Hey Dad! Can Smelling Marijuana Hurt You?

This past Saturday, July 26th, Mom, Dad, Mikey, Nicole, Grandma, Poppy, and I took a very long bike ride to Venice Beach. The trip was good until Pop got a flat tire on his bike. It took about 20 minutes for Dad to fix the flat. As Dad was changing the inner tube, his hand pump broke (he said he wasn’t surprised because he bought the cheapest pump at Wal-Mart). Finally, we got the tire squared away and off we went.

We rode for a while and then we all (except for Dad) started to get hungry… especially Pop. He fell way behind the group. I stuck with him to make sure that he would be o.k. All the while, Pop kept saying he wanted a Diet Coke. Dad basically “force biked” us to Venice Beach where we all got to eat and rest.

At the restaurant where we stopped, there was a sign in the window that said the FDA had given the restaurant an “A” for cleanliness. Pop said that FDA stood for “Friends, Drunks, and Addicts. I found out that he was right when we started to walk through Venice Beach.

The people there were crazy! There was a lady who was standing in front of a shop saying, “Medical marijuana on the second floor. The doctor is in the house!” As we walked further there was a guy wearing gold clothing and whose skin was also painted gold. He would stand completely still until someone dropped some money in the bucket that was in front of him. The moment the cash hit the bucket, the guy would go nuts.

As we walked further we came across a man in a wheelchair who had a sign that said, “give marijuana to the poor.” He was actually smoking marijuana right in the middle of everyone. It smelled terrible. But what was really amazing was that there were police everywhere and they didn’t do a thing.

Venice Beach is also where Muscle Beach is located. I thought that it would be a huge place, but it wasn’t it was like a small gym only it was outside. Of course, the people working out were huge. Thank goodness Dad didn’t try to go and work out… it would not have been pretty.

After a while, we started the long ride back to the R.V. This time, both Pop and Grandma couldn’t keep up. They kept stopping and Dad was getting annoyed. Finally, Dad made Pop get on the back of the tandem bike that he had rented and we got back to the R.V. a lot faster.

Once we were back to the R.V. all Grandma and Pop wanted to do was sleep.

It was a good trip.

By John.

The Bubba Gump Bubble Blowing Boy

Thursday morning in Monterey was great. After slipping undetected from the Navy base, we parked the R.V. on a side street and then rode our bikes into town. During the ride we saw seals on the beach, as well as sea lions.

The main street, called Cannery Row, was a cornucopia of cigar shops, restaurants, clothing stores, and high priced cookie shops (we all wanted cookies and it cost Dad $10 for ½ dozen… fortunately they were good cookies).

One restaurant in particular caught my attention, The Bubba Gump Shrimp House. For those of you that don’t know, Bubba was Tom Hank’s friend in Vietnam in the film Forrest Gump. Bubba owned a Louisiana shrimp business, but he was killed in the war. Eventually, once Forrest returns from the war, he starts the business back up and now the fictional restaurant is real.

Outside the Bubba Gump Shrimp House, there was a college student whose job it was to blow bubbles in order to attract customers to the restaurant. After watching him for a few minutes, I came up with a tongue twister title for him. I called him the The Bubba Gump Bubble Blowing Boy. Oh, the simple pleasures in life.

By Mikey

Kathy - 6 Months and $500 Fine

This past Wednesday started off pretty much like any other day of the Leonzo R.V. Adventure on Steroids… we woke up in a Wal-Mart parking lot and prepared to make our way to San Francisco in order to do a little sightseeing before ultimately ending up in Monterey.

As I fired up the R.V., Kathy plugged the Golden Gate Park into Thelma and let her do the navigating. First mistake… Thelma decides to take us right through the city! It was like driving a camel through the eye of a needle. I’m cutting off cars… stopping in the middle of crosswalks… and taking out small tree limbs with the top of the R.V. Fortunately, we managed to make it to the park without any major catastrophes and no traffic tickets. After eating lunch parked in front of the beach and taking pictures of the Golden Gate Bridge, we stated to head south to Monterey.

Weary of another night in a Wal-Mart parking lot, we decide to splurge on a campground. Kathy – our designated navigator – pulled out our Woodall’s 2008 North American Campground Directory and started looking for a place to stay. She found the Monterey Fairgrounds R.V. Park – full hookups (that’s good) - and after a quick call, she secured an open spot. We were in business!

