Highway 1, Big Sur, California, has always been on the top of my “Most Stunning Drive” list.  But Lander to Cheyenne yesterday shot right up the list.  I stopped so many times, poor Bella did not even look up after a while. The light kept changing, the shapes kept changing.  Finally, it got dark.  Whew. These little photos cannot do justice to the IMMENSITY of the sky and clouds.

I’ve quickly come to realize that there’s no way I will keep a chronological blog of this road trip.  I’m already hopelessly behind, and was never good at keeping a diary.

So instead of a place-by-place travelogue, I’ll share what draws my attention as I cross this incredibly vast country.  People draw my attention.  Here are some of the folks that I’ve met so far.

Teri works at the Stardust Motel in Wallace, Idaho.

When I mentioned I had a boxer in the car, she told me about her Dad, who used to raise white boxers with pink eyes.

It was Teri’s job to hold the puppies while her dad docked their tails.  She assured me the newborn pups never felt a thing, and never whimpered or cried.  I think I believe her.

Jimmy is a veteran who rides an ATV around town.  Actually, there are quite a few veterans in Wallace, and many of the locals use ATVs for transportation.

Jimmy is also writing a novel with animals as the main characters.  He told me about the wolf pups he raised, and invited me to come and see the two he kept, who are now full grown.

I declined the invitation, and he hopped on his ATV to go watch the high school football game.

I did accept the invitation extended by Don, to see the house he is restoring, bit by bit. It was built in Wallace in 1885.

Don is also a veteran, and spent 26 years in the army before he lost much of his hearing from two many loud blasts, too nearby.

Don told me that Wallace was once a party town for miners, who would come from and wide to hit the bars and seek the company of ladies who had company to sell.

If you are ever in Wallace, Idaho, the pink house on Cyprus Street is not hard to find.  You’ll see some amazing artifacts from an earlier time, and hear some great stories as well.

I was in Wallace for less than 24 hours, but it’s a darn friendly place.

Tyson seems quite serious for one so young.  But then, he’s worried about the wildfires. Smoke had settled in the hills around town (as they have in just about every place I’ve been so far!) He prays for the firefighters every day.

Tyson joined me on a walk about town, riding circles around me on his incredibly heavy bike.  He pointed out the local attractions:  who lives where and where I could get supplies if I needed them.

When we parted, he solemnly and carefully put my card into his wallet, and told me that if I ran into any fires, I should come back here to be safe.

Mina is from Romania.  So, too, are the six other college students she works with in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

Apparently, it’s easy to get a visa to work a few months here if you are a student, and impossible if you are not.

Before returning to Romania, the group has a month to travel in America.  What part of America do they want to see?  Miami!

I saw these guys walking along a Wyoming road toward a pull-out, so I pulled over myself and waited for them, hoping they would let me take their photo.

They had been hunting for deer and elk in the valley below. The valley was full of smoke blowing in from wildfires.

I asked if the smoke bothered them, and they said it did, a little.  But frankly, it was hard to imagine much of anything bothering these two.

Gentlemen, if you happen to see this, please email me and tell me your names. I should have asked!

I met Larry when I knocked on the door of his RV to ask if the beautiful campground I had stumbled into was really open.

No one was there but he and his wife, Florence.  We were just a few miles from the Togwotee Pass, and when the temperature dropped into the 30s that night, I realized why nobody else was camping there in a tent!

Larry and Florence are a delightful couple from Bar Nun, Wyoming, just outside of Casper. His job is testing truck drivers for their commercial licenses.  Florence grew up just outside of Philadelphia, and they lived there until fairly recently.  She likes Wyoming, but misses having good places to shop.  Or, really, any place to shop.

Will and Pierce are on a road trip of their own. They go to college in Suanee, a town in Tennessee that sounds like a candidate for my “Tiny Towns” series.  (Tiny Town #1 – Metaline Falls, Tiny Town #2 – Wallace, Idaho. Looking around Wyoming for #3.)

They’ve been rock climbing in the West, and are in Lander, Wyoming because of the great climbing here. Due to a recent injury, though, they’re thinking of going back to Jackson Hole to get jobs in the ski industry.

