The most expensive bike, ever, considering the time it was made. I forgot to grab all the details but the guy who owned this had everything covered in chrome and etched with intricate designs, etc. Picture taken at the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum.

Things to do, places to go:

It’s the fourth of July!
See the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum
Join a family for fireworks and a BBQ

Challenge:
Try shopping at the Sturgis Dakotamart

This morning, we wake and I have a plan.

“Here Jake, take this,” I thrust a box of Multi-grain Cheerios at him. “You can have these for breakfast instead of the toast.” Jake grins with delight.

“Really? I was wanting to have some. Cool!” He clutches the box and as the elevator door closes, Hubs looks at us in disbelief.

“You’re not going to…isn’t that a bit…tacky?” Hubs shakes his head.

“Hey, anything for Food Revolution. These have no high fructose corn syrup. Just be discreet about, okay Jake? Like hide the box under the table or something.”

Jake nods, clutches his box like it’s a precious commodity, and practically skips to the breakfast bar. This time, it’s a teeny bit better. There are hard boiled eggs, which I enjoy and don’t look processed. As we fix ourselves breakfast, I watch people. A woman is sitting across from us with a can of Mountain Dew while she watches her kids eat donuts, and another family has two little girls with ribbons the color of the American flag fighting over who stole the best chair, and then whose yogurt is a better flavor. Jake happily downs his bowl of cereal and for a minute, I feel a little better about breakfast. At least HE ate something really healthy. I’m not sure if my sorta-wheat-bread really was any good for me.

The plan to to drive out to Custer and say hello to the owners of Scott’s Rock Shop. We went on a rock hounding tour with them last year and loved it so much that we returned, hoping to go on another one. Unfortunately, this year we were out of luck. Not only were no tours running, but Alan was really busy and unable to take us out.

The bonus? We were invited back that evening to watch the fireworks with his family at the best seats in the house-their backyard. How does it get any better than that? We were stoked.

Next on the plan was to visit the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum. We wandered through the old machines, Hubs and Jake talking mechanics and engines while I just looked at the nice paint jobs. Honestly, I have no interest in how they work, I just like being a passenger on one. The museum is pretty cool though and I highly recommend it if you are passing through town.

Finally, we decided to visit a grocery store and pick up things to eat for lunches. Our hotel room had a fridge and we fully intended to use it. Shopping in the USA has to be just like Canada, right? We’re not THAT different.

Right.

First challenge was bread. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find bread that is whole wheat and has no high fructose corn syrup? It’s hard. As in, search every stupid brand of bread until you want to toss one across the store in frustration hard. Finally I found a loaf of Wheat Montana Healthy Loaf bread, which was the ONLY one in the store that fit my criteria. And cost about $4. OUCH.

Next was tortillas for wraps. The only kind I could find were Mission 10″ large flour tortillas, which looked okay until I read the label. 630 mg of sodium in ONE freaking tortilla? Are they joking? Wait, there’s 8″ whole wheat ones. 460 mg? What the hell are they doing, dipping these babies in salt?

I ended up settling for some other brand I’ve never heard of that still had more sodium than I liked, but not quite THAT much.

Milk wasn’t quite so hard. Land O’Lakes looked good, and it was easy to find the 1% so we put one in the basket. We fill the basket with gourmet mustard, avocado, red pepper, grapes, apricots, cherry tomatoes, sprouts, carrots, a bear shaped container of honey, and bananas. Cheese was CRAZY cheap at only $1.50 for a good sized package that easily would have cost $5 here at home. Jake couldn’t believe our good fortune, and suddenly the cheese became the highlight of the day as he picked out a block of pepper jack and one of colby/jack mixed. Yum!

Things became confusing at the deli counter.

“Um, I’ll have 300 grams of roast turkey meat, please.”

The girl looked at me like I just ordered something completely foreign.

“Excuse me? Grams? We sell the meat by the ounce or by the pound.”