As we pull up to the R.V. park, I notice a couple of things that seem a little unusual. First of all it appears to be a U.S. Navy facility (the sign says, United States Navy Postgraduate School)… no guard shack, but surrounded by a fence with a code that you have to enter into a keypad to make the gate open. Hey, Kathy called and they said we could come… so I type the code they gave her into the keypad. Nothing happens… I try it again… and again… and again… nothing works. We call the telephone number… it is after 5 p.m. and they are gone for the day. Just as Kathy is hanging up the cell phone, a driver begins to leave through the exit gate. They smile… see that we are having trouble… yell out a different code… I type it in and in we go.

After driving past a couple of government looking buildings, we find the campground, pull into our assigned space, and start setting up. At this point, a nice older man shows up in a golf cart and says, “I assume you have a reservation and are military.” Not exactly sure what he means, tired from a long day of driving, and not too excited about validating our frequent Wal-Mart parking card again, I simply say, “Yes Sir!” Satisfied, with the answer, the man and his mil-spec golf cart roll off into the sunset.

I am now nervous. But I don’t say anything to Kathy… no need to make her worry… besides maybe I misunderstood the guy.

One of the bonuses of staying in a campground is they normally have nice bathrooms… so off I went looking for the bathroom… or should I say head. When I arrive, it is AWESOME – clean, bright, even smells good – kind of like it just passed an inspection. On the way out, I notice a bulletin board which clearly states that this campground is for active duty, reserve, or retired military, their families, or employees of the Department of Defense. I am now very nervous, so I make a beeline for the R.V.

On the way, I see Nicole playing with the dog of another camper. When I stop to get Nicole, what is the first thing the lady says to me? “Are you in the military?” Well, I took a one credit Air Force R.O.T.C. class in college – that ought to count for something – so I said, “I used to be.” Then I told Nicole it was time for dinner, grabbed her hand, and took off to hide in the R.V.

I toss Nicole into the R.V., lock the door, and tell Kathy that we were in deep trouble, that we needed to lay low, and that if anyone asked her about what I did in the military she was supposed to say, “He was special operations… I could tell you what he did… but then I would have to kill you.”

It is at this point, John needs to make a trip to the bathroom. Since John and constipation are not a pleasant combination, I give him strict orders to head directly there… do his business… avoid everyone… and get his butt back in the R.V. What happens? On the way back a person asks John, “Is your Dad in the military?” John says, “My pop was a Marine.” Not technically a lie… it is true my Dad (big Mike) was in the Marines when I was a kid… but not exactly what they were asking.

Fortunately John makes it back with out getting arrested. I am now very, very nervous. So initiate total lockdown! We lock the doors… turn off the lights… go to sleep… and quietly leave at the break of dawn.

Kathy continues to plead innocent. Section of 1382 of Title 18 – United States Code – Trespassing on a U.S. Military Base says otherwise – 6 months imprisonment, a $500 fine, or both.

Anyone interested in corresponding with Kathy in the next 6 months should write:

Inmate Kathleen M. Leonzo
Naval Consolidated Brig, Charlestown
1050 Remount Road, Building 3107
Charleston SC 29406-3515

Did the Rapture Occur in Seattle?

It all started off as a friendly game of global domination between friends and it ended in the possible rapture of a significant part of the former Soviet Union.

Global domination… rapture of the former Soviet Union… Have I lost my mind as a result of too many times dumping the R.V. waste? Is hanging out with all of the strange people on the West Coast affecting my thinking? Or are the events of this past Sunday evening and Monday morning reality?

Let me explain.

After worshipping at my friend Mike Gunn’s church in Renton, Washington, Kathy, the kids, and I traveled about ½ hour north to spend a few days with Jay and Pauline Bridgeman and their precious little girls Abigail and Lillian. We had a great time eating a lunch of fish and chips at a local restaurant with the entire Bridgeman family and then going with Pauline and the girls to the beach.

Rather than joining us in turning over rocks to see what sea creatures we might find, Jay went home to do some surgeon paperwork stuff. He tells me that he spent Sunday morning reattaching a guy’s thumb to his hand after it was crushed between a boat and a dock and that he had to catch up on some of the paperwork regarding that case – personally, I think he was secretly preparing for our planned evening game of RISK.

Thus bringing us to the global domination portion of our blog. RISK is the ultimate American game – there is one simple goal – CONQUER THE WORLD! And that is what Jay, Mikey, John, and I attempted to do on Sunday evening. Jay – the 37 year old highly educated teenager – wanted to be the black armies because – in his twisted mind – he believes black is the color of intimidation. At 6’ 1” and 150 pounds soaking wet, Jay needs all the help he can get in order to be intimidating.

