Ludwig's Secular Mid-Winter Holiday present

Fischer was struck by the need to inspect this package that came to us all the way from Georgia. What could it be? Fresh peaches?

Not peaches, but hinges. Westfalia poptop scissors hinges from a 1976 Campmobile, to be exact.
Ludwig's are bent, which not only makes it difficult to get the lid up and down, but can cut holes in his nice new canvas top. These appear to be a better, sturdier design. Cursory research tells me that the two-year difference isn't relevant. Now for some clear weather so we can get them on.

Ludwig's new bling

Look what Mitch found--some guy selling vintage VW dealer plate frames online. Ludwig is now adorned with one from Universal Motors, which later became Universal Volkswagen (which no longer exists). The color surrounding the white lettering on the frame is actually a very pale blue, although it was hard to capture the actual color in a photo.

That black on the bumper above the tailpipe means that Ludwig is running a little rich.
The plates themselves are from Fergus County. Ludwig wasn't actually sold at Universal Motors though, as far as we know.

First Real Snow of the Season

1018pm MST, 18 November 2007.

801am MST, 19 November 2007.

Solo Fishing Trip

I've been fishing here in the Treasure State a few times before, and though I've yet to catch anything, I've enjoyed it. So I bought a rod, reel, and some tackle last week, and planned on spending my day off Monday casting about. A big part of the appeal of fishing, for me, is the logistics, particularly poring over maps (something I've done since I was in first grade).

I arrived at Lake Alva campground in the early evening Sunday, intending to get up early Monday and try out some points on the far (West) side of the lake. I managed to get a nice fire going, and enjoyed it--and some beer--until way too late that night.

But since it was only 19ºF in Ludwig (according to the little keychain thermometer we have anyway), I woke up shivering pretty early. My plan was to walk around the Northern end of the lake, ford the creek, and walk around to some spots I'd picked out on a map. The creek was still too wide to cross, so instead I drove around the South end and up the West side of the lake, where I could just hoof it to shore.

I parked Ludwig here and walked to the lake. You'd think all these years of looking at maps might have imparted upon me at least some practical understanding of scale, but apparently you'd be wrong. What looked à la carte like an easy, short stroll through the woods was in fact an undulating rough stomp through unmarked thick forest from which I started to worry that I wouldn't return. Slippery logs and rocks made me realize what a pickle I'd (not to mention my wife and yet-to-be-born daughter'd) be in if I slipped and sprained my ankle. At the lake I cast in but managed to lose a couple lures to snags. The walk back to the road was a lot shorter than I figured, thankfully. Note to self: no matter how "short" the hike, the compass stays in your pocket, dummy.

The main road (MT Hwy 83) runs along a string of lakes, and I decided to slowly work my way back to Missoula by stopping at a few to cast in. I lost more lures at Lake Seeley and Salmon Lake. The picture above is from Salmon Lake, where I just used pullouts to get to the shore. The hike was just a few yards this time. No bites.

As a reminder that hunting season is in full effect, at Harper's Lake FAS I nearly drove over this pleasant pile of deer entrails. The optimist in me (he's a really small, quiet, dumb guy) supposed they accidentally fell out of someone's truck. The cynic in me knew damn well that someone just dumped them there. Gross. The lake itself was my last try at angling as I only had two of my original six lures left. Plus, the weather was looking to get nasty.

This sign at Clearwater Junction always makes me wax nostolgic for good old Lincoln Nebraska. The out-of-focus thingie in the foreground is our only concession to hippyism in or on Ludwig. It's a pendant that supposedly brings us good travels, and was given to us long ago by a couple "hippies" at a VW show in Gretna (Nebraska), where we'd driven and entered 02McDonald's 1961 Double-door. (Here's a picture of that, taken by someone else, from the Omaha VW Club's website.)

While the fishing was a total washout, I'll not give up. The drive back did indeed prove to be pretty nasty and I severely chided myself (again) for having not yet fixed Ludwig's non-operational windshield wipers.

(miles 216,989-217,134)

Twins

As I was walking across the pedestrian bridge from (the UM) campus to the strip mall on East Front the other day, I spotted Ludwig's doppelgänger. My first thought, from a distance, was "Why did Melissa drive the camper here today?" A second glance revealed that this wasn't our Ludwig; the ski racks (or whatever those things are) and the ancillary bumper-mounted antenna are dead giveaways. I got up close to read the VIN, and while this camper and Ludwig are both 1974s, this one is a little newer. They have the exact same five Hankook RA08s though.
I left a note that included the address of this blog. If the owner happens to read this, please drop us a line.