Oh, crap. Pounds, Okay, what’s 300 in pounds? Never mind. 250 grams? Is that…half a pound? Wait, around 500 grams is a pound but I want more than 250, so 350? Is that 3/4 of a pound? What about ounces? Isn’t 8 a pound, and 4 a half a pound, which would be 250 grams, or….?

“I’ll take half a pound, then.” What the hell. I never said I was good at math and this is confusing the hell out of me.

Back at the hotel I lay out the tortillas and begin filling them. First the mustard, then the turkey. I realize that I forgot my knife at home and Jake comes to the rescue with his multi-tool. The hotel desk has become my kitchen counter and I continued to stuff those tortillas with veggies, next. Shredded carrots, strips of sweet red bell pepper, slices of avocado, a bit of cheese, and a bunch of sprouts to top it off. Hubs and Jake hover, mouths watering, as I work. Roll, hand one off to them one at a time, pour some milk, sit, and eat.

“Oh my God Mom, these are SOOO good,” Jake mumbled with his mouth full. “WAY better than a restaurant. I love the sprouts, they’re sweet!”

Hubs bit into his peanut butter sandwich and sighed with contentment.

“This bread is really, really good. I’ll bet it would make great toast.”

Toast? Ah, that gives me an idea….

Driving: Bozeman, Montana to Rapid City, South Dakota

Weather: God awful rain storm

Food Revolution Challenge: A long, boring drive, I’m getting sick of peanut butter, the hotel computer has no internet, and over friendly tourists

We awoke to driving rain blowing sideways, Vancouver style. What? Are you kidding? How did November Vancouver weather follow us to Montana? This is not possible. Gah!

Last night we were bored and so Hubs and I wandered out to the lounge area and grabbed ourselves a coffee. It is a routine of ours while we are on vacation-lose the kid and grab coffee together, where we sit and chat about adult stuff for a bit.

Nearby a family is making dinner with hot water and instant noodles. The Dad wanders over, extends a hand in greeting, and begins asking us questions. He explains that he moved to the Vancouver area from Korea not long ago and wants to know about us. Where do we live? What do we do? Where are we going on vacation? Do we want some noodles? He’s from a large tour group going to Yellowstone tomorrow, and what are WE doing?

Hubs begins telling him about the Black Hills and his eyes light up.

“Black Hills,” he repeats. “Show me. Where?” We try to explain but we need a map, so we run and get our huge map book out of the car. Hubs talks about the geology, the beauty of the area, and our new found friend is furiously taking notes.

“Ah, I see. Nice. We go one day. Tomorrow, Yellowstone. Here, I give you my number. We talk sometime. I’m back in Vancouver next Thursday, we see you then. We come to Sunshine Coast and call you, you show us around.” He thrusts a piece of paper towards Hubs and begins rattling off a phone number.

I can see that Hubs is trying to be polite and in return, he picks up a piece of paper and I can see him writing down our phone number too.

Wait. What is he doing? Who is this guy? Why is he giving him our phone number? We don’t even know him! And…holy crap, is that…? NO! STOP! STOP WRITING THAT! You can’t give this guy my cell phone number, too!

Every part of me wants to leap over the table, snatch that piece of paper from his hands, screaming, “NOOOOOO!” but it’s too late. He has my cell number; the number that I reserve for only close friends, family, and work contacts.

I suddenly have visions of a Korean family showing up at my door one morning, wanting me to show them around town. Sure, it’s fine for YOU dear, you work most of the summer. I have the summer off and now you’ve just volunteered me to be the welcoming committee to complete strangers.

Bidding our travel friends goodbye, we made our way back to our room.

“What. the. HELL. Were. You. THINKING?!?” I hissed, as the elevator door closed. “Sure, give the guy my cell phone number. Before you know it I’ll have him and his family calling me and wanting to go out for coffee, and I don’t even know the guy. You don’t have to deal with him because it’s not even your phone. And why are you giving out our phone number to total strangers? ”

“I’m sorry,” Hubs grinned sheepishly. “I don’t know what I was thinking. But you can screen your calls,” he offered helpfully. Right. Thanks, babe.

