Never Say Never (3/4)

Loooong ride

	A flag on the shoulder indicates that a traffic jam is about to happen in the middle of a desert.

We had to pump gas in Bend, Oregon. Refueling in Oregon is a lengthy procedure. They probably still consider automobile to be an infernal invention, so they limit traffic with unreasonable speed limits (I think they post 55 mph on all freeways), threaten drivers with congestion before every other cattle crossing, and if - God forbid - two cars happen to coincide on the same road at the same time, it is perceived to be a statewide emergency. Besides, the devilish machine requires to be filled with incredibly dangerous substance of gasoline, which cannot be trusted into hands of peace-loving populace, so the state protects them from themselves and permits only professionals to pump your gas. That means you have to wait in a line until a gas station operator gets around to professionally push the same buttons and pull the same levers and handle the same nozzle that you do all your life outside Oregon.

Somewhere in Oregon began our habit to address each other "honey" and "dear", in an exaggerated fashion. We were dragging behind some fuzzhead who drove cautiously about ten mph below recommended speed and before every turn slowed down to the speed of a tired ox wagon, while I jumped up and down behind the wheel. Sid kept quieting me down saying that the guy probably had his wife with him who would probably squeal all the time, "Would you slow down, honey, you're driving like a maniac, you're gonna kill us all one day..."
Most of these drivers really seemed to be such lamentable cases. After a while, we found ourselves joking and saying to each other before every harder turn: "Oh my God, don't drive so fast, dear, or we're certainly about to tip over." and "Honey, I can see us in the ditch!"
We're still laughing today, alas, honey and dear stay with us.

Once we had undergone our gas-pumping ordeal, we began to seek for a place named Pine Tavern, which the owner of the Fort Klamath General Store recommended saying he takes his wife there for a dinner. By the way, gentlemen, Bend is over 100 miles away from Fort Klamath. Would you take your beloved so far to have a meal???

	This is not a heap of dung, nor a coal mine waste. You're looking at a protected natural resource - Craters of the Moon National Monument - fields of volcanic lava in the plains of Idaho.

We were really close to giving up, but suddenly there it was - a Pine Tavern at the end of Oregon Street. Their food is acceptable, but the real specialty is a locally brewed dark beer. Sid (almost entirely without coercion ) agreed to take the next turn driving and I quickly ordered another round, before he'd change his mind.

And then we were going and going and going... sun started to set over the desert, I wanted to take a picture, but we were always in the wrong spot. Then we spotted a few hills ahead, promising that we could drive up on top and photograph from there - not. The road was being fixed. Out of nowhere, there was a chap in an orange vest and we halted. And stood. And stood. About one mile away from the hills. And the sun was setting. And we were watching tar workers, and cars driving in the opposite direction. An elderly playboy sat in an open red Corvette in front of us. He was quite funny, with his vanity plate saying NVR2L8. Well it was too late for our sunset and we did not manage to take a picture. They let us drive in the left lane, after some half an hour waiting, and we could pass that mile of fresh asphalt. If some of you now wonder why we did not simply drive around it on another road, be aware that a closest detour might have been hundred miles back, and would cost us hours or days to take. There are not so many roads in the desert.

	Small crop dusters buzzed desperately and hurried to squirt their little water bladders onto the hungry flames.

Our original idea was to cross Idaho and reach Bliss or even Jackson, Wyoming, but before Boise, Idaho, it was obvious we'd be happy to find a bed. No cheap motel in sight, we took a hotel. No simple rooms being available, we took a suite (means extra furniture besides a bed and a TV set). But it was nice.

I called room service in the morning, for a coffee machine and a bag of coffee were present in the room, but there was no filter for the machine. A Mexican maid came, glanced at my problem, opened the pouch with coffee -- and pulled out coffee packed in filter bag, just like a tea bag, only bigger. I felt like Tarzan in New York. Well, nobody's old enough to stop learning new tricks.

	Every break in otherwise boring flatland was warmly welcome.

Idaho is incredibly boring state. It is flat as far as you can see, and it is famous through one thing - growing potatoes. On top of that, we came in the time it was plagued by wild fires. Once we even drove through a thick gray smoke, but as I watched a burned-down desert, I did not seem to cause too much damage, aesthetically.

We stopped for lunch at Ox Bow, Bliss, Idaho. Anybody can spot a great food place by how many locals eat there, and this one was quite packed. We were not encountered by miracles at any scale, but so far from ocean coast, diet consists of sandwiches, hamburgers, steaks, and hot dogs. Some places make them marginally more digestible than others.

Many more hours behind the wheel awaited us, so we interrupted our routine by visiting "Craters of the Moon". It is a field of lava, you can clearly see how it solidified in bands, unfortunately pictures look about as interesting as a heap of coal would.