After nearly three hours of attacking and re-attacking, I was completely annihilated and forced to watch Mikey, John, and Jay duke it out. It was at this point that I quickly became bored with the board game.

Earlier in the evening Jay’s beeper had gone off. A teenager had broken his wrist and it needed to be set. Fortunately for Jay… and unfortunately for the teenager… it was going to take several hours before an anesthesia team was available. I personally thought that Jay should go right in, give the kid a bullet to bite down on, and tell him to take it like a man. However, Jay the recipient of the Hershey Medical Center Humanitarian Award, decided it would be better to wait for anesthesia (what a whimp).

Jay could have played RISK until 3 a.m. – but we all figured that it would be a good idea to let him get a little bit of sleep before fixing the kid’s arm – I know I want my doctor rested before he starts torqing my wrist all over the place. So of to bed we went.

As dawn arose over the battlefield, a curious four year old named Abigail assessed the strategery of the prior evening (yes, I know strategery isn’t a word, but if it is good enough for President Bush, it is surely good enough for me). Abigail having just learned about End Times theology in her Mars Hill Church preschool Sunday school class decided to pull a 1 Thessalonians 4 and started to remove all of the black armies from the board. Before I could scream “Rapture” nearly all of Jay’s armies were neatly placed in the plastic storage box and vast sections of the former Soviet Union were devoid of any human life.

Thus we never finished the game… Jay was denied true victory over the Leonzo family… the kid’s arm was set… Abigail experienced grace… and all was well in Seattle.

With a Name Like Justin Gunn, He's Got to Go Pro

It all began in Southern California in the early 1989. My newlywed parents met a young couple at church named Mike and Donna Gunn who had just had a red headed bundle of joy named Justin. The more that my mom and dad spent time with the Gunns, the more they wanted to have a child of their own and so on September 28, 1990 they had their own little bundle of joy… that would be me… Mikey.

However, this story isn’t about me, it is about Justin. Justin was an athletic prodigy as a child, largely due to genes that he inherited from his father who was a linebacker at Boston College in the late 70’s and his mother who was the inspiration for the Marvel Comic heroine – Superwoman.

Although our families went their separate ways… us to Pennsylvania and the Gunns to Seattle, we have managed to stay in touch and to visit on a regular basis. Year after year, we would hear about Justin’s athletic exploits and occasionally, we would actually get to see them or if we were really lucky to be a part of them. One time I witnessed him throw a football all the way over a very large two story house and on several occasions he and his father (who doesn’t seem to age… even though he is now 50) destroyed my Dad (who always seems to age) and I in basketball.

This past weekend, I once again got to spend some time with Justin. He just graduated from high school after lettering in baseball, basketball, and football (where he played quarterback, safety, kicker, and punter). As a result of his athletic prowess he earned a scholarship to the University of Washington in both baseball and football.

Since he is already working out with the football team, we had the opportunity to visit him at the U.W. Justin showed us the weight room, the basketball arena, the university’s hall of fame, the baseball field, and he even took us out on the football field. This was especially cool for my bother John since the last time he went out on to a major athletic field he almost got arrested. I told him not to jump over the infield wall at the end of the Phillies game but he wouldn’t listen. Let’s just say the security people at Citizens Bank Park were less than impressed with John. But that is a story for another day.

To say that we are excited for Justin is an understatement. John and I have been researching him on the Internet site scout.com. During our visit we “encouraged” Justin by telling him that he could beat out Jake Locker (the starting quarterback at U.W.). Even though Justin was not the most highly touted recruit, I believe he is the most skilled and works harder than everybody else. I know this firsthand because I did a plyometric work out with Justin and his dad. It was crazy, Mr. Gunn attached us to bungee cords and made us try to run… he even hooked me up to a parachute and told me to sprint… it was like being a part of some sick Nazi war experiment. I was dying and Justin didn’t even break a sweat… hence Justin is going to U.W. and I’m probably going to H.A.C.C.

