Out of nowhere a plane whooshed thirty feet above my lane. As I braked, it curved along the crop field to my left, shooting mist from its wings. Only then did I realize this is s.o.p. for the crops. Later on I saw a helicopter do the same.

At 9am I pulled into a casino to… get my last charge in Oregon. How wholesome, Tesla! I did find apples & water inside though, along with hundreds of gamblers excited by the long weekend.

Back on the road I felt like a leaf adrift on the river, with no control over how the current takes it but protected so long as it lies light on the surface.

I avoided Exit 228 for Deadman’s Pass.

Food options at these charging stops is like roulette, and I finally hit it big in Boise with a knockoff Fogo de Chão. Seriously, sometimes you get a lone Holiday Inn in the desert, and most of the time the only remotely healthy option is Subway. After I’d had my fill, I hit the final stretch for

Ketchum

Driving up Main Street, I rolled down the windows and smelled the rain. When it started coming down harder I rolled them right back up. Opening my car door upon arrival, it smelled like a forest of pine.

After a quick rest I walked around town. Families and friends hung around the Limelight Hotel’s back patio: drinking wine, playing ping pong, and listening to live music.

I sat at the bar at Whiskey Jacques and ordered Jack Daniel’s on the rocks, quickly followed by some tater tots.

I heard a man to my left. “I left my ID or, uh, my debit card here last night.” “Last name?” “Bender”

A sticker behind the bar inspired patrons to “Yeet or Be Yeeted”

A guy in a beanie hit on the girl sitting next to him. “You work for us at Casino [the bar across the street], right?” “Yeah I actually worked here first” “So we hired you away” …. “Looking cute tonight” “Thanks.”

At 8:09pm, as I stepped out for another walk, it wasn’t even approaching dark — the sky above still a deep blue.

I entered the Ketchum Cemetery on the outskirts of town. There wasn’t a single person there, but there were plenty of diners making merry at the adjacent Knob Hill Inn, their shouts and laughs making rude contrast with the crows walking over headstones.

The crows drew me to the grave of a grandfather. I started to tear up. At Hemingway’s grave I absolutely bawled my eyes out. July 2 was only yesterday.

I suppose I cried for myself, for the fear I’ll never do what I want to do. I cried because Hemingway shot himself, because he was his characters. I cried for my mom.

I left my lucky $2, weighed down by four quarters.

For dinner I tried the rooftop bar in town. They put me on a 25-minute wait, which was no problem, until I got bored and walked into the Sawtooth Club across the street.

They put me at a hi-top in the back. Hemingway memorabilia lined the walls. I felt it sort of odd he’s become an idol here, “an image or representation.. used as an object of worship.” Yes he frequented this place, he can inspire people to follow their creative pursuits. For instance I’d earlier passed a sign for the “Sun Valley Writers’ Conference.” But ultimately his time here ended in tragedy, and he’s over-repped as a masculine symbol. Guys wanna emulate the hunter, the skier, the heavy drinker. But I don’t hear of guys trying to emulate the love life of Jake from The Sun Also Rises. And yet that’s what he wrote his first book about!

I wanted fish, but they were out of both their ‘fresh catch’ salmon and their red trout. So I got butternut squash ravioli with a side of ~haricots verts~

Haricots verts merely being green beans, hopefully those squiggly marks go some way towards expressing a Newport, Rhode Island type of tone.

At nearly 10pm, it still wasn’t fully dark outside. I admired the reflection of dusk on my car, and once back in the room cracked open Paris in Winter, one of my five snags from Powell’s in Portland.

In the morning I continued Paris in Winter alongside a large pot of coffee. I then drove to see my dad’s friend, passing a “No Hunting in City Limits” sign along the way.

I’d met Mike twice before, and easily fell into conversation with him and his dad. We talked of my trip, their family’s history in Sun Valley, the bike paths, and Grumpy’s.

I then got the VIP driving tour of the area, courtesy of my host. Up in the mountain pass I could barely distinguish individual scents out of the natural medley — some mixture of wood, flowers, water, soil, grass.

You couldn’t turn your gaze without seeing the impact of avalanche, or forest fire, or rockslides.

The first-ever ski lift looked quite skimpy compared to its counterparts today.

We passed the hot springs, people sitting right on the edge. “It’s too hot to go in!” 150 degrees sounded a bit hot for me too. Rather than a traditional still pool this hot spring was a river, the water’s movement wafting the smell of sulfur into my scent at one moment and out the next.