Now you’re assuming Pierce hurt his arm climbing, right?  I did.  But not so. It happened playing volleyball.  It seems to be on the mend, and he thinks he’ll be able to ski.  Sounds like my boys, whom I missed a lot when talking with these two.

I met Troy today, when I was not-so-subtly trying to get shots of a few of the many cattle packed inside his parked trailer. He walked up and opened the door for me to get a better shot of them. Those really didn’t turn out – way too dark in there — but this one did.  He paused long enough to let me take it, and then was back on the road again.

I was finally headed out of Washington when the funny little light went on.  It looked sort of this:
( ! )

I had to pull over and dig out Ralph’s manual.  (Ralph is my Rav4, usually so nice and solid.) Translation of funky ittle symbol:  Low tire pressure.  My first thought was:  I am not going to call Russ and ask him what to do about this.

So I pulled into Bob Mart just outside Deer Park and ask if they had a tire gauge.  I actually didn’t know what to do with a tire gauge, but it seemed like a logical first step. Travis soon took me under his wing.

Not only did he add air to all my tires, but he showed me where to read the information printed on the tires. (Who knew there was information printed on tires?)  He explained the radius measurements, how to use the air pressure gauge, the psi for cold weather, the psi for hot weather, and so on.

It was about 100 miles later I realized he had also stuck in the quarters to start the airflow.

Thanks for your help, Travis.  And I owe you 50 cents.

A Facebook friend was surprised I am still in Washington. Me too, but I figured it out:  When you have four sisters, and you’re not the oldest, not the youngest, and not one of the twins, you don’t really have a special designation in the family.

But in this house, in that long ago time in Metaline Falls, I did.  I was the cousin who came to stay for weeks at a time.

Every day, I’d hear the screen door slam as my uncle left to work at the cement plant behind the house.  And every day, there would be a new adventure.

Huckleberries, ballgames, late-night excursions when we were supposed to be sleeping out in the back yard. Sweet summer days and star-gazing nights.  I had thought I’d stay few days here and move on, but memories and a dearly loved aunt and cousins had me lingering.

Metaline Falls is a tiny town tucked up in the farthest northeast corner of the state.  The folks here wear many hats.  The Baptist minister dives a school bus, the local hair dresser coaches the girls volleyball team.  My cousin Andy (pictured here) works for the Selkirk School District.  He’s the: Director of Transportation, Athletic Director, bus mechanic and softball coach. The school district covers three towns and has a K-12 student population of 220.

On every walk, I met someone new, friendly and interesting.  I’m considering a photo essay on tiny towns.  We’ll see what I find in the rest of the country.  If I ever get out of Washington…

Luke, 12, fell in love with Bella at first sight, it seemed.  Like a lot of dogs, she has an innate sense of what people might need.  Luke is high functioning, and his T-shirt is right out there.  It says, “I’m autistic, what’s your excuse for being weird?”

When I asked Russ if he had any fears for me on this trip, he answered with one word:  bears.  I swallowed my snicker and nodded politely. Huh, I thought, nor muggers or murderers or marauders.  Bears. I didn’t expect to be any where near the creatures. So it was a little ironic that my first night out, in my first camp spot, I noticed a large, metal box near my picnic table.  A bear box, it turned out. A place to put your food so the bears wouldn’t get it.

Luckily, I thought, I’d picked a spot by the lake.  Bears would no doubt come down from the hills and there were plenty of other humans and dogs between me and the hills.  (Rather cold, I know, but when you’re camping alone in the North Cascades you take a little comfort in such a non-gracious thought.)

Then I noticed that a tree about a foot from my tent had odd and deep scratches on one side.

Where a rather large creature had sharpened his nails — more than once.  I was tempted to sleep in the car, but fatigue and laziness prevailed.  I had a walk-in spot a fair distance from the car and it was so beautiful there.  I told my trusty dog to let me know if any body/thing approached the tent, and she assured me she would.

(So sweetie, I’m sorry I didn’t take you more seriously but fear not.  No furry creatures appeared.)

I’ll attempt to post a couple photos here from last night’s view so you’ll see why I was reluctant to move my tent.  Hot spot reception a little shaky here where I’ve stopped to rest at the Okanagon Public Boat Launch!