Happy Birthday

Ludwig turned 34 today. I wonder what his first owner(s) would think if they knew he was still kicking around all these years later.
Some data:
-Given his 217,000 miles (nearly 8.75 times around the world, or circa 91% of the distance to the Moon), it works out that he's gone about 6,382 miles a year, which is 17 1/2 miles a day, every day.
-All this gadding about has burned 13,500 gallons or so of gasoline.
-Very roughly, that's $16,000 worth of fuel.
-Whoever took him off the lot paid $5,274 for him, which when adjusted for inflation is $23,000 today. For comparison, in 1974, new Ford and Chevy 1-ton vans cost $3,500 and $3,125, respectively. Apparently Ludwig was pretty expensive brand new.
(Don't be confused that Ludwig is a 1974 model, yet turned 34 in 2007. Model years and calendar years haven't matched up in forever.)
Happy birthday, Ludwig!

An Inordinate Fondness for Beetles

Some disclaimers:
1. The cliche is somewhat tempting, but I didn't title this post "Evolution" because furthering the analogy between Beetles mechanical and beetles organical might serve to promote the unfortunate and very widespread misconception that the biological process of descent with modification--evolution--is progressive, in the sense of going from "worse" to "better" as time plods on. It most certainly is not, but the evolution of artifacts (e.g. cars) is, in some respects.
2. One shouldn't draw any amateurish Freudian conclusions about my tendency to photograph my favorite Teutonic vehicles from the stern, a predilection I have previously noted but which defies further analysis. Sometimes a car is just a car.
3. Sorry that there haven't been any camping photos lately, but again I'll refer you to an earlier post for one explanation for this.
Enough verbosity: onward!

Surely there are Beetle experts who will (and should) correct me if I'm wrong in estimating this to be a 1956. This beauty has clearly sat for years and looks to me to be a perfect candidate (non-hit, non-cancerous, non-Earl Scheibed) for restoration. Someone needs to save the old gal.

I'm guessing it's a '63. If I snooped more closely with the flow chart 02McDonald gave to me years ago in hand, I'd know for sure. This one appears to be more beat than the Oval Window above, but its tags are current so someone must love it (flat tire notwithstanding).

It's gotta be a 1972 Straight, right? If I wanted to be sure, I'd've used this trick: to determine the year of any 1965 or later air-cooled VW, look at the third number of the VIN (easily found inside the driver's side corner of the windshield from 1968 or so onward). That number is the last number of the model year. (For example, the VIN 3602254565 is attached to a 1970 Type III.) This was one of 1,220,686 Beetles made in 1972.

Proof that even artificial selection needn't improve upon the original, the Super Beetle (exported to the US between 1971-1980; all Beetles after 1975, I think, were Supers). As the 70s rolled on, the Beetle platform was increasingly being seen as outdated (nb: "seen as"), and they really started to tinker with them. Can anyone even name a vehicle that didn't get bigger as time went on? I can't. The venerable Beetle was no exception, and the Super Beetle (the pejorative is "Stupid Beetle") was the beginning, middle, and end of the end for them. Synapamorphies include monstrous taillights and a curious grille on the front apron. Since I know that many Splitty owners look down their noses at Bay Windows like Ludwig in the same way I'm unfavorably comparing Supers to early Beetles, I will admit that they are good, fun-to-drive cars. Question: how does the roof get rusty like that?

4 x 4 x 4

According to the charter of a certain underground organization of which I am president, I am disallowed from owning a true four-wheel-drive vehicle (Fang Fang, as an all-wheel drive vehicle (there's a difference), doesn't count), though I would unhesitatingly violate that rule in the very unlikely event that I come across a cheap, driveable Schwimmwagen. But I very much appreciate 4WD vehicles--not today's Escalades, Navigators, and Expeditions, but the classic 4WDs from which these modern iterations descend. You know, 4x4s that had to actually prove their mettle in the rough.

Case in point, the original Land Rover. Proving that VW isn't the only auto manufacturer to have entirely abandoned its roots, Land Rover used to make these gorgeous trucks under the now stone-dead philosophy that form follows function. Allegedly, an astonishing (if true) 70% of all Land Rovers ever built are still in operation today. I'm not up on Land Rover arcana, but I think this one dates from the 1960s.