Mike dropped me off to inquire as to the Sun Valley resort’s car charging capabilities and gave me his bike so I could explore on my own for a bit. I just wanted to wander, but quickly found myself going nowhere fast, straight out of any semblance of town.

Imagine before there was anything here, imagine before you were told to stay on trails, imagine straight just walking up that hill. How fun it would be! Sadly all I saw move across those hills were the shadows of clouds, as flying seeds floated in the wind, some landing in my hair.

I’d wondered what these huge dinosaur bones were. Turns out they’re an artist’s rendition, named Spur, of the lava tubes in Craters of the Moon National Monument.

Got my droplet and went to charge it up at SV. They had two chargers, one of which was taken by a red car with utah plates, and the other of which wouldn’t work, my car continually displaying “charging stopped.” I gave up and went to get chicken piccata at one of the resort restaurants.

Mike told me of a rodeo in nearby Hailey that night. He’d struck out on getting tickets at the local grocery store, but advised I drive down there and give it a shot. Why not?

Tesla maps didn’t quite know where to send me but I eventually found a grass parking lot. At Will Call a sign read “Sold Out” and I heard disappointed people in cowboy hats lament the short supply at their local grocery stores.

The stadium was pretty open though, so I figured I could try watching from outside, finding a small lawn on which to do so. There was even a depression worn into the hill where others had sat. At the nearby gas station I waited to buy a Budweiser tallboy as a cowgirl from Alabama settled up with the cashier from Atlanta.

Happy Fourth! With fireworks disallowed due to the forest fire risk, this was the main event.

I was seated right behind the pens of horses revving up for action, behind which riders wrapped up their forearms. Cowboys walked by with spurs clinking, talking away their nervous energy. A little kid skateboarded from the paved road down into the restricted area’s dirt road, then picked it up and kept on walking.

The MC kicked off proceedings with a prayer, an invocation of “cowboy culture,” and of course the national anthem. “I wanna hear us all together, as we sing it for the first time together after a year apart.” While all in the stadium stood, not all in the ticketless viewing area felt so compelled.

With only minutes separating us from the action, two police officers posted up in the grandstands with two beers.

Sudden movement caught the corner of my eye — I could see a figure whiplashing back and forth… and we’re off. These horses are out for blood!!

The fallen rider’s safety assured, his honor guard went after the bucking bronco. So that’s what the lassos are for. The MC assured his audience regarding the fallen rider that, “and you southerners out there will especially know what I mean, that man’s tougher than a waffle house ribeye.”

Got my fill after ten or so riders. On my way back to Ketchum quaking aspen shimmered in the twilight.

Mike grilled dinner, then we went to try again to charge my tesla. Mr Red Utah Plates was still there, fully charged by now but of course oblivious to the concept that others might need it after him. I tried the broken charger again; it still didn’t work, so I tried removing it but it wouldn’t come out. I started yanking on it, worried I’d break my charging port, when suddenly I heard a click and charging commenced.

The next morning, Mike picked me up early and we headed north, up and over the Galena Pass. “This is where they do the Ferrari racing I was telling you about.” “Uphill?” “Ah it does seem like it’s uphill, but really that part in the distance is just —” “A further incline”

At Redfish Lake we switched to boat to reach the trailhead. The driver educated us on the trail: “If you’re going to alpine lake you have to hit the baron divide. It’s only a mile or so further and has full 360 panoramic views.”

Landing on the opposite shore, we met a woman waiting with her dog for the return trip. “You’re the first humans or dogs he’s seen in three days!”

As if emphasizing her words, the trail took us past camping grounds and more overnight hikers. You knew they’re overnight because there’s no town or highway on the other side for them to have come from.

“Those cliffs look so jagged.” “You can see why they call them the Sawtooths. Usually there’d be a lot more snow up there but they didn’t get much snow last year.”

After we’d been hiking for a few hours, I gasped as Alpine Lake emerged from the trees.

From there I pressed on while Mike rested. Up I went through a green oasis, then more rocky roads. Then I finally made it, and could see to the other side. View was pretty good — I thought this must be what our driver had been talking about — but then I saw a large pile of boulders and knew that to be the true 360 view. I scaled them using hands and feet, my yoga experience helping me distribute my weight so as to keep the rocks from shifting beneath. At the top I was exhausted yet victorious.

