The Beauty

The Beauty
North Cascades to Bellingham
“Here is a place where the clouds are made…where the ice melts into whispering rivulets which form dashing cascades, these flowing into lakes of wondrous beauty, where exquisitely beautiful landscapes of never ending variety meet… the wondering gaze from every direction, where mountains meet the sky”, Martin J. Elrod

Leaving Winthrop, up the grade for views of the mountains on the eastside of the Cascades, Douglas Fir and Lodgepole Pine, the smell of pine in the cool evening air as the sun settles to it’s western home, snowberry, ocean spray, Manzanita, wild roses and bracken ferns all about, moving up the mountain were the forest patches of sub-alpine Larch and White Pine dot wildflower meadows, interspersed with shrubby plant communities, grasses and sedges.

To camp in the night cool air of the piney forest, where fire cools my heels and mind.

The Park Service is moment orating the 50th anniversary of Jack Kerouac’s Sojourn at Desolation, he was on fire look out here from July 5th-Sept. 6th, 1956, Jack Kerouac spent 63 days during the summer as a fire lookout on Desolation Peak, in North Cascades National Park. He wrote about his experiences in the books "The Dharma Bums" and "Desolation Angels". The lookout is a 14' x 14' structure built in 1933 and remains active under the National Park Service.

The trail to the lookout is 7 miles one way from Ross Lake. You can either hike 13 miles to the trail head or arrange for boat transportation from the Ross Lake Resort.

"There she is!" yelled Happy and in the swirled-across top-of-the-world fog I saw a funny little peaked almost Chinese cabin among the little pointy firs and boulders standing on a bald rock top surrounded by snow banks and patches of wet grass with tiny flowers.
I gulped. It was too dark and dismal to like it. "This will be my home and resting place all summer?"
In the afternoon the marshmallow roof of clouds blew away in patches and Ross Lake was open to my sight, a beautiful cerulean pool far below with tiny toy boats of vacationists, the boats themselves too far to see, just the pitiful little tracks they left rilling in the mirror lake.
Hozomeen, Hozomeen, most beautiful mountain I ever seen ... but what a horror when I first saw that void the first night of my staying on Desolation Peak waking up from deep fogs of 20 hours to a starlit night suddenly loomed by Hozomeen with his two sharp points, right in my window black... Over 70 days I had to stare at it.
When I get to the top of Desolation Peak and everybody leaves on mules and I'm alone I will come face to face with God or Tathagata and find once and for all what is the meaning of all this existence and suffering and going to and fro in vain" but instead I'd come face to face with myself....
At night at my desk in the shack I see the reflection of myself in the black window, a rugged faced man in a dirty ragged shirt, need-a-shave, frowny, ...
Those afternoons, those lazy afternoons, when I used to sit, or lie down, on Desolation Peak, sometimes on the alpine grass, hundreds of miles of snowcovered rock all around, looming Mount Hozomeen on my north, vast snowy Jack to the south, the encharmed picture of the lake below to the west and the snowy hump of Mt. Baker beyond, and to the east the rilled and ridged monstrosities humping to the Cascade Ridge, and after that first time suddenly realizing "It's me that's changed and done all this and come and gone and complained and hurt and joyed and yelled, not the Void" ...
...as I was hiking down the mountain with my pack I turned and knelt on the trail and said "Thank you, shack." Then I added "Blah", with a little grin, because I knew that that shack and that mountain would understand what that meant, and turned and went on down the trail back to this world.” Snippets of Jack’s work.

I find the Park Service to be bold at times, confronting our pass and future, at Harper’s Ferry there’s John Brown, at Glacier, Native voices about the Lewis & Clark travels into their lands and the following of the settlers, and now.
Yet I look deeper, my need to understand, the modern world, this time about signage, I ask a young park employee about bi-lingual signs about bird migration, both English and Spanish, the birds do go there and return, then she says “well there is good Mexican food in Sedro Woolley down the road”, ok, I have seen very few if any Latinos in the Parks in my travels, later there was a film about Cascade Park, from the early Native Americans, or Indians meeting the first White Trappers, not sure if the Japanese tourists in the back understood the movie, it was in English, I have seen signs in the big Western Parks in many languages, and lots of German, Japanese, and other global travelers all about, and back to the movie, they also say Freedom & Freeland brought folks here, first the miners, then the loggers on the Skagit River, really the only folks there were here first in the US and Mexico were the indigenous peoples, Spain created the modern Mexico and its people, so if we all have to be immigrants lets understand we can’t all go back, we could all go to Africa to our true source of origin. This area is still known by its aboriginal name “Stehekin”, meaning the way though.