During our time together, we also did a lot of other fun stuff like watching Tommy Boy (“Oh, that's gonna leave a mark!”), watching 24 (Jason Bourne’s got nothing on Jack Bauer), and playing NCAA 2007 football on the XBox 360. Playing XBox was awesome. John was Penn State, Justin was U.W., and Justin was getting his butt kicked. So in John’s great wisdom, he decides to talk some smack on Justin. This only fueled Mr. Gunn’s fire to actually start coaching his son in the video game. It was as if Mr. Gunn was actually walking the sidelines. He’s yelling at Justin, “Justin, he’s blitzing, you’ve got to get rid of the ball.” It was like a real football game! Unfortunately for John, his smack talk caught up to him. The game went into three overtimes with John just barely escaping with the win.

We had a great time together, but we left Justin a severe warning. If U.W. plays Penn State in a bowl game, we will be rooting for Sean Lee to sack him.

By Mikey

Idaho? What's There to do in Idaho?

If someone asked you to name something special about Idaho, what would it be? I would imagine… if you could think of anything… it would be the potatoe (oops… I mean potato… almost pulled a Dan Quayle but was saved by Spell Checker).

Yes, it is true that Idaho is the nation’s largest producer of spuds. But that’s not all that makes Idaho special. Hey there’s Snake River Canyon and Evel Knievel’s ill fated rocket bike “jump” in September of 1974 (I still believe that it wasn’t an accident that the parachute came out prematurely).

Or how about that highly talented actress Ronee Blakley? Can’t remember her? Oh come on, she played a supporting role in that amazing piece of cinematography… A Nightmare on Elm Street.

Speaking of movies, who can forget that masterful work of art set in Idaho, Napoleon Dynamite? Remember, vote for Pedro and all of your wildest dreams will come true.

Okay… I admit it, Idaho isn’t the hotbed of the United States, but it does have one hidden attraction that you just have to see. It’s the Hiawatha Bike Trail – a rails to trails piece of art – 17 wondrous downhill miles through the scenic mountains of Idaho. But that’s not all. Unlike the typical east coast bike trail… the Hiawatha takes you through nine tunnels carved in solid rock and across seven towering trestles spanning seemingly bottomless gorges.

I first found out about the Hiawatha while reading Redbook magazine during one of my son John’s orthodontist appointments (hey... before all you guys start questioning my testosterone level… know this one thing… you read the same junk in the waiting room… you’re just afraid to admit it!) Anyhow, I kind of look it as God’s providence… how else would I have found out about the Hiawatha.

For the past several months I have been planning for the ride. I purchased mountain bikes as Christmas presents for the entire family… flashlight mounts for the handle bars… flashlights for the flashlight mounts (of course, I labeled every flashlight with the user’s name… hell hath no fury like that of Dad when someone misplaces his or her flashlight)… I bought an extra bike tire, two extra tubes, a compact bike pump, loaded Mikey’s bike bag with my bike tools… and last but not least a bike rack that could handle 5 bikes.

We were ready… but our bike rack wasn’t. John E. Ripoff - the customer service guy at the Internet site that I bought the rack from – assured me that it would work great for the entire 8,000 mile R.V. trip. Well, he was only off by 7,000 miles. By the time we hit Wisconsin the rack was bending more than a yoga instructor. Calling my MacGyver inspired skills into play, I quickly rigged up a couple of tie down straps and off we went. That worked great for another few hundred miles. As we pulled into Pine City, Minnesota, it was clear something more substantial needed to be done or a there would eventually be a video clip of our five bikes being crushed by a semi featured on You Tube under the heading of Stupid Things Pastors Do. Fortunately, our kind hosts in Pine City were willing to sacrifice a heavy galvanized pipe that I forced inside the bike carrier’s bent tubes with the help of a hacksaw and a sledge hammer (hey Tom Bair, are you still interested in buying my bike rack when we get home?)

O.k. enough of the bike rack… back to the Hiawatha. As we exited Interstate 90 and turned onto the country road for the three mile journey to the trailhead, I quickly learned that the term “road” is relative. In Montana and Idaho roads aren’t necessarily paved… as a matter of fact what Pennsylvanians call trails, Idahoans call expressways. It was at this point that I decided to nominate Erik and Derrik – our Minnesota Tire Changers – for sainthood. After 20 minutes of treating our R.V. like a Conestoga wagon, we arrived at the trailhead, unloaded our bikes and got our tickets to ride (my little tribute to the Beatles hit single from their 1965 album Help!).