On my way down the valley stretched out before me and I felt like Jon Snow’s ranging party, traversing beyond the wall to spy on the wildling army.

I crossed a buncha streams, courtesy of last night’s rain, and my feet got a bit wet. I went over and under various fallen trees. I passed one boulder that looked like an upright bulldog pounding its chest and another that looked like la tortuga.

Near the bottom, as I could finally see the lake from whence we came, I passed a duo who’d crossed my path on my way up. “Hello again!”

At the bottom I met Mike and we waited for the second boat, the first being over capacity. All-in I’d hiked for five hours and forty-five minutes. That made up the bulk of the 17.5 miles I walked that day — my longest day of the summer, with the second-highest coming in at 16.7 five days later in Montana.

Redfish Lake Lodge had been deserted when we left in the morning, but upon our return it was an absolute madhouse. Parents, kids, teenagers, young adults, complete with flamingo floats et al. I took a quick dip and we bounced.

We passed a wagon on the side of the road — like an old wooden wagon you’d expect to see out of the 1800s — with a “for sale” sign on it. We stopped at Smiley Creek Lodge for food and I got fish tacos. Absolutely starving, all I’d had since a breakfast sandwich was cashews throughout the hike. I spent the remainder of the drive back passed out in the passenger’s seat.

After resting a bit I still felt exhausted, but couldn’t bring myself to miss out on Grumpy’s before leaving the next day. Sorry, we’re open! I got their chalice IPA, snickered at their stickers, and wolfed down my burger & fries.

I descended to the Cellar Pub in search of a digestif. The bartender chatted about his time playing hockey for the Sun Valley Suns, and a tourist conversed with a local: “Oh I haven’t used cash in a while.” “I love it cause it’s my budget. Once it’s gone! …”

One sip of my drink at the Cellar though and I knew I was dunzo. Too damn tired. Went home and slept slept slept.

The next morning I met Mike at The Kneadery. Waiting for our table we watched VIPs arrive in their Escalades, just in on their private jets for the Allen & Company conference. Clearly neither of us have a future as paparazzi — forget the pictures, we couldn’t even figure out anyone’s name. I did learn from Mike that the private airport in Hailey gets so full during Allen & Co that they have to store some of the planes down in Twin Falls.

I had perhaps ten breakfast burritos over the course of this trip but my one at The Kneadery was by far the best. Could barely tell the ingredients apart.

Charged up I shot east through the Craters of the Moon, my body still so sore from that hike. After a pit stop in Swan Valley I made my way into Teton Valley, to the tiny town of

Victor

Tiny indeed: the welcome sign read 1,928 residents — 1,924 of which I’m not friends with. So I headed towards those with whom I am. They’d given me their address, the street number ending in 44. Yet the Mass plates in the driveway of number 64 gave me a sliver of doubt, Wes being from Mass. Then in the window of 44 I could see a guy and a girl, which compounded my doubt given all my friends living there are guys. I knew some of their whereabouts: one mountain biking, another flying in from the east, the third staying in the east. The fourth didn’t pick up the phone, so I decided to wait it out at the nearest brewery.

Why did I feel so nervous? I should have felt more comfortable given I had friends nearby. Yet it felt jarring how, unlike when you reach a hotel or an airbnb and just stroll in at your leisure, my welfare for the night depended on receipt of a text message. Sans text, I felt like an outsider, a stranger in a new land. So wait I would.

Pulling into the brewery, my arrival seemed to have caught the eye of a guy and a girl seated at the end of the row of outdoor seating. As they conferred with each other, making slight gestures in my direction, I walked inside.

Seated at the bar, I read Paris in Winter while waiting for my salad. Head submerged in book, it took me a second to notice a person had walked up to me. It’s the girl from outside. “Hi! So this is weird but you look just like my friend.. Would you come outside and take pictures with us so we can send them to him?” “Ok” “It really is uncanny”

I sat down next to the guy outside, who was not my doppleganger but was of the same friend group. “It’s crazy, we even have a group chat based around this guy haha. He has shorter hair now but you look just like he used to” *shows pics* “Yeah I can see what you mean with the hair and the beard” “You live around here?” “Just visiting friends but waiting for them to get back from mountain biking” “How long you staying?” “Three nights” “Oh you have to go to the concert on Thursday, it’s in the park and then there’s an afterparty at the Knotty Pine” “Sounds good to me” “Ok then. See you there!”