Even Jeep, a marque I mildly detest, used to make passably decent vehicles (Willys-era Jeeps are beyond reproach, however). I kind of like this Commando from the early 1970s, possibly because I have an inexplicable affinity for the early 1970s aesthetic generally.

This 80s Ford Econoline is on the path from our old place to the river, and I begrudgingly admired it every time I saw it. There's something to be said about a well-executed project, much as one might dislike the project in principle. I'll bet this rig doesn't get stuck too often.

Nowadays Toyota makes innocuous cars that last forever and have all the personality and flair of a bag of rice cakes. But from after the war until the mid-80s they made the famous LandCruiser, the pinnacle of which was the indomitable FJ40. (You might recognize this as the original for what today's nostalgia-mongers have warped into the laughable FJ Cruiser.) I've spent some time driving and passengering in FJ40s (owned by 01Cisco and 02McDonald) and enjoyed them thouroughly. When a sledgehammer sleeps at night, it dreams that it's a Toyota FJ40.

New! Ludwig's Map

Did you happen to notice the New! Ludwig's Interactive Map over on the right sidebar?

If you click on the link "View Larger Map" under the little map on the sidebar, you'll be whisked away to a page that looks something like this:

Then you can click on a marker (the blue upside-down teardrops) or one of the places listed on the left to get some details on Ludwig's adventures.

It's a work in progress as we're trying to supplement some of the blog photos with additional photos of the places Ludwig's been (although you may notice some photos are duplicates).

Please check it out, and let us know what you think! (Did we mention that we like comments?)

GNP: East Side

Now for some sights from the other side of the hump.

This nearly perfectly straight chasm is Sunrift Gorge. When I was young, growing up in Nebraska, I had the idea that whatever landform flowing water occupied, it was sculpted entirely by that very flowing water. And in Nebraska, this is largely true. It wasn't until later when I realized that sometimes, a lot of the time, flowing water takes a path that was created by some means other than itself (this may seem obvious or trivial, but it wasn't to me). Sunrift Gorge is a perfect example. It wasn't carved out by the stream that runs through it, but instead the stream found the crack which itself was a result of some ancient earthquake.

At a point just upstream from where this photo was taken the stream bends at a right angle that would make Pythagoras himself proud.

Out the driver's side.

Out the passenger side.

These pictures, taken seconds apart and on the same road, show how dramatic the Rocky Mountain Front really is. The first photo looks as though it could've been taken in Iowa, while the second betrays its location. Grizzly bears' historical range once extended well into Eastern North America, but now they only go out into open plains along this part of the Front, the Eastern border of GNP.

Running Eagle Falls, near Two Medicine, used to be called "Trick Falls" because of the way the water appears to come from the middle of the rock wall. What happens is the creek sinks into the fragmented bedrock and emerges at the falls. When runoff is heavy, the creek can't sink fast enough and a smaller falls shoots off over the top of the bigger one. The rock escarpment and the Rocky Mountain Front are both part of the Lewis Overthrust Fault.


Thanks to Melissa for driving (and letting me sit in the back taking pictures), to Esther for coming along (and bringing all the good food) and to David Alt & Donald Hyndman for their excellent book, Roadside Geology of Montana.

Big Month (intermission)

September proved to be the busiest month for this blog yet, with nearly 250 "unique visitors" looking at over 400 pages. What exactly is a "unique visitor"? I dunno--I'm not a computer person. But what it means to me is that I'm apparently so acerbic to those who comment that no one does it anymore, despite the fact that more people than ever are reading it. So, I'm making a New Month's Resolution: if y'all comment, my responses (except those to 01Cisco, who always gives me trouble) will be composed with a more favorable honey:vinegar ratio. Or better yet, I'll just make Melissa answer 'em.

Thanks for reading.

GNP: Pacific Side

We wandered into our Avalanche Creek campsite at night and woke up to this. There is a nice easy trail at the campground (the Trail of Cedars), which meanders through a section of forest that, amazingly, hasn't burned since the 1600s. We strolled along it after breakfast and admired the sylvanity of it all.

This water (Avalanche Creek) was snow the day before.

Melissa and Esther played Keebler elves in a hollow cottonwood tree. The cottonwoods around here were super tall and straight, unlike the Nebraskan ones we're used to (think wider and branchier). This one was still very much alive, despite its hollowness.