Tetons

With the evening came a change in the landscape. We drove up to a great reservoir and passed a dam on Snake River. Hills, trees, a river ... a refreshing contrast after two days in a desert and potato fields. Finally, Teton range showed on a horizon. Beautiful, snow-capped mountains - if you imagine cows on green meadows, you get a sample of a Swiss stereotype.

	Unlike their European bovine cousins, American bisons (and all other cows, too) make a moo sound, not boo. Bisons, in addition, make a bass moo.

The only larger town in vicinity is Jackson Hole. Locals seem to try to remove the word "hole" from the name, by if you ask me, it seems to fit the setting. Jackson is the last town before entering Yellowstone and you can tell. Gift shops, a motel, more gift shops, another gift shop mall, public restrooms, more gift shops, brrr. Just try to get accommodation or food there. Everything is expensive and .... reserved. Streets brim with herds of "naturally pseudo-rough outdoorsmen". Huh.

Jackson Hole saw us leave rather rapidly. Sid kept promising a camping spot I would not change for any motel, I wished he'd be right. It did not seem that way first. We left the main road and turned towards Shadow Mountain, going on something that might have been paved in the fifties. Then, in a vast yellow plain in front of us, we saw scattered brown spots and several parked cars.

	Tetons reflecting in a lake.

A bison is really just a cow. It walks around, chews on grass and growls. Yes, I know my English. A bison growls to the extent that you look around in panic to spot the bear. They appeared to me, however, very peaceful, though I had no trouble believing pamphlets claiming that they don't like tourist who try to scratch their (bisons') noses. This wild cattle, several times heavier than a biped, is also several times faster. Seeing bisons' noses through our car's windows sufficed -- even so, such encounter was entirely too intimate and I carefully avoided asking whether it would be a problem for a bison to rip through a car or not.

	Grand Tetons wished us good morning.

We collected pictures of wild cattle and continued to the aforementioned mountain. At the foot, we found a campground-like settlement, but we agreed to avoid sleeping in the company of others, especially while they tended to prepare a beautifully smelling barbecue -- I bet that bears from afar were on high alert that night. Our paved road gave way to dirt and eventually just two tire tracks. One of the upper meadows prepared another surprise for us - moose. They shunned cars and people a lot more than bison, we had minimum chance of photographing them, mostly for daylight was all but gone (we had no tripod with us, and we'd have to convince a moose to stop moving...).

Our campsite was all the way on the top. Sid was right, a grassy clearing among tall fir trees, overlooking a huge valley and Grand Teton Range, was certainly better than a room with a shower in the "Hole". We pitched our tent, gazed at the stars for a while, an owl sat on a limb above the tent, a lovable setting.

	It is ill advised to pet these bovine creatures for they run significantly faster than a tourist, and outweigh him considerably.

I woke up in the middle of the feeling that something was terribly wrong. It was a sound that woke me. Sid slept like a log, I had to jab him twice before he return to the realm of the living. I asked him if he thought whether a bison or a bear would make such growl. He "calmed" me down, saying that a bear can be incredibly quiet and I would not notice him until he breathes into my face. These must have been bisons. And he fell asleep again. I was comparing the advantages of being stampeded by a bison herd, as opposed to being eaten by a bear. I could not find any. Glancing quickly out of our tent, I saw no bisons anywhere near (the night was clear and a sound would carry for many miles). It was dawning and I was falling asleep again, when suddenly "munch munch" and again, "munch munch" and "smack smack". This was doubtlessly right next to our heads. Sid was up already. We tried to keep quiet, but did you ever manage to open a heavy zipper on a tent without a terrible "vzooom"? So we saw only a white butt of a deer who ran away among the trees. We were disappointed, but there was the matter of interrupted sleep. Once we closed our eyes again -- "munch munch". To make a long story shorter -- it repeated about five times, probably because of all the greenest merriest lush growth all around, those few inches growing right between the inner and outer layer of our tent must have been the best.

We ate breakfast enjoying an exclusive view to the Tetons, and packed lazily for our next voyage. On our way to Yellowstone, we drove through Tetons and took some more pictures. There was some haze, unfortunately, as smoke from Idaho wildfires pushed in from west.

Sid warned me that we were not going to encounter any decent food - we had to accept a meal at a bar in a Park Lodge in the middle of Grand Teton NP. I got a very tired green salad, Sid some dead meat, waiters were like on a slow motion loop... a classical example how an opportunity for an excellent business is doomed by state ownership and lack of competition (the Lodge is a federal property and managed by the government). We did not leave any tip, but I'm not sure that it would motivate them in any way to improve their services. The only good thing about the Lodge was an awesome view from the lobby.