Back at the bar, I got the text from Wes confirming their house is indeed number 44, and that a few of Tyler’s friends are also staying there. I drove over and walked right into the open door, greeting Tyler. They were coming off a massive independence day weekend, nineteen total people rafting and camping, and so some decided to stay a few extra days. Luckily I got the one empty bed in the house, while other visitors slept on couches, air mattresses, the floor. Fulfilling the words of the lady I chatted with by the pool in Vegas, I felt fully bohemian.

Still full from my salad, I drank wine as the others ate chicken, potatoes, avocado, and asparagus. Wes got back from mountain biking, Joe got back from the east coast, and I acquainted myself with friends old and new.

I felt so very welcome — a complete 180 of the anxiety I’d felt upon arrival. To be expected, but a relief none the less.

The next morning I broke fast on the leftovers from last night, while others in the same room worked, read, practiced yoga, and played guitar.

Massages at the spa were all booked up, so we sent it out for a hike.

Joe and the others still had to work, so he gave me Kylie and Lauren a briefing on what to expect. Such as bears. “A lot of bears live near that trail, so you’re gonna need this.” “It’s like bug repellent but for bears?” “No Lyle lol you spray it in their face.” “Oh like pepper spray.”

On a dirt road to the trailhead we crossed into Wyoming. “So who’s gonna use that bear spray? Feel like we need an action plan.” “I will.”

As the hike began, we chatted a bit. Kylie & Lauren were on a road trip of their own. Out from Santa Barbara they’d been in the mountain states the whole time, visiting Bend and Bozeman amongst other places. They truly let the wind take them, often deciding day-of whether to stay or leave. They’d added Victor to the mix when, on the beach in Santa Barbara, they ran into Tyler, their friend from high school.

“We’ve had great weather this whole time. One day last week it was downpouring as we went to hike, but it stopped right when we got out of the car.” Their telling reminded me of Johnny and Rae and the Bivonas staying another night after I left Vegas, of Jamie surfing in the morning as I drove up to meet him in the Bay, of my nyc roommate who would arrive that afternoon in Victor and remain after my departure. Other trips and lives move in parallel to ours, but we often don’t see them, until for a moment they come within arm’s reach.

The rocks underfoot looked as if they might contain fossils, though I didn’t find one.

Finally we reached the waterfall. The water came down in too much volume for us to dip our heads, but we splashed ourselves with its pool. A final few minutes up from there took us to the wind cave. The inside felt like the Mines of Moria — darker and darker as you got deeper and deeper. It continued to get colder too, my ears pinched with red as I turned on my phone flashlight. By the time I turned around it was just me and the wind.

On the way down we passed what looked like a direwolf. I’d seen so many dogs on the trails this trip. Once a little toy poodle on the trail in New Mexico. How did it even do that! Must have been on a new workout plan.

“I’m so hungry right now. Need some Finx.” “Sphinx?” “Nonono lol, the sandwich” “Oh…” “I’m so hungry I could eat a Sphinx hahaha”

It drizzled with barely a cloud in the sky. We felt refreshed. Then thunder sounded, but we made it back to the car before any real rain began. Indeed it never rained on us; as back at the house I sat writing, I could still hear the thunder and hear the wind, but see only sunlight.

Squad wanted to golf so I’m like sure, I’ll come along. Not to play of course, but to drink some beers and play peanut gallery? Sure!

It shook out a bit differently than expected. Wes and Tyler still had to work, the girls chose not to go, and Joe and Holz got stuck in airport traffic. So it ended up being just me & Kelly.

After we circumnavigated a slow group of eight ahead, Kelly coached me up to take a couple shots. Didn’t get a ton of air under the ball but at least I didn’t whiff!

“Yeah golf seems like it could be fun but it’s a huge time commitment. Would rather spend time playing poker.” “Oh you play! Me too!” “Yeah I just started late pandemic though. Still very much a beginner.” “Oh I’ve got some moves I’ve developed over the years. Can’t tell ya in case we’re gonna play later though.”

From the course we could see the whole valley around. So big. So many miles of visibility that you could see the variation in weather. On one end there was what looked like a twister, and then on others you could see rain, the sun piercing through clouds, a rainbow.

