Went on a road trip to Montana, Idaho and Washington, hauling tires and rims for a buddy.

We Left home about 9:00 a.m. Friday, headed for Missoula Montana. Crossed the Lemhi Range out of Rexburg on highway 28 thru Mud Lake, hit Salmon Idaho and filled up.

Started seeing smoke as soon as we left Salmon. Got on highway 93 about 5 miles before North Fork and saw the first wreck: hard to tell, looked like an SUV smashed to the windows upside down in a field. They were covering the dead remains as we drove by. From the looks of the vehicle I would guess no one survived.

We arrived in Missoula about 7:30 p.m. Smoke was so thick visibility was 1/4 mile. We stayed in a Best Western, drank Rye whiskey and ate pizza. Roads were a mess—fire fighters and emergency vehicles, tourists headed to Glacier Park, one of the forests on fire, bummer for the tourists, real cluster.

Got on Interstate 90, drove about 10 miles and saw a second wreck, a semi carrying cars, on fire, truck upside down again. It looked pretty bleak.

We drove to a place called Alberton and ate breakfast at a mom and pop café. Watched cheerleaders practicing—while eating breakfast—at the high school across the road. Dante, the guy I was with, was drooling, watching them swing their asses. I was paying attention to the coffee and the waitress: big bazookas.

Arrived Couer d' Alene and gassed up, skinhead city, not too far from Bonners Ferry, you know Ruby Ridge; bald men in their 40s to 50s, tattooed swastikas, lightning bolts, eagles—you name it, very Aryаn. Panhandler asked me for loose change at fuel pumps. Told him politely no. He persisted, got close to the passenger side. Dante was inside getting a drink and I told the guy to get lost. He started to swear at me. Had my hand on my sheath knife and waited for the guy to leave. I just looked at him and said nothing. He finally went and sat on the sidewalk.

We headed for Lewiston Idaho, highway 95, Palouse area: pines, ICBM missile sites—grain fields for hours, through Moscow, Pullman, home of the WSU Cougars. Moscow is pronounced Mossco. We finally dropped down into Lewiston Idaho, ate lunch at a place called Effie's. They have 1 pound burgers, 8" across. A big Indian babe, a Nez Perce, I'd say about 40, weighing possibly 250, about 5'5" holding hands with skinny white guy 5' 10" 25 maybe 130 lbs soaking wet. I had my Ute T-shirt on with trademark insignia. The Indian babe gives me the turd eye, asked for another table, mumbles at me and takes her welfare boy to the back room tables. James, the Ute Tribe gets 15% of the money for any item sold with the Ute insignia, they are proud of the Running Utes. The burgers at Effies—OMG get a half, was barely able to finish with the fries, and beer.

Dante was driving—his turn going along Snake River. We hit a speed trap. A trooper flashes us. We pull over, right by a fresh road-killed skunk. The trooper comes up to my side and he looks about 15 years of age, with ticket book in hand. We take our time [Pricks!] getting papers and license ready. The poor bastard was turning green, eyes starting to water! He talked so fast I caught about half, gave us a warning, told us to slow down, and headed for his car—no he ran, hopefully to puke his guts out. Dante and I laughed so hard I about wet myself.

Highway 12, headed to Kenniwick, arrived about 6:30. Dante family next, these people are nuts—ask Dante. I will finish the story tomorrow. We’ll be meeting his family in the morning.

All three states are on fire. Hope the forest is still there next fall.

Ishmael

Ishmael sent me this news link and the first thing that popped up was a Viagra commercial staring some sultry Asian babe—at least she wasn’t a fat Nez Perce cougar.