If you draw a straight line on a map from Boise to Bend, Oregon and mark the center of that line, you would put a dot on Burns, Oregon. We had been in contact with our great college friend, Ted Maas, and had plans to hang out with him in his hometown of Bend, Oregon the following day. We had a day to kill so we figured, why not drive halfway there? And that was Burns.
Back in the state that kicked it all off.
So close but we still have a few more stops.
We were not surprised to find out that the amount of bars in Burns outnumbers the libraries 8 to 0. We checked into a shady motel in downtown Burns called The City Center Motel and hit the town. It must be noted that there were several meth deals taking place at the motel and the lady that gave us the key to our room had more armpit hair than Sasquatch.
The beautiful City Center Motel.
We headed down the road to the first bar we found. On our way to a bar, we received this email. Hope you enjoyed the 3 Busch Lights, 1 8oz Michelob Ultra, flask worth of Evan Williams, and skipping stones from Glacier National. See you soon Tim to get that back.
We walked a block and made it to Central Pastime Tavern. We were welcomed by a deep sigh from the waitress and the typical, "Ahhh, what do you guys want?" attitude of a server in Burns. I think she was thrown off by our smiles. Nonetheless, the food was good and the Mirror Ponds were better.
With a hop in our step, we headed down the road to Morgan's.
The mother-daughter bartender combo here was full of life. We played some shuffleboard over a couple more beers. We played against a recently married couple who informed us of the local nightclub. We followed them there after a quick game of pool with a different dynamic duo. The two guys, dressed in cutoff t-shirts displaying their barbed wire tattoos, told us stories of their days living in Vegas. They told us, with pride, about how they used good-looking girls to con tourist into giving them money. They told the girls to use stories about car trouble, getting robbed, or getting stranded by friends. They would pull in hundreds of dollars a night. I guess they got what was coming to them... unemployment in Burns.
We headed with Justin and Brittany to Showtime Bar, the local nightcap.
There is something very uncomfortable about loud music and flashing lights in an empty bar. We didn't stay long. Back to the City Center Motel for a decent night sleep for the ride to Bend in the morning. We did feel like we made the most of that wretched dump.
Like visiting Wimbledon's Centre Court and gazing upon the iconic grass courts, Boise St. University's oceanic astroturf leaves one short of breath... Did you catch the sarcasm? We thought, "What the hell," we're in Boise, might as well check it out.
Earlier that day, we said goodbye to our beloved campsite at Macks Creek and the morning routine took place as usual:
1) We strolled on the dock down to the beach and hit a couple golf balls into Lucky Peak Lake.
2) Fold our sleeping bags, struggle to take the cot out of the tent, then unscrew the cot and fold.
3) Take down the tent - one person gets the poles, the other folds the tent.
4) Brush our teeth using a water bottle.
5) Rip open an instant coffee pack and empty it into what's left of the water bottle.
6) Double check the site to ensure nothing is left behind.
7) Grab what you can to take to the car and add another handful.
Then, we mindlessly stuff the car. But, this time, it didn't take any extra elbow grease. "How did the guitar just slide in like that?" Then it hit us. The glaring hole in Black Sally was left by the cooler. "Dude, where is the cooler?" We searched Russ and Len's campsite... not there. We knocked on Tim's trailer... no answer. We figured it was stolen in the night by some Boise St. students. One last attempt brought us to the local marina to see if someone turned it in... nope. Off to see the smurf turf.
We arrived at Bronco Stadium, home of the Boise State Broncos.
Integrity, honor, class. And a black eye courtesy of the Blount punch.
Buck em' Broncs
Our first sight of the Smurf Turf in person. Memories of this moment hit us immediately.
Wolf enjoying the bright orange, cushy seats.
Detroit or Bronco's Stadium? Toss up...
The Boise St. trophy room. About as impressive as the Petrified Wood back at Yellowstone.
With that, and a good luck to Boise St. in their season opener against UW, we hit the road to Bend.
During the same day we viewed the largest Mormon Temple in the world, we drove to Boise. We left Salt Lake City at 1pm and had a nearly five hour drive ahead of us. We wanted to get some "water footbeer" in at a campground. We contemplated camping on the Snake River (only 3 hours away), but figured we had enough daylight left if we pushed it the full 5 hours to Boise. We blasted several of our never-ending collection of classic rock CDs and drove with the AC blasting.
The Atlas had given us a route to Lucky Peak Lake. Sounded perfect. Luck has always been a friend of Peter and the Wolf so we knew we'd fit right in. Unfortunately, luck eluded us early on...
Clear skies and hot weather as we enter Idaho. Let's get to a body of water.
Found one. The Boise River is dammed by Lucky Peak Dam to create Lucky Peak Lake. Every dammed lake we had been to on this road trip (Sumner Lake, Benton Lake, Lake Powell, etc.) had treated us well. We needed to find a campsite to get the water footbeer going. We drove to Lucky Peak Recreational Area. The overwhelming memory of this location were the unrelenting "ABSOLUTELY NO CAMPING" signs. And then Peter and the Wolf's first argument ensued. We had been asked by our friends Victor and Greg at Lone Rock how often we argue. We shrugged and said "never." They were baffled by our response and couldn't fathom how two people in the heat, confined space, and with no time alone could refrain from arguing. That was just us. Two easy going guys that wouldn't rather spend a road trip with anyone else. We knew we were sharing the trip of a lifetime and there was no point in wasting time arguing. Except this time.
The fundamental difference between our points of view was this: Peter wanted to get to water footbeer as soon as possible. "Lets just go to the boat launch and play." I wanted to get to a campsite and reserve a spot before playing. We drove to the boat launch but it wasn't an ideal spot. Peter did not back down and still wanted to swim there but I was holding the steering wheel and maintaining an unyielding stubbornness, continually ensuring Peter we would find a great campsite on the water. With my fingers crossed and an uneasy air in the car, we set out to find a campsite.