What do you call Yourself?As a kid I would say I was English, Irish and German, now I am a Pink Man, not White, not Caucasian.
When will we be people that understand the proper labeling is different in different areas, in the South, folks say Black or White, here in the NW its African- American, but what an I?

After my Park Information tour, on to the back roads with my trusty companion Skate, down to Marblemount for breakfast, a nice tiny church for a moment of thanks, head up Rt.530 pass Buck Creek for a great ride, it’s dirt for about 20 miles with big potholes, Skate & I stayed out of them. It’s well worth the trip, under the glaciers, with the clouds covering and uncovering in moments, with wildflowers blossoms in Alpine meadows, the Cascade mountain crest cools and wrings moisture from the Pacific Ocean air, most of the snow and rainfall on the Westside creating a dry “rain shadow” to the east.
Western Larch, White Pine wooly pussy toes and beargrass also greet you, “greet the sun…pulsing with the energy of life”, and the birds Sharp-shinned Hawks, Western Tanager, Thrush, Bulluck’s Oriole, Warblers, Blk-heaed Grosbeak and Rufous Humming birds find home here.
In the western Hemlock Forest there is also Western Red Cedar, Douglas fir dominating this dense ancient forest, many of these giant trees are over 1000 years old. The lush, dark and moist under story of shrubs, ferns, mosses, fungi help promote the greatest Plant and animal diversity in these Northern Cascade forest.
Heading out of this spectacular park, down Rt. 20W to SR-9 it largely parallels Interstate 5 to the west, crossing the Snohomish, Skagit, Stillaguamish and Nooksack rivers, and coming within about 17 miles of Mount Baker, then Rt. 642E to some of the greatest views around.
Mostly in the clouds with the smell of cold snow in my nose, the brisk air, the clouds playfully dances on mountain peaks, a NW day, you make the most of what the day brings.
Then down the mountain pass the Northfolk Beer-Shine, great IPA, very good pizza, too. Want to get married?
Make a right at Deming on Rt. 542W to Bellingham for more surprises and the feeling of being happy in my home, not to mention Hula-hoop Reggie night at the Boundary Bay Brewery. Most Fun!!!

the North Cascades to Mt. Baker to Bellingham, Washington
60.1mpg/ 251.8 miles traveled

Correction: Renata Chlumska website is AroundAmericaAdventure.com, no s on the end of Adventure, she is almost home to Seattle as well. Another journey near it’s end.
“the universe call outs…change is nature’s constant” unknown author

A calming poem: ee cummings: i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Over Hill & Dale

