Elk Country Inn in the heart of Jackson, Wyoming. We are in shorts. Snow patches still cover the ground.

Every day is a vacation for dogs and toddlers, but Carmen and I also feel we've begun a trip of leisure as we stroll around the next morning. If my family stopped here en route to Yellowstone when I was in high school, I don't recall it. Perhaps my brother and I saw it as just another ho-hum Western town, considering I had no interest in wearing my vintage Indian jewelry and cowboy boots back then either. It took a year in Munich and then college on the East Coast before I returned home fully appreciative of the richness of America's frontier heritage.

Headed to a popular breakfast spot, events in the town square sidetrack us. The annual Jackson Hole Boy Scout Elk Antler Auction is taking place, and related Elkfest activities abound. The pastry case at The Bunnery is empty by the time we get there, so we spend our money at the Jackson Hole Book Trader instead. The Erasmus quote about first buying books, and then food and clothes if any money is left, has always been a favorite of mine anyway.

U.S. 89 continues out of Jackson Hole, skirting the Grant Tetons before reaching the entrance to Yellowstone. The scenery is magnificent. The first