I’d had a couple beers, so Kelly drove the Tesla back. “Lemme try the gas… whoooooaaah.” He was almost as excited as the kids I’d driven past in Vicksburg, who all got up and shouted as they ran after me.

On our last long stretch of road before getting home Kelly slammed the accelerator again, then backed off. “That could be a cop off in the distance.” Sure was, and they gave us a little head tap on our way past.

Once home it was grill time. Grill time and drink time — Joe used the rest of my Wild Turkey to make old fashioned’s, and its cask strength suuure did its job. Kelly made his specialty jalapeno poppers, and I asked to help. “Sure I got a job for you.” *15 minutes later* “Actually Lyle, I don’t need you anymore.” “Oh damn.. So now I’m unemployed.” “You’re not unemployed, you’re a free agent.” I eventually regained employment, helping spread the cream cheese into the pepper.

Out of nowhere the porch erupted in flame, the grill fire flaring up so big and hot it broke the adjacent window’s glass and melted its rubber lining. Somehow not everyone noticed it; it was funny to those who didn’t and scary to those who did. Thankfully no one got hurt.

We had one more persons than seats, and so dined in a sort of musical chairs, people taking turns standing.

Describing myself this summer, I kept coming back to the word “drifter” and others objected to such diction. “That has such a bad connotation. How about nomad?” “Nah, I don’t really feel like a nomad. I sure do feel like a drifter.”

While we ate, a dog ran in from the house onto the back porch. Guess we’d left the front door open. Its owner, a neighbor, followed shortly after.

Late night I shared cigars with my roomie!

Holz (aka roomie) and I went to Butter the next morning, heeding Wes’s praise of their French Toast. Turns out they were “closed due to covid scare” so we grabbed breakfast burritos at the next closest place and discussed The Power Broker — especially the clashes and parallels between Bob Moses & FDR. On our way back to the car, a family of five, all wearing Moab shirts, stood crestfallen outside Butter. An old lady consoled them: “right at that grocery store though you can get the same toast they use for their French Toast.”

We took a lazy morning, sunning and reading in the backyard, discussing A Picture of Dorian Grey and what a life of dissipation means. He’d started reading it while a hailstorm raged in NYC, hours before we’d gone to the Yankees game on my penultimate night in New York.

In the afternoon we headed to the river, setting up chairs on the rocks.

For a late lunch we picked up sandwiches in town, and afterwards had a mind to swim.

Four of us set off on a search for pond water. All being visitors to Idaho, we decided to just look at the map and pick some blue. Finding a nice-looking chain of ponds nearby, we headed in that direction.

Turns out there’s a reason the ponds looked so pretty — they’re on a golf course. The canal running through them shoulda been a tipoff. Continuing the search, we pulled on to a one-lane dirt road at the base of the mountains and passed a group of electric mountain bikers who looked lost. “We don’t know where we are either, boys!”

The dirt road led to a dead end. “Might need to take a 58-point turn here.” We picked up Joe, who’d just finished work and he led us to a spot right on the side of the highway. Scenic Idaho indeed.

At first we thought we’d be s.o.l. here too since everyone we saw on the water was fishing, but it turned out the far side was reserved for swimmers. We took a quick dip and sunned and listened to music and drank beer. Did you know that with Elon Musk’s fortune you could buy 188 Mona Lisa's?

Back at the lab we kicked off lawn games. Tossing the football, beer pong, and a new game for me: Kubb. A pretty odd one it was also pretty fun, kindof a combo of bowling and bacci. We considered playing beer die, but the grass was too prickly, “little daggers everywhere.” In the end, I engaged most heavily in the sport of lounging in lawn chairs.

The grill master killed it again. I ate a bit of everything — burgers & brats wrapped in lettuce, grilled chicken, grilled asparagus & cucumber, potato chips. By this point a whole group had come over. To the eight staying in the house had been added, let’s say, another fourteen, so we rolled deep to the concert.

Drink tokens in hand, we were ready for the main event.

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” “Yeah, the show goes on yakno.” “Shoulda done that rock jump!” “Yea, it’s nbd tho, whole point of this trip is to go with the flow.”

I’d only been to two real parties since covid — real because they contained many people I didn’t know. This was my first real crowd. Sure, there’d been crowds of people in Vegas, but those had been scattershot, while this one had a single mind. We just danced, just vibed to the music. I didn’t even know everyone in the group I came with! Gave energy away with no expectation of a return.