Over Hill & Dale
Montana, Idaho, Washington State
Leaving Glacier on a fine cloudless day, stopped at Eddie’s restaurant for road food, say good-bye to Eddie the Grizzly, my new drinking bubby, great puppet show happening about ecology, geared for education of youngsters, nothing like a stuffed Moose to start your day. Did pick-up a book on Blackfoot called Mythology of the Blackfoot Indians.
Out of the park on Rt. 2 on the Westside of the Continental divide, by the Huckleberry Patch, since 1949, thinking about the day and the next blog, a quote, sure someone has said this,” the revolution will not be televised, it will be blogged” if no one has said this, then I lay claim to it. TM!I am getting closer to the Northwest, I spy a Coffee cart, then a Les Schwab Tire Shop, the tire store out west, great service, and free beef, too. Into Kalispell, for an oil change, a town of Cowboy hats and Cadillac’s, four wheelers like to come up close to Skate, over sized, small penis rednecks, the theme for this day, What’s with the Size and Might Thing in America, don’t they know, that the Chinese own the title to thier truck and land.
NPR, today in history, the Lincoln /Douglas debates, Lincoln said “a house divided will not stand”, our house is divided, and yes we should stand united if it meant truly having an America without greedy agendas and a democracy of diffences heard.
I need to read Charlie Russell’s work for a laugh, passing Little Bitterroot Lake, the Flathead Nation Forest, pass Marion, home of Skydiver Blonde, the Lang Creek Brewery, the smell of mountain pine trees has the day warms, lots of lakes, fishing in the northern states, a way of life, pass the Kickin’ Horse Saloon, Extreme Fire Danger, Renewable forest, and then replanted, thoughts ‘I want a large one-room log cabin’, on this stretch of road 26 crosses, 5 since the park , then 3 more before Libby, that’s 34 total souls, the Kootenai Forest and Falls,
too, and a swinging bridge, has I go for a look, a bunch of motorcycles, that is a man there resting by himself, I comment on the colors of the bikes, one bright orange, one bright yellow, a three-wheeler, and the man, both arms gone, not sure about the rest of him, or how, Hooks is has name, out of Lake Havasu, we talk great drives, the Blue ridge, Natchez Trace, he has been on most of the roads we talk about and some I need to go on, I find courage and admiration in this man, I shyly ask to take a picture, thirty-one years ago about this time of year, my brother John lost his life on a motorcycle, a late ride at night, family told me recently my Mom had a bad feeling, John was to sell the bike the next day, he was the baby of the family, ten years younger, now I carry his Bible with me, Mom died two years later, the lose of a child must be pain I hope not to experience, yet in my country we love the Children, and then drop bombs on families in other places in the name of peace and democracy.
Into Idaho, a state bordering my own, Ponderosa Pines stand tall, pass Moyer Springs, into Bonner’s Ferry, Chevron, my gas company, have not seen since Virginia, only in the parks, they have a pet project, conservation, good debate here, they seem to be in the west mostly, or around National Parks, make a left at Rt.95S, listening to Bill Hearn’s singing about Charlie Russell, pass the Wild Horse Trail, no skinheads, unless I look in the mirror, but not angry about pre-destiny of the white folks, the world is of many colors, I was told by a redneck once that I must think in Rainbow colors, I am not that PC anymore, I was to express with the bounties.
Pass Samuels, the Western Pleasure Ranch, now were talking, into Sandpoint, just franchises, stores cluttering the town, curious about where those white guys are, and why they are so quiet, some feel that they need to take the country over, that the Freeman have a right, and they have guns, still wondering where they are, another venture to study the local wildlife, back on Rt. 2W, this is Panhandle Country, folks swimming on a warm day, away from the Rockies, along the Priest River, folks with some extra cash for a summer home, where’s Bruce Willis to fight off the bad guys, I may need your help.
Into Washington on Rt.20W, I am gone to ride this road across Washington State, pass a huge paper mill, the smell is one of damp musk, once you know it, it stays, at the Jct. of Rt.2 and Rt. 20W, go north along the Pend Oreille River, towards Canada to Tiger
Then up the a steep grade into the Colville National forest, a passing a large truck with a dozer going about 15mph, I wave an honest thank you, then drive on, up the steep grade then down, right behind me the truck with a trailer and dozer, 15 feet to my back bumper going about 50 mph, he’s pressing me, right there, back up the grade he is able to stay close, what’s his problem, how did I piss kim off, this continues for 20 miles, no room to pull over on this small two-lane blacktop, finally I see an opening barely getting off the road, I DO flip him off, not like me, yet endangering my life, he stops quickly, as I sit there, he jumps out of his truck as I slowly move around him, then he goes for a pipe or something, to do what with, I get by, and go on not creating any more tension, is the thought of a Honda Insight passing you, piss you off, ain’t saving gas patriot, I go on to the next town, get a room after a long day Colville, will Skate be ok.
I meet a women getting off a Triumph motorcycle, she is tall, dark brown hair, gap teeth kinda’ like mine, and pretty, driving in from Bellingham, works doing something out here, to tired to ask more or to engage, just asked about time of drive, a little small talk, it’s harder for a man traveling solo to get to the story of a woman on the road, yet I wanted to know more, a few times on this trip, there have been women, and I like people and their stories, and this trip is not about that, yet, when in a coupled thing, talking to a single woman may be easier, on to the next morning I got up early, looked out the window for the day’s weather, she was packing and getting ready to leave, to strange to try get her story now, I wish to live everyday like there is a story, the unknown of our life’s experience, to learn, to listen, to share.
End of an interesting day no less, the trucker and a call from my son, with a question and worry on my mind.
Maybe a dream, was the trucker pushing me, the best gas mileage of the trip, not sure why?
Glacier to Colville, Washington
71.6 mpg/ 358.9 miles