We slept that night in a luxuriously HUGE bed as Jake grumbled something about being stuck in a sofa bed that was too short for his growing frame. I ignored him, too busy thinking about noodles and Korean tourists.

The next morning we trekked down to the breakfast bar again, and it was no different from the last hotel; a preservative minefield of sorts.

Something has to change here, I thought as we munched on honey toast, again. Gotta get creative. I can’t do this our whole vacation.

The drive is long and boring. There is no other way to put it. I pull out my copy of “Promises to Keep” and read the entire thing, we look for pronghorn antelope, sleep, snack on granola and fruit, and dive into the leftover pizza from last night’s trip to the MacKenzie River Pizza Co. for dinner.

I’m already tired of peanut butter and it’s only day three. Hubs may be able to eat the same thing for days on end, but I’m not like that. I need variety. Jake has turned into the bottomless pit, and lately we push leftovers from our own plates or from anything else we’re eating towards him as he sucks it in like a tornado. We can’t eat bits here and there, he needs substantial food.

“You gonna eat that?” has become his favorite expression. He eats, and sleeps, with wild abandon. Am I mistaken, or are his jeans even shorter? This is crazy. A growth spurt, while we’re on vacation? How is THAT going to affect Food Revolution Road Trip?

We arrive in Rapid City and check into our hotel around dinner time. Too tired to look far for a restaurant we settle for a nearby TGI Fridays and order a Dragon fire chicken stir fry. It’s delicious-smallish portion, loads of veggies, chicken, and rice, with a Kung Pao sauce.

“Mom, did you see the look the people across from us gave me when they saw me eating broccoli?” Jake shook his head in disbelief.

“Jake, you’re entirely too self conscious. I doubt that..”

“No,” Hubs interrupted, “I saw. They looked at him, then his plate, and then back at him, as if they couldn’t believe a teenager was eating vegetables.”

“It was weird,” Jake continued. “They watched me eat the whole thing as if I was some alien or something. Is it that strange to watch a teenager have something other than burgers and fries?”

Judging from the reaction it got, I guess so.

Driving: Bellingham to Bozeman, Montana

Weather: Raining

Food Revolution Challenge: The hotel breakfast bar

We had a terrible June in Vancouver. Instead of sunshine, it felt like it rained every day and here I am, first official day of vacation, and it’s raining. Not just that, but it feels weird to be going from full on craziness that is two jobs, writing, and a house to suddenly…nothing. I am totally unplugged, with no iPod or a laptop. Jake whined the night before, complaining that he was bored and suffering from technology withdrawal, and when I told him we could play a game of cards, watch TV or read, he looked at me like I just suggested we build a cabin from sticks in the woods. Switching gears is hard. With no cooking, writing, housework, or jobs to attend to, I’m totally freed up to read, write (on paper!), chat, and relax. It feels like a muscle that hasn’t been worked in awhile, this relaxation mode.

Jake is hard to wake up, too. Which from that moment on, became the theme of the vacation. Shake him, bounce on the side of his bed, throw pillows at his head-nothing would work until we’d threaten him with not getting breakfast.

At the mention of food he’s up and ready in 3 minutes flat.

We stand in the hotel breakfast room, surveying the goods before us, and my brain begins to whine.

“You’re on vacation, for God’s sake. Do you really have to scrutinize everything you eat, just pick something ”

No. I need to do this. It’s an experiment. So brain? Shut up. I’ll ply you with coffee. It’s crappy hotel coffee, but it will have to do.

Jake mills around, reading labels, looking at what’s available, and is getting visibly irritated. As I watch he settles on some toast (he never eats toast) topped with honey, which he also never eats. I make my way past the breakfast pastries, instant oatmeal and do-it yourself waffles, grab some toast, and join him.