It was at this point that we once again experienced the wrath of the vulcanization god. This time, Nicole’s bike had a flat tire! Fortunately, I didn’t need Monty’s help and within 10 minutes we were on our way. The first mile and a half of the Hiawatha consists of a pitch black tunnel – 44 degree temperature – water dripping on you from the ceiling – it was totally awesome! Before we knew it, we were back into the sunlight and on our way.

The rest of the ride was a total blast. We would ride… stop and I would take pictures… ride again… stop and I would take pictures again… after about the 5th stop , the kids start to ask if Steve Kebede had taken over my body (you have to be part of our Living Water family to understand that one.)

At one point, I had a little bit of photographic mutiny on my hands... no one wanted to listen to my instructions. But after threatening death to all mutineers, I was able to regain control and the photographing continued in earnest.

Other than Nicole’s flat tire and one wipe out by John - he insists that it was my fault – we safely arrived at the bottom of the trail where a school bus was waiting to take us to the top of the trail.

Being the frugal guy that I am, I decided that I would pay for the school bus to take me to the top of the trail and that Kathy and the kids could ride back the 17 miles uphill by themselves… Hey, some sacrifices have to be made to save a couple of bucks.

Just kidding… I didn’t make them ride up, but I did go on the bus by myself with the plan of bringing the R.V. back down to them. I was only on the bus for about three minutes when I realized that my plan was fatally flawed. The road was one lane, was literally carved into the side of the mountain, and made the road from the interstate to the trailhead look like the autobahn. During the entire 30 minute bus ride up the mountain all I could envision was being the lead story on the 6 o’clock evening news… “Today a Pennsylvania Pastor drove his R.V. off the side of Idaho Route 512 and fell 300’ into Moose Lake. He survived the fall, but was later killed by his irate wife and children.”

Sheepishly, I asked the bus driver if she would allow me to ride back down the mountain with her so that we could pick up my family. She kindly obliged and after another 1 ½ hours on the bus, we were back in the R.V. and heading to Washington.

By Mike

How do you Describe the Indescribable?

That has been the question that has plagued men and women from the dawn of time. So rather than me trying to describe what God created in Yellowstone, I thought that perhaps I would let God do the describing.

Psalm 104:5-18, 31-34 (ESV)

He set the earth on its foundations, so that it should never be moved. You covered it with the deep as with a garment; the waters stood above the mountains. At your rebuke they fled; at the sound of your thunder they took to flight. The mountains rose, the valleys sank down to the place that you appointed for them.

You set a boundary that they may not pass, so that they might not again cover the earth.

You make springs gush forth in the valleys; they flow between the hills; they give drink to every beast of the field; the wild donkeys quench their thirst. Beside them the birds of the heavens dwell; they sing among the branches.

From your lofty abode you water the mountains; the earth is satisfied with the fruit of your work.

You cause the grass to grow for the livestock and plants for man to cultivate, that he may bring forth food from the earth and wine to gladden the heart of man, oil to make his face shine and bread to strengthen man’s heart.

The trees of the LORD are watered abundantly, the cedars of Lebanon that he planted. In them the birds build their nests; the stork has her home in the fir trees.

The high mountains are for the wild goats; the rocks are a refuge for the rock badgers.

May the glory of the LORD endure forever; may the LORD rejoice in his works, who looks on the earth and it trembles, who touches the mountains and they smoke!

I will sing to the LORD as long as I live; I will sing praise to my God while I have being. May my meditation be pleasing to him, for I rejoice in the LORD.

Well, that pretty much describes Yellowstone. It is a place of indescribable beauty… clearly the handiwork of the majestic God of the universe… spoken into being… a vivid reminder of God’s creative power and we are loving every minute of it!

By Mike

Hey Dad, That Looks Dangerous

After 14 straight days trapped in a 200 square foot fiberglass box with someone, you learn things about a person that you never picked up in years. Such has been the case with my son John. Over the past two weeks, I have come to learn that John is not one for anything dangerous. Time and time again, John will say, “Hey Dad, that looks dangerous.”

Now I must admit, there have been some pretty dangerous things on this trip. Driving over the Rocky Mountains was dangerous. Extremely winding roads, steep grades, high winds, a little too aggressive truck drivers, sheer cliffs, and guard rails that looked like they were designed for Matchbox cars all add up to dangerous.

Bouldering on the rock faces in Yellowstone could be considered dangerous (of course, not for highly skilled and humble rock climbers like myself and Mikey). Steep faces, narrow handholds, loose footing, an unknown rattle (Nicole swears she saw a snake and Mikey swears he heard one), and the constant press of our adorning fans contribute to the inherent danger of risking our lives for a really cool picture.