Waking to a hazy morning, with wildfires in the area and all though the west, on though Kettle Falls, over the Columbia River, looking forward to crossing it back to Oregon, pass the Little Gallera Café and Sandy’ Drive-in café, into the mountains and the trees, the Colville National Forest, western law, if there are more than 5 vehicles behind you, it’s a law to pull over, there are lots, sometimes of slow lanes to do this, though an forest recovering from a burn some twenty years ago, up the grade to Sherman Pass 5575’, pass Republic, the Thrifty Food store is closed and 4 sale, stopping at a saloon for a burger and iced tea, talked to an older man at the bar, talk of panning for gold, Canada and the independent rural Western points of view, the feeling that money does buys it way out of trouble, then another fellow comes in saying things are wrong, in Iraq they were hiding things, there why we are there, I said “put the shoe on the other foot” and how would we feel, Come on with me, and ride on the mysterious roads, though the restless wind, Glory Hallelujah, out of the mountains to high plateau, dry juniper and sage to Tonasket, turn left on Rt.97S/ 20W to Omak, the hills on fire to my right in Okanogan, apples and orchards, it’s harvest time, years pass in the early 70’s, while a young man wandering and hitching the country, this was once a place a young hippie and his new young lover wanted to go, to work the season, see the country, wander some.
Viable Speed next 19 miles the sign says, climbing up and west another small pass, a day of small climbs, locals have concerns, fire danger is everywhere over Loup Loup Pass 4020’., dry ground over these big Ponderosa pines, the Cascades are in sight, over Beaver Creek, Twisp, then the Twist River brewery, a sign say Cannon Beach North, my beach is in Oregon, then into Winthrop, where tourist and families that in all the western sights, this town is the old west with new west kinda’ folks, shops, boutiques, lots of feel good West Coast vibes, this folks like to stroll and gaze, even the elderly lady at the Historical center knows, this is not the West of her past, some culture shock for me, yet it reminders of the NW, my home.
Notes from my journal that night as I camp in the Cascades: sitting here, in the woods, campfire, reading, drinking a beer, I was uptight later this day, yesterday the impact of the trucker and how I felt after driving 350 miles, then mindlessly watching baseball, then sleep early for me, woke early, laying there, was life waiting, now, a little waiting, then get the f..k out of bed, 7:30am, coffee and a warm bagel, then blog about Glacier. Then here in Western Washington, dangerously dry, you don’t hear much about this area, unless the Mayor of Spokane has your phone number. Driving West, my purpose, wild fires all around, visible as I drive though, when I left it was wet and rainy, now dry as a bone. Extreme Fire Danger.
Then into Winthrop, first sign of the affluence of the coastal West after 3000 miles up north of people just getting by, Wintrop a western town with all the fixin’s, like Seattle, a yuppie Disneyland,

for those wanting to get out of their trappings, this New West, it starts after leaving Glacier, the familiar clues, coffee shacks on the roadside , Les Schwab tires, I love a good 4-shot latte in a 12oz cup, here I too can get what I need, but Winthrop, I had the biggest laugh of my drive, is this the west, the progressive left, the left coast, have I changed, I am shocked, my blood rising, yet I am in the Northern Cascades camping, I have always wanted to be here, an drive excellent with many views, small hikes, the need to camp, my battery clock is sometimes slow, tonight I realize by an hour, wander into the park, the office dark, a friend calls, bad signal, just choppy talk, I look for a phone, piled on to this day, building tension, one phone miles away, it’s not a pay phone, very few of those any more, meet some good folk to ease the tension and frustration of so close and far away with the need to use technology, I limp back, have the beer, read, fire, yet the need to connect, I am there for folks is my thoughts, always doing for others, thoughts of my son call, I worry about him, out of the Navy , money for school, he needs to use it. He called with a question?
Then looking at the stars and watching the fire turn to coal, a warm soul glow, amber orange, hot, blistering in close, flame opens the soul, the coal puts it in it’s place, I am ok, adopt the thirst of the road, with the old normal, an old path with new pebbles.