“Mom this is stupid. Every single kind of jam, the yogurt, and all the cereals have high fructose corn syrup. Those egg things are obviously processed. The bread is that cheaper, preservative packed stuff. Why would anyone eat those pastries? The only natural stuff here is the butter pats, the milk that says it’s not from cows given hormones, and the fruit. ”

“What? You’re not serious.” When I finish my coffee, I wander back to the breakfast bar to take a closer look. Jake is right. Hadn’t we heard that high fructose corn syrup was in only processed food? When I hear about processed food, I’m thinking of the non-chicken chicken nuggets on Food Revolution, or things like canned soup, pop, etc. But breakfast cereal and yogurt? Aren’t those supposed to be healthy options? What the heck are people supposed to eat here if everything, even the supposedly GOOD food, is loaded with crappy preservatives?

The only items in the breakfast bar that fit into our criteria are peanut butter, butter, milk, fresh fruit salad, coffee, and the basket of fresh bananas, apples, and pears.

Wow. Even my trusted brands at home can’t be trusted here. This is going to be interesting.

We drive for hours. Lunch is peanut butter and banana sandwiches again, and although I normally can’t stand repeats when it comes to what I eat, they are delicious. We stop at a gas station for milk and Jake picks one out of the dairy section, and then stops. It’s not milk. Looks like milk, but it’s some weird vitamin drink/processed concoction that we’ve never seen before. We peer at the bottle as if it’s some strange bug that we need to investigate.

“Jake, look at the label. This is to trick people into buying something that LOOKS like milk, but isn’t milk. ”

Jake recoils in horror and shoves it back on in the fridge. “Ew. That’s just…gross, Mom.” We search for a carton that specifically says the milk is from cows not treated with hormones, and pick up a pack of pretzel M&Ms for a treat. They are a mixture of salty and sweet; tasty, but by the end I’m not sure if I like them. Suddenly Jake snorts from the backseat.

“Mom? The M&Ms don’t have high fructose corn syrup. Now THAT is weird.”

We read, sleep, and listen to Jake’s Pink Floyd CD for hours as Hubs drives the I-90, stopping now and then for bathroom breaks. Finally at around 8 pm, we pull into the Wingate by Wyndham in Bozeman, Montana. The hotel has upgraded our room to a King suite, which feels huge and utterly luxurious for just a quick one night stay. We ask the clerk for a restaurant recommendation, and find ourselves at the MacKenzie River Pizza Company.

A tiny, busy place with a down home cowboy feel, the MacKenzie River Pizza Company serves up their food fresh, with gourmet pizzas on multi-grain crusts that are made right there, and fresh produce. We ordered a BBQ chicken pizza for Jake and I to share, and Hubs got a Green Horn (veggie sandwich). As Jake and I dug in we agreed that this was possibly the best pizza we had ever eaten, and there were enough leftovers to box up and take back to the hotel.

Perhaps tomorrow we’d have a change from peanut butter sandwiches after all.

One more day of driving, and we’re finally in Rapid City!

Driving: From home to Bellingham, Washington.

Challenge: An International Border Crossing that doesn’t allow you to take any dairy, meat, or fresh fruit/veggie products across. Ferries that are often late, long lines at the border, AND it’s Canada Day, which is a national holiday in our country.

First Stop: Cobs Bread in North Vancouver

The plan was to make sandwiches on the road for lunch, but as I pulled our brand new bag of Silver Hills Squirrelly bread out of the freezer, I discovered that it was moldy. Gah! With no time to get to the store for more bread, we decided to get some on the way.

“Why did you take a picture of the store?” The clerk wanted to know as she handed me my loaf of multi-grain. I explained what Food Revolution Road Trip was, and they looked at me like I was a little crazy. Oh well! Probably won’t be the first time.

Lunch was peanut butter and banana sandwiches, put together on my lap as we drove to the border and served up on plastic plates. You MUST try Cobs Bread. It is amazingly delicious and so much so, that we resolved to get some more when we return home. We snacked on some sweet clementine oranges, their cloying scent filling the car as we continued on our way. Gotta finish those babies up before we hit the border, you know.

