late 1990s and definitely useless in case of a bear attack). The can dug deep into my thigh and I am sore. I can still walk. I can still talk. I can even chew gum (although it’s not advised due to dental concerns) but I cannot at this time do all three at one time.

But no matter. I will heal. And I find myself a mere four weeks later yet again with my best friend in the whole wide world at the best park in the U.S.of A.

With droopy eyes and hunger panes we made our way from Great Falls to Yellowstone. Hoping for a quick mug up we ducked into Livingston only to find a serious scarcity of parking spots. With clenched teeth we moved deeper into town only to stumble into the delightful French Hen.

Words like “labor of love” are tossed about way too easily. But French Hen is truly that. Birthed on June 6th of this year but conceived decades earlier, the French Hen is the go-to place in Montana for French delicacies. Owner Michele Libsack, who, when not raising cattle with her husband on a ranch, has attended culinary schools across the US and also Paris. She sees this place as a way to reconnect with Livingston while spending more time “off the tractor and into the kitchen.”

Her bakery immediately impresses for its tasteful decor and wonderful outdoor space. The coffee at the French Hen is also rich and her pastries are delicious which gives us just one more reason to come back to Livingston.