At the Knotty Pine Supper Club, we waited for another show to start. In the meantime, people messed around in the pit area, one guy doing backflips off the wall. I ran into the girl who’d identified me as doppleganger two nights ago; we laughed and hugged. Then the show began.

Gazing up afterwards, the stars illuminated the night.

I woke up, packed up, and shipped off. As I pulled out my wallet to buy a breakfast sandwich, I realized I’d left my tab open at the bar. Bummer that they didn’t open till 4pm, so I had to leave it behind, but Holz was able to retrieve it for me and I got it back when we saw each other weeks later in Boston.

In Lima MT I stopped for a full charge, grabbing a second breakfast at the adjacent diner. Two waitresses tag teamed my order: one young and overwhelmed, slow on everything, the other older and relaxed, entertaining the kids at another table.

By far Montana has the most license plate variations of any state.

Danger: a house fire drew two firetrucks, a sign warned of an Abrupt Edge.

Patrons exiting a hybrid casino & saloon gazed across the street at rodeo grounds. Four white pickup trucks, in succession but of different brands, led me into the first of many rotaries.

Cherries cherries cherries for sale! I passed a lakeside cherry garage, a closed cherry shack, a sign for an open cherry stand.

Passing Swan Way I thought of Swann’s Way.

A boy sat alone on a pier, feet dangling over Flathead Lake as he gazed into the horizon.

By the time I arrived at the Stumptown Inn of

Whitefish

my car was absolutely beat. I took a quick walk around town, saw many saloons, and found one I liked. I decompressed from my ten hours of travel with a bite and a drink, watching people play games.

Back outside, I heard many cars and started to worry about getting admitted to Glacier National Park the next day. I’d bought a park pass months ago, but they were sold out of car passes. Could they really refuse me admittance into a park of all places? It’s outdoors for goodness sake! Holz had expressed confidence that I’d “figure it out.”

Absolutely gassed, I took a riverside trail back home. Along the way my body started to feel more taxed, tipping me off that I was walking slightly uphill, upon which I reflected that my body is not so different from my car whose battery drains with every incline.

Fell asleep before the sun set.

I woke up early and walked to the Buffalo Cafe. “I’m deciding between the higgins scramble and the biscuits & gravy” “well lots of people get that with a side of gravy and biscuits as the toast” “let’s do that, with sausage as well”

I’d considered doing a bit of reading & writing as I digested, but the worry that I’d have trouble getting into the park compelled me to drive straight there.

A train wove between mountain and water, just above the graffiti line.

There was a line at the park entry but I quickly reached the front. Only to discover I’m not in luck.

“You have your entry pass?” “Yes here you go.” “Right.. But what about your car entry pass?” “Uhh, you need two entry passes?”

He kindly told me to get out, circling some nearby hiking trails. “But I really need to charge my car and the only charger is in the park. Is there anything I can do?” “Well… Ok. You could rent a kayak. Then they have to let you in.” “What’s the name of the rental company?”

Minutes after making a reservation I was in, driving up the shore of Lake McDonald.

Pays to be early; about an hour after I plugged in my Tesla at the park’s only charger, I was putting on pre-hike sunscreen as another Tesla pulled up. Too late!

I’d asked the lodge concierge their recommendation for a hike within walking distance. “What’s your level of strenuous?” “Oh I’ll do any strenuous. Just wanna get the best views.” “Well Mt. Brown Lookout certainly has great views, though it’s one of the most strenuous hikes in the park — constant incline for four-thousand vertical feet.”

Just after I started off I saw a sign warning of grizzly bears. It told hikers to bring bear spray and hike with a companion, neither of which I could accommodate. So I pressed on with trepidation. Look alive!

Further on, they warned of mountain goats. “Keep a safe distance — at least 25 yards — at all times… Mountain goats crave salts. In some areas they seek human salts in urine or sweat-soaked clothing, leading to conflicts… They may attempt to assert dominance over people… Beware their potentially lethal sharp horns.”

Hiking through tree cover, I heard naught but the rush of water and an occasional solo bird.

As for animals, while looking out for bears & goats I saw a few:

A black & yellow striped snake — prompting me to exclaim “oh my god” (in a whisper out of fear the bears might hear).
A staccato sound made me turn my head in alarm — just a woodpecker.
A chipmunk scurrying down a hill, a squirrel scurrying up — do they realize how high up they are? Nearly seven-thousand feet!
A bird landed on a branch and scanned its head about.
These holes must be where the chipmunks live.
A dark shape gave the impression of a wolf sticking its head out of the brush to howl — no worries, just a broken black tree.

