Elevation gain: 4000ish feet
Temperature: 90 and cloudy
We awoke to a string of flats. 10 puncture wounds to be exact and it was O'Reilly's unlucky day. Not that either of us complained about a leisury morning microscopically pinpointing pricks of metal in rubber casings. Leisure trailed to a homey cafe, and we bathed in laziness until noon. 8 cups of coffee, 4 cups of tea later, jitters forced the stubborn laziness onto the road. As a patch and tube collection dwindled to scraps, Ralph got his hooves ready to prance 80 miles ahead retrieving a precious spare tube and tire.
Feels a bit like the Oregon trail wound through the south land of New Zealand minus the hoard of sheep. Grades steepen as the Rockies came into a distant mountainous view. Like settlers of the west, with broken wagon wheels and weary bodies, held up by flash floods our posse was delayed and Boise was now another day away.
A monsoon swept our trails into the smallest town a valley of a mountain range could offer. No gas, just a tiny 1960s red barstooled diner with neon electric signs filled with a pluthera of fire fighters (600 to be exact), the crackle of fries and burgers and the friendliest moms around. Hundreds of tent homes lay hammered to the ground across the flooded road as if nested in Burning Man's camp city. Lightening flickered like lights switches, striking the crisp brittle grasses on the hillsides and fires erupted as power went short. The locals haul a long days work into this cafe, greased up as cowboys, dirt ridden work boots and dusty plaid shirts, sprinkled in rain, conversing over hail across the rectangle room. As the storm passed Ralph was left dripping as we rescued him from the last bits of the storm. And perched on the fake marble countertop he beggingly eyed O'Reilly dunking crispy warm fried Idaho potatoes into Hunts sugared tomatoes. And got a few pats from the owners.
Headed to make some nightly neighbor friends in fire camp city, hospitality interrupted our departure. The screen door slammed and seconds later a key to a room in the back motel was handed over to us, as she smiled at Ralph, nothing asked in return. A town we never planned to get stranded in turned into quite a warming memory. The sun peaked through the moist leaves of a humid freshness until the blunt center of a bone shaking storm skittered furious bolts. Vibrants electrifying the sky for detailed seconds glimpse photogrpahic shots of blue currents. The air smelled of voltage fumes and strikes tensed muscles in vein. With locals stunned in awe at the massacre above, and electricity ready to splinter our little room to shreds. I thanked my four legged lassie friend in Heaven that we were in more than the metal poled tent. Light danced in strands with force and the bowling orchestra overhead was playing the finale. Tire and tube worries were left for a morning revived with coffee and tea in a loving cafe and so many thanks that we had a roof overhead.
