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.