Obviously, standing next to near boiling water which has been superheated by subterranean gases is dangerous. Yellowstone has over 10,000 active geothermal sites – more than any other place in the world. Some are as small as a one foot diameter hole in the ground that continuously releases steam. Others are the size of a hot tub that contain hundreds of gallons of boiling muddy water. Still others – the size of a public swimming pool – erupting massive columns of pressurized water with little to no warning.

And to make things even more dangerous, you have to stay on the boardwalk because the surrounding ground might only be a thin crust covering a boiling pool of acid and water. On top of it all, not all of the boardwalks are as sturdy as they used to be… John was particularly concerned about how this one moved up and down.

To give you an idea of the danger of the beautiful yet boiling pools of water, and perhaps the foolishness of people, allow me to share a brief story that we came across while browsing through a book entitled Death in Yellowstone that we found in one of the gift shops.

In the early 80’s a 20 something young man came to Yellowstone with his dog. When he opened the door to his car, the dog jumped out and ran into one of the 200 degree pools of water. The guy flies out of the car, runs to the pool and is clearly getting ready to jump into the water to save the dog. A bystander says to him, “You aren’t going in there, are you?” The dog owner replies, “You bet I am” and then proceeds to actually dive headfirst into the pool. Realizing the utter foolishness of his decision, he somehow manages to drag himself out of the water. By the time the rescue workers arrive with an ambulance, his skin is literally falling off of his body. He died the next day in the hospital of third degree burns over his entire body. Clearly, the thermal areas in Yellowstone are extremely dangerous.

Of course, the animals can also be dangerous and there are signs telling you so all over the place. Did you know that a bison can weigh over 2,000 pounds and reach speeds of over 30 miles per hour? Heck, when I was a kid, my powder blue Ford Pinto station wagon didn’t weigh that much and if there was a tailwind, it might be able to hit 35 miles per hour. Nearly every year someone gets gored by a bison… boy that would ruin one’s vacation.

Sometimes, bike trails can be dangerous especially when they are right beside 500 foot cliffs. In Idaho, there is this awesome Rails to Trails bike trail that runs along and through the mountains of Eastern Idaho (we’ll post a separate blog to tell you about that). For some reason, John would get nervous when I road my bike on the cliff side of the trail… but he didn’t think twice about looking over the edge of a 300’ trestle. Go figure.

Even rest stops are dangerous. In South Dakota, they wanted us to look out for the snakes. John wouldn’t even walk down the trail.

Probably the most dangerous aspect of the entire trip is the wildlife that you encounter in parking lots. Here you will notice several creatures trying to make their way into the R.V. after being told that they needed to get some fresh air (too many hours in an R.V. with your kids will make any parent cranky.) We finally left them back in because the Washington State Park Rangers told us that we couldn't leave them.

Of course, there are plenty of other dangers awaiting John… the Grand Canyon, Whitewater rafting, the elevator ride down into the depths of the Hoover Dam, driving on the freeways in Los Angeles, and… all of the crazy people waiting for him at Venice Beach (and he thought the people at the Rodeo were a little different… just wait)!

By Mike

Dirty Annie’s – She Maybe Dirty But She Isn’t Cheap

As you are driving across the country there are times when you simply have to stop. Normally, those stops are a result of some one needing to use the bathroom. Yes, there is a bathroom on the R.V. and it is fine for the… how do I say it inoffensively… the more frequent call of nature. But for the less frequent call of nature, the R.V. is strictly off limits. If you need to ask why, you probably haven’t been in an R.V. for two weeks straight with five people and you are probably not the one who empties the sewage tanks.

So with the potty talk out of the way, let’s just say that the drive from Sheridan, Wyoming to Yellowstone is a petty long and extremely desolate drive, so when Dirty Annie’s showed up on the horizon, it was a relief (pun intended).

Dirty Annie’s had something for everyone. Western clothing, groceries, gasoline, and fortunately, despite her name… clean restrooms. She also had a nice little restaurant which had of all things CHOCOLATE MILK SHAKES. That was all that Mikey, John, and I needed to see.

So we bellied up to the bar… well it was actually a counter, but bar sounds so much more western and ordered ourselves up three tall ones. Boy they were good… but they weren’t cheap… $4.00 per milkshake was a little steep, but hey when you are the only game in town. Actually, when you are the town, you can charge what you want.

By Mike