Saw purple rock of all sizes, from boulders to gravel. One of the big ones looked like a hippo.

I passed three parties on the way up but otherwise didn’t see a soul.

As the treeline thinned, my view of the lake improved with every switchback.

From the false summit, I spied a small shack up at the real summit. Looks just like that of Batman Begins.

When I reached the shack I found a grey bearded man eating a small lunch. I nodded salutation. Felt satisfied and relieved for the chance of rest. The view enveloped me. Sheer rock slipping into a valley on one side, trees rolling down to water on another, rolling hills stretching into the haze beyond. Felt that with a clearer sky I could have seen into Canada.

I looked down to the village from whence I came.

Seeing a figure in the distance on the final stretch of trail, I decided it was time to descend. I said goodbye to the mountain man and started walking down. The person was still walking towards me, wearing all white.. Only.. Wait that’s not a person. That’s a mountain goat!

Felt like I’d witnessed the forest spirit’s arrival in Princess Mononoke, the line between reality and fantasy blurred. People as animals, animals as people.

Bade a hasty retreat up to the shack. “Hey. There’s a mountain goat over there.” “So close!” We both went over to look. “The goats get less scared around here cause it’s such a highly trafficked trail.” Highly trafficked? I’ve seen like five people all day. I took some pictures, he took some pictures. Turns out he’s a mountain ranger — from Oregon but works in Glacier over the summer, mostly on the east side. “I saw those warning signs but then didn’t see any goats, so I’m surprised I saw one.” “I’m surprised I hadn’t seen one; they’re usually all around.”

Once the goat got out of the way I headed down. Passed those whom I’d passed on the way up. “Hey we know you! … You ok on water?” “Yeah I try to be like a camel”

At the bottom I looked up to the peak I’d summitted. So high!

The guy in front of me in the lodge’s food line sported a top-to-bottom yellow outfit. “What would you like?” “Spiked coffee, with honey in it” “Your name?” “Sunshine”

Exhausted, I drove back to the hotel, even pulling over along the less-than-one-hour drive to take a cat nap because my eyes were drooping.

After resting more at the hotel, I headed into town. Walking to the cute little riverwalk, I looked down at the paddleboarders. One looked back at me, then motioned to her friend, then waved. I waved back.

At Mama Blanca’s, I enjoyed a lowkey feast: chips with guac & salsa, a carne asada burrito bowl, tostones with spicy mayo, and two margs. Afterwards I took a walk around the block and then popped into the Remington Bar.

I’d chosen the Remington not for their drinks but for their poker table. My friend who’d been to Whitefish — he who in fact had been the reason I’d chosen it for myself — had implored me to go. While the table had only just opened up, it was already full with a long waitlist to boot. Saturday night, I suppose! I got on the list to open the table the following night.

Lucky me, I found a pot limit game right next door. It was dealer’s choice: each hand, the players take turns deciding whether the table will play hold ‘em, tahoe, or omaha. Second on the waitlist, I chatted with Mike, first on the list, and his wife.

I told them about my trip. “Oh that’s great. We’ve done quite a bit of cross-country traveling ourselves. For example we stopped at a random town in Nebraska and found out it has the largest railroad station in America, so we went up in their viewing tower and stared for hours.”

I mentioned how I want to travel more abroad. “Oh yeah, lemme tell you about this party we went to in Thailand. Or was it Vietnam? It was a policeman’s son’s birthday, his 18th or his 21st, whenever you become legal. They took shot after shot, trying to get him drunk. You couldn’t tell the cops from the mobsters. We were their token white people. They loved us!”

I said I’d come from the Remington. “Be careful, that Sunday game is a tough one. Now this here’s a fun table. But over there it can get real serious. Got two World Series of Poker bracelet winners.”

After sitting down it took me a little bit to get the hang of it. I’d never played omaha, much less tahoe. Fortunately the stakes were small; people were just having a good time and were more than happy to coach me up a bit.

As to the format of the game, all I’ll say is that for hold ‘em you get two cards, tahoe you get three, and omaha you get four. So in omaha, because more people have more cards, there are more crazy hands. For example my aces full lost to quad sixes at one point. I couldn’t even be mad.