Of course, there were line ups at the border, as usual. We waited. And waited. Hmm. Is there a garbage can somewhere? We have orange and banana peels we need to get rid of.

Nothing. Just grassy knolls, bunnies, cars, and the Peace Arch.

Hubs got out of the car and chatted with a girl in front of us, who had lived in Washington all her life and never been to Vancouver until then. We inched ahead bit by bit, looking for a garbage can.

“Just shove the peels under your seat,” Hubs insisted.

“No WAY! Jen told me a story about how they went to the USA, had dinner and couldn’t eat it all and there was a kumquat left over. They had the leftovers boxed up and forgot about the kumquat, came across the border, and the guards found it. It was a huge fine! There has to be a garbage can around here somewhere. I think I remember them being just before you get to the booth.”

So we waited. No garbage can. We inched closer to the border, with the cameras, guards, and booths looming. Passports ready, we began to panic a bit. Where did all these guards come from? We’ve never seen this many before. And why are they directing us to some tiny, enclosed area where there’s like SIX of them with guns looking at us?

A guard approached the car and I thrust my hands, full of banana and orange peels, towards him.

“We had a snack while we waited,” I explained. “There’s no garbage cans. We know it can’t go across the border. Do you have a garbage can here?”

The guard glared at us.

OH SHIT.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god he has a gun don’t make him angry we like the USA, and we’re good Canadians, I promise. Really. We’re not terrorists or drug dealers, just a family who wants to visit your country on vacation. I promise we will be GOOD WHILE WE’RE HERE!

“Voluntarily giving up CONTRABAND!” He yelled across the lines to a fellow guard and pointed to our car, until another guard walked over and glared in the window. Jake and I shrank back.

“We’ve been trying to find a garbage can,” I squeaked. “There aren’t any.”

“This is a border crossing, ” he snapped loudly as his eyes narrowed, “Give me the orange peels.” I fumbled with the handful, trying to pick out the orange peel bits from the banana peel, which by this time was brown and slimy. “I don’t want the other stuff. Don’t do this again. This is a BORDER. Do the right thing. While you are at it, open your trunk.”

Someone banged loudly on the lid of the trunk and we immediately opened it, listening while they rooted around inside and looking at each other, wide-eyed.

“See? Should have shoved them under your seat.” Hubs shook his head.

“And can you imagine if they FOUND them now? No freaking way. If they are this nasty when you’re honest, what if you’re NOT?”

After the usual questions about where we were going and what we planning to do in the USA, they finally let us through.

WHEW.

Food Revolution Road Trip Lesson #1: Deposit your garbage WELL before you hit the border, at a gas station or something that isn’t even near the line up. Do NOT choose to eat your “contraband” fruit/veggies/ etc while you are in line. There are no garbage cans and those border guards? Really, really, scary.

By the time we arrived at our hotel, it was dinner time. We had resolved there wouldn’t be a restaurant meal quite yet. How about a deli? There was a Fred Meyer across the street.

Fred Meyers are freaking HUGE, people. What is this with everything from clothes to jewelry in the grocery store? We went to the deli case and were decidedly puzzled by our options; take out, most of which looked like fast food, or sandwiches. Jake and I chose a few wraps and had a sandwich made for Hubs, then picked up a quart of milk for us to share.

The cases of milk loomed in front of us as we searched for a brand that was from cows NOT treated with hormones, and was 1%. Loads of homogenized milk, 2%, but 1%? Not so easy. And what are these stacks and stacks of cream, whipped cream, heavy cream, and half and half? We have the same products, but not even remotely in that quantity.

Back at the hotel we watched TV and happily munched on our sandwiches, until the ingredient list on our wraps caught my eye. A mile long and full of things that I couldn’t even pronounce, somehow they began to taste a little less delicious as it dawned on me they obviously were a total Food Revolution FAIL. Both contained high fructose corn syrup. How could that be? They were fresh from a deli! Or…were they?

This is going to be a LOT harder than I thought.