Karen woke up earlier than the rest of us this morning to savor her last morning of camping. By the end of the day we would be in an airport hotel in Salt Lake City, getting ready to see her off back to Vermont.
Karen enjoys a quiet moment on her last morning of camping.
After breakfast, we packed up and spent some time in the Three Island Crossing State Park visitor center. It is a very well-designed museum with plenty of information about pioneers on the Oregon Trail and the native peoples of the area.
We shared the museum with exactly two other guests. To think that we just randomly stopped at this park.
Looking across the river from the visitor center, you can see the old wagon trail that cuts down the hillside to the Snake River. After examining at the wagons in the exhibit, it’s not difficult to imagine how the pioneers must have felt upon seeing this big river.
Compare this photo to the illustration below.
Travelers were faced with the choice of fording the river in their wagons (which was not a guaranteed crossing by any means) thus reaching their destination sooner with plenty of water and grazing for their animals, or they could take the long southern route which was a safer bet, but had little available water and was a greater distance. If you lost your wagon and animals in the river, it was all over. Approximately half of the pioneers who reached the river bank across from us decided to give the dice another roll (after all, they had left their homes for the promise of 40 acres and a mule.) 26,000 people tried to cross their wagons to the point where we were currently standing.
As we viewed the exhibits, we saw many similarities between the pioneer wagon set-up and our own Sprinter:
The tall wagon was driven from the front, while the kitchen area was accessed easily from the back.
If they decided to put out a tent, it was eerily similar to the shape of ours.
There also appeared to be a tradition of chronicling the journey.
Of course, for us relief from the mild unpleasantries of overland travel is only a credit card swipe away. Not so for the pioneers, many of whom failed to survive the journey.
Speaking of failing to survive the journey, on the way back to our campsite, I rode my bike a few feet into the scrub to take a picture. I was rewarded with multiple thorny punctures in the front and rear tires of my bike and both went completely flat.
The old Tarpon will get some relief for the rest of the trip since I don’t plan on replacing the tubes until we get home.
Having satisfied our history requirement for the day, we pointed the van southeast and headed for Utah. Two weeks earlier, I had promised Kellan a return trip to the trampoline park in Orem, so we got lost in our audiobook for a few hours while we zipped down the highway. Miraculously, a laundromat is located right next to the trampoline park, so while the kids bounced and flipped, I spun and tumbled.
RIght now, the van is parked in front of the Hampton Inn near the Airport. Karen’s bag is packed and the kids are asleep. Tomorrow, we rise early, hug and kiss mom goodbye and head across Wyoming to begin the final week of our journey.