I won a lot, then lost a lot, then won a lot again, and ended a net positive. I was down to my last chip at one point, and at another point had doubled my original buy in. I lost a big pot with trip aces, I won a big pot with trip aces.

The cast of characters made me feel like I’m in the wild west. As if everyone had an identity outside this town, but here assumed an alias. We had a plumber, a nonagenarian, a jersey boy, another Lyle, a wannabe cowboy, a private jet owner, a UCLA basketball player. Who’s to say what was true and what was false? The cards were true, of course. But which bets were bluffs? Which personas were real? Who can say.

Who, after all, is the Jack of Hearts?

I have no idea how to make this night into a narrative. So I won’t even try. Here are some of my recollections:

Cyrus, sporting a bolo tie and a seersucker shirt, broke his promise to convince his friends to come play and sat down alone.
The wannabe cowboy’s blonde girlfriend got up to kiss the nonagenarian on the cheek. His expression barely changed, while the jersey boy standing behind looked not just surprised but revolted.
*guy loses hand to friend he’s staking* “All my own money!”
“You know, I played basketball with Bill Walton” “I’ve seen Bill Walton at Grateful Dead concerts” “I’ve seen him at a bunch of concerts, and let me tell ya…”
The blonde girl got up from snuggling with the wannabe cowboy to kiss the nonagenarian on the cheek again.
“You call my bet, I’ll buy you a beer”
“I once partnered with Jerry Buss”
“Mr. Three-of-a-kind strikes again!”
“You’re going to UCLA? For what?” “.....” “Oh Anderson?” …. “You know that’s my name on the school” *winks* ….. “Go get ‘em out there”
“Took some balls to raise me there!”
“You’re here so late tonight!” “It must be the beer! I don’t usually drink beer, but felt I had to given I was buying them for everybody!”
“It was good to see Randy again. First time since covid I think. You know, he just bought a sixteen-passenger private jet.”
Me, the plumber, and the nonagenarian closed out the table.

I hope to go back some day. After all, they owe me a free drink, my reward for winning a hand with 2 7, the statistically worst hand in poker.

The next day my stomach felt a little uneasy. Picking up the fork to eat my breakfast bowl, I fumbled and it dropped onto my booth’s couch. The couple to my right looked over and laughed with me, the woman admitting “it happened to me too.”

I walked past women heading into the yoga studio, people doing aerobics in the park, children playing in the playground, kayakers meandering down the river.

At the city beach, laying in the shade and staring up at the sky, I played Rorschach test on the cloud formations. Fighter Plane or Swan? Biplane or Boeing Transatlantic? Porcupine or Taco? Tank or Cannon? Dreidel or Strawberry? Console or Stickshift? Moby Dick or Singed Mitten? Pin thru a Cushion or Sword thru Hamlet? Lobster Stretch My Claws or Fist Grabbing At Mist? British Isles or Upright Alligator? Thumbs Up or Erupting Volcano? Scream in the Window or Corkscrew? Tortuga or Kilimajaro? Chicken Wings or Fish? Winged Bear or Diving Hamster? Horse’s Head or UFO?

I figure some pre-poker beers may help my stomach a bit. Seated at the bar I chatted with a white-haired couple from Phoenix in-between the woman’s cigarette breaks, as we approached tipoff of game three of the finals. “We really need this. Phoenix has all four major sports but we’ve never won anything.” “I remember when the Cardinals went to the Super Bowl. That was a great team.”

I make it to the Remington in time for the table seating. Within thirty minutes I look down at pocket rockets, or AA, the best hand in poker. I raise it up, another guy reraises, I reraise him, and he shoves it all-in. I call. His pocket kings don’t improve on the runout, and I double my money.

*Guy next to me looks at the chalkboard’s waiting list* “Who on earth is ‘Sunshine’?”

It was a much more serious game than the night before. Played fairly well after my double-up and walked away a big winner. Didn’t think anyone looked like a pro per se, but who can tell in just three hours.

I walked back to rest for my long drive the following morning. Still didn’t feel great, but at least I powered through and got the cards session in. After hours of losing, one becomes a winner in a blink of the eye. Who knows how things will go today, who knows how one will feel tomorrow. All we can do is let life play out.

In Part Six I’ll cut through the heart of the country.

Trip Trans America — Part Five

Trip Trans America — Part Six

Trip Trans America — Part Four