Adding to my day, in the last store before the mountains, in Mazama, girl eating Kettle Chips, a new flavor, I feel free enough now to tell my story.
Am I the mad fool all by myself, did I say mad fool, did I not.
In the spirit of the road I am thankful.
You know you are f..ked up when you put the flashlight in the icebox.
Now it’s cool, mountain style, breathing she exhales.
Find out what you are seeking and call it home, the song says.
Better as I mediate on a tree in the glow of the fire.
Colville to the Cascades
61.8 mpg/ 242.4 miles traveled

Next:
The Northern Cascades to Bellingham
A drive down to Bainbridge to complete a loop
The drive home to tie the knot.

the Crown of the Continent

The Crown of the Continent
Waterton-Glacier National Park, International Peace Park World Heritage Site
“Far away in Northwestern Montana hidden from view by clustering mountain peaks, lies an unmapped corner, the Crown of the Continent” George Grinnell, 1901

“In a world beset by conflict and division, peace is one of the cornerstones of the future. Peace parks are a building block in this process not only in our region, but the potentiality in the entire world” Nelson Mandela

“When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe” John Muir 1890

“Few places in the world are more dangerous than home. Fear not, therefore, to try the mountains passes. They kill care, save you from clearly apathy, and call for the every faculty into vigorous, enthusiastic action” John Muir


Heading west out of Shelby, out on Rt.2W into Glacier County, the landscape of oil and gas refineries, fresh cut wheat, now time to plant winter wheat after a dry summer here, into Cut Bank, the sign says millions of barrels of oil, billions barrels of gas, looking into the horizon, the mountains loom, I can see them in the distance drawing me in, pass Camp Disappointment, Lewis & Clark stayed here, says “Lewis: "…adieu to this place which I now call camp disappointment…"
History: On July 22, 1806, Lewis halted his northward exploration of the Marias River here. It was not the natural boundary for the Louisiana Purchase he had hoped for. He had also hoped to find an easy portage route between the Marias and Saskatchewan rivers. Such a route would have allowed America to divert Canadian fur trade into American territory at the Missouri River. It was not to be. Dreary weather and gloomy prospects gave this camp its name.
Lewis and three companions, George Drouillard and the Field brothers, Joseph and Reubin camped here for three days before beginning their return to the Missouri. It was a risky stay as they were deep in the land of the Blackfeet. In fact, the next day, they encountered eight Blackfeet warriors and shared a camp with them. Unfortunately, Lewis also shared the fact that Americans would trade with all the tribes in coming years, including enemies of the Blackfeet. The Blackfoot Confederacy was the most powerful coalition in Montana at the time. The prospect of American rifles in the hands of their enemies threatened their dominance of the area and their existence.
Early the next morning, Lewis woke to the sounds of struggle. The warriors and expedition members fought for possession of the Corps' rifles and horses. Two of the warriors were killed in the only fatal encounter of the expedition.
Lewis compounded the gravity of the situation:
"While the men were preparing the horses I put four shields and two bows and quivers of arrows…on the fire, with sundry other articles…I also retook the flag but left the medal about the neck of the dead man, that they might be informed who we were."
The other Blackfeet survived to return to their tribe, and it is thought that this encounter had lasting consequences. George Drouillard, present at this fight, was one of three expedition members to return west after the expedition only to die in later conflicts with the Blackfeet.
After leaving Cut Bank you are in the Blackfeet Reservation, wondering what they think about all the Lewis & Clark hoopla, into Browning to the Museum of the Plains Indian, displays of richly varied arts of the Northern Plains tribal peoples including the Blackfeet, Crow, northern Cheyenne, Sioux, Assinboine, Arapaho, Shoshone, Nez Pierce, Flathead, Chippewa and Cree, their historic clothing. horse gear, weapons, household goods highlight the exhibits, founded in 1941, it’s an excellent look at the lives of this nation of survivors, there are appoximattly 106,000 descendents on 16 reservations of Plains Indians.
I meet a Native artist, not thinking about spending money, his art work was so symbolic of the my experience in the Museum, that I purchased one of his paintings, Ernest Marceau Jr. a big man, gentle, lively and encaging, he reminded me of the Gary Farmer from Pow Wow Highway, an excellent movie of Native experience, a must see, Gary Farmer was the founder and Publisher of Aboriginal Voices Magazine, a magazine which was devoted to Native Canadian issues.
On to the park, wild fires, started in late July, speculation the Boy Scout started it, 30% of the timber resources for the Blackfeet were lost. The fire is still burning, they in other areas of the West. The haze gives a blue tint to the landscape.
Into the park taking Rt.49 on the southeastern corner working upward, witnessing the wildfire first hand, chars of tall tree, smell of a day old campfire that has gotten wet, yet still along the roadside, white butterflies, thousands working their magic, then up the road, the views are shock and awe, magnificent land here, on to the St. Mary entrance on the East side, they have exhibits of Native artist works, all work about the Lewis and Clark experience, none to flattering, great to see, some artists to follow-up on: Corwin Clairmont, Damian Charette, Janeese Hilton and Ramon Murillo, one piece had these words, “When you had such a good guide, why is it that all I wanted is for you to get lost, get lost, get lost” by Gail Tremblay. As moving as the mountain these people once roamed, and have different names for then now.
Up to Many Glaciers, a place to camp if you can get in, a fantastic valley with views 360, for some they stay at the Hotel here, leaving to get a site at Rising Sun,
I stop at Two Sisters Café for a good Pulled Pork Sandwich, and great pies, Huckleberry, brave and bold.
Back to camp, where I meet Joe from Portland, a bus driver, Ralph Kramden would be proud, the most Oregon tags I have seen in a long time, I am in the West again, we talked about how to stay centered in this world today, he is going to Burning Man, I could make it, not this year, Oregonman Must Go Next Year, my pledge to the Cosmos. He owed me a book This is Burning Man, I have started to read it, I have heard about this event, I shy away when things get popular, also like tattoos and piercing. Another great roadside conversation, have fun at Burning Man!
Up over Logan Pass to camp at Sprague Lake, tents only, full, than back to Avalanche Creek, under a grand old cedar tree I be, I be. Skate is a mountaineer, up and down, holding his own with anyone, especially now there he is using Premium, he’s a monster.
I will not say much of the views the pictures should speak for themselves.
The Glaciers are shrinking, in 1850 there where 150, now 27, in 25 years, None will exist, also the Alpine habitat is changing. Dick you could have had your energy summit here, great views.
Another great place to eat on the Eastside is The Park Café, since 1981, where pies are king here, shakes too. On the Westside its Eddies, where I meet Eddie the Grizzly Bear, nice fellow, likes beer like me. At Eddies I read that Charlie Russell, the great Western painter and humorist worked and lived here.
Russell said” Two guides went out one morning to round up their horses and in crossing a strip of woodland, they meet a belligerent moose who made it necessary for them to seek cover with no delay. One of the guides slid into a convenient hole and the other climbed a tree while the moose just waited around. After a time, the man in the hole stuck out his head and asked “has he gone yet?”, and the man in the tree said “No”, after a few minutes, he raised up and asked again” hasn’t he gone yet?’. The man in the tree replied, in not too refined language, “No!! and he never go if you keep popping out of that hole”
“Well”, said the other fellow, “There is a bear in this hole”.