For eons, Avalanche Creek has flowed through a narrow gorge and carved bowls and weird Gaudi-esque Art Nouveau shapes into solid bedrock (pink=granite, right Dad?).

The cedars have pretty shallow roots for being as tall as they are. I wonder how long ago this monster tipped over.

After the hike we took to the road. There are an abundance of silvery threadlike waterfalls all over the place. Once you get to the mountain part of the road, the bridges don't cross streams--they span waterfalls.

We like the colors in this picture. This chunk of mountain is the beginning of what's called the Garden Wall.

We're almost to the top now, looking down at a spectacular glacial valley. Which reminds me: not to be too political or anything, but Mr. Gore is doing the science a disservice when he laments the fact that Glacier National Park won't have any glaciers in it by 2050 or so. Well, Al, it wasn't named "Glacier National Park" because of the glaciers in it now, which are puny little modern glaciers, and did nothing to create the present scenery. It was so-named because of the humongous glaciers that carved out the landscape like giant spoons long, long, loooooooong ago, and disappeared tens of thousands of years before the first Ford Excursion blighted this fair planet. We aren't helped by sentimentality for that which never was.

next: the Hudson Bay and Atlantic sides

Ludwig Crests the Crown of the Continent

Going-to-the-Sun Road is the road through the park and is probably the only way most visitors experience it (the park). The two things that struck me, first when I saw pictures of it (the road), and then even moreso when I drove it, were: (1) someone thought, "we should build a road here", and (2) they built a road there. The road itself is a work of art in a way, a work in progress, as the environment does its damnedest every year to reclaim big parts of it.

On our previous visit we took the road East-to-West and hugged the mountains, but this time we went the other, more vertigo-inducing way, West-to-East. That's Esther, Melissa, and Ludwig (l to r). Turnouts along the way give you a chance to take pictures.

This isn't the best picture, but the Triple Arches here help to show why the existence of the road is remarkable. It was built by hand, incidentally, and that cliff keeps going down.

That stripe is the road.

 















Proof that Ludwig made it to the top: Logan Pass, elevation 6646'. I listened to a ranger tell a group that last Winter, the weather station on top of the visitors center atop the pass recorded two weeks of 155 mph winds. It's closed during Winter because it's under several feet of snow from early-October until mid-June. (Parts of the pass get 70+ feet of snow.) I thought Ludwig was going to be the oldest vehicle up there until a 1955 Dodge pulled in next to us.

Esther and I got a closer look at this waterfall next to the road on the Hudson Bay side of the pass.

The next day we headed out around the Eastern and Southern edges of the park. Along the way we crossed another of North America's important divides, the Hudson Bay Divide (6015'). The lack of a sign bespeaks of geographic illiteracy and of a general Atlantic/Pacific bigotry, I think.

Driver Found.

About one of every seven photos like this turned out, taken while sticking my arm out the rear side window.

I'll admit that I'm confused. This sign clearly states the elevation of Marias Pass (US 2) as 5216'. But most maps declare it to be right at one mile, and close inspection of the USGS quad tells me it's around 5240'. I gave it the lowest value on the list of passes so I couldn't be accused of aggrandizement.

next: sights

Fauna of GNP

We walked right past this little family of Rocky Mountain Goats on the Highline Trail, near the visitor's center on Logan Pass. The horizon line in the distance is the Great Divide.

Rounding a corner, these Bighorn Sheep (a ewe and a lamb) peered out to see who was coming. (Click for large; it's kind of digustingly cute.)

At one point, the sheep and the goats kind of squared off, obviously wary of one another. There wasn't any ungulate-on-ungulate violence, but were certainly some cautious stares.

These are a couple alpine-style caterpillars we nearly stepped on. At this point they had about three weeks to turn into butterflies (or moths, probably) and get their business done before the snow flies.



The mottling of white feathers on this ptarmigan foreshadow Winter's approach. [edited 07.24.2019: according to those who would know, this is a Dusky Grouse, not any kind of ptarmigan.] We spotted him/her on the road as we admired Bird Woman Falls.

Our Rising Sun Campground neighbor's dog went nuts as this deer passed through one morning.

We didn't spot any of the park's famous bears this time (we'd seen several at Many Glacier with my family), but our friend Esther, who came with us, saw one on the National Bison Range as we drove up.

Next: Going-to-the-Sun