Campfire under the cedar trees, sky full of starts, no moon, hooting of an owl in a distant tree, the still night air, releasing the smellof the forest, sipping whiskey, finishing The Appalachians, a great book, about its people, culture, stories, songs and life, a place changed and unchanged, exploited and hidden, with knowledge of the forest path and its treasures, a story of greed and damage done, a story of hope, a story of history, its roots to our tribe, over water in a distant land, our voices the same.
Also meet an Australian man Ian, bought a bike and is riding a 650 motorbike out of Seattle heading out into the mountains, then heading south to Utah, another great conversation around the fire, talks of our homes, politics, says that their government wants to be a player in the big picture, yet behind a few years, tell George they are Willin’, its people like ours, just want to have a Roasted Lamb on Sundays with family, they Don’t drink Fosters, good, I never liked it anyway, people all around the world want the same thing, logical and responsible governments, of the people, for the people.
Drinking Sky Diver Blonde out of Marion, Montana, and Bayern St. Wilbur Weizen out of Missoula and some Knob Creek, wanted a sip for awhile, been looking at a bottle since I have been in the North Country
Next morning cool, said goodbye to Ian, broke camp. Westward!
Reading Rumi, “What color cloth you want, let the boy Jesus pull it out of the big dark dyeing vat”, Coleman Bark’s asking his son, “What is all this longing”?
His son left his Dad a note the next morning, “Maybe it’s because nobody has any brakes, We can’t stop. Whoooooooeeee”!
Shelby to Rising Sun
62.5 mpg/ 166.7 miles traveled
Rising Sun to Avalanche, and over Logan Pass
68.1 mpg/ 112.7 miles traveled
Avalanche to Logan’s Pass and back
63.9 mpg/ 81.6 miles traveled