We entered Boise National Forest in hopes this would be a winner. With no cell phone reception, we just had to get lucky.
We got lucky. We stumbled upon Macks Creek Campground positioned on the banks of Lucky Peak Lake and stayed free of charge. Found a perfect spot in the shade, set up the tent, changed into our trunks, and hit the lake.
The water was cold but it didn't matter. We knew this may be the last time we could play our beloved water footbeer on the trip.
We got in a few games before the sun set over the surrounding mountains. Dinner time called for our last pot of chili, and our last can of peas. On this night, it came with a perfectly seasoned, succulent pork chop from the neighboring tent. The family of seven was incredibly kind and generous. Our experiences with warm-hearted folks at Macks Creek was just beginning.
In great spirits, we decided to check out other campsites in search of good conversations. We stumbled across the father-son war veteran tag team of Russ and his dad Len. Russ (left) told a great story of his culinary experiences during his time in the Army. "We would always go to the same place. It was a little food stand on the side of the road run by one guy. He sold the best meat skewers. After three weeks of going and ordering the same thing, it was taken off the menu. When we asked why, the owner replied, 'no more alley cats.'"
Len had some great war stories of his own. He was a pilot in Vietnam but during this particular flight, he sat co-pilot. "We were flying over the Caribbean Sea when an engine burnt out. There was no choice but to make an emergency landing. We figured we would have to crash in the sea but we made a u-turn and safely landed on shore. Our best pilots had 12000 hours in the air. He only had 3000, but was the best damn pilot I knew. Best three days I spent in the service was on that island." Len would constantly reiterate the fact that the US was outnumbered 5:1 in the Vietnam War but never lost a significant battle. These stories just scratch the surface of what we heard that night.
And then there was Tim. Similar to our friend Chase back in Omaha, Tim was one of those unique characters you will never come across again in your life and feel so fortunate to spend time with. He applied to be the campsite's resident manager and has held the title for over one year. He lives onsite with his chihuahua, and a myriad of campers that simply come and go. For Tim, he lives for the peaceful lifestyle and the connections he develops with campers and we were fortunate enough to be two of those campers on this evening.
The night began with Wolf taking over for Len as he tried to take the cribbage title from Tim. Tim was tough to beat that night. It was his night. Then, we heard a noise from the bushes that startled us.
Peter: "Whoa, what is that ruffling in the bushes?"
Tim: "Oh, that's just Pepe."
Peter: "Who?"
Tim: "The skunk that lives here. I named him after Pepe-le-pew."
As the night rolled on, we developed a special bond. Russ and Len told stories that we had never heard before, told in a way that keeps you increasingly engaged. They told us stories of their time serving our country under ten different presidents. They would often correct each other on minor details throughout their stories, as if they had shared them together hundreds of times. They had. They were best friends. We told stories the same way. We shared our life stories but focused mainly on our current journey. We shared stories that made us nostalgic. A rare feeling when the experiences only recently happened. That was our trip though. An experience that happens once in a lifetime, but develops a relationship that lasts a lifetime. And Tim sat, sipping his whiskey, contributing seldomly, and soaking in the infectious love constantly. There was something so simple about his mannerisms, his body language, that conveyed a sense of belonging. He added more to the group that he may never know. At one point, Peter and Tim had a bit of a debate regarding gun control and, despite their differences, they grew closer from it. He was one of the most genuine people we had ever met. He told us, in a somber tone, that he appreciated us spending time with him. What he failed to realize was that he made that night one our best experiences on the trip. A night that we will always remember. A night where we grew as people.
Russ and Len called it a night, but Tim was eager to take the party back to his trailer. Peter grabbed his guitar and we entered Tim's home. As Peter effortlessly played, I attempted to sing. I had about as much success as I did during the cribbage game. So Peter just played as we reflected on our night. We shared more stories and jokes, and decided to retreat back to our tent. As we exited the trailer, Tim waved his dog's paw and said, "goodbye" in a chihuahua's voice. And then he left us with his version of a goodbye that stuck on our minds throughout the night: "Thank you for sharing part of your life with me."
When we got back to our campsite, we built a fire and reflected on our night at Macks Creek. We took notes on our phone from the night so we wouldn't forget stories and quotes from the latest characters on our journey. The notes on Peter's phone unfortunately deleted unexpectedly. Paper and pen is mightier that the smartphone.
There were only a few times on the trip when we looked over at each other and knew we needed a shower. The stench of our unwashed Hawaiian t-shirts was strongly outmatched by our re-worn socks. Going from a desert campsite with no running water to a hike in 90 degree weather to another desert campsite with no shower facilities does not bode well for a long car ride. But, it did give us a common goal: get to a motel with a shower and washer/dryer.
With our Zion hike taking us into the late afternoon, we picked a town on the map about three hours north called Nephi, where we could spend the night. Our next "destination" was Boise, Idaho, so we took Highway 89, which paralleled I-15 and came across the slices of Americana had grown accustomed to.
We were not hungry at this time but this would have been our spot, Mom's Cafe in Salina, Utah. Shout-out to the moms.
Centerfield, Utah en route to our resting spot of Nephi, Utah. Back-to-back shout-outs - this one to our man Fogerty.
At this point the crustiness was catching up with us. It could have been the explanation for why the server sat us in an empty room away from the other customers. Peter enjoyed his bleu cheese salad almost as much as the flies.
The Yelp rating of 2.5/5 stars was questionable. We figured the trains gave them the 2 star boost above their deserving rating... While our server texted, we admired the them go round and round.
Wolf thought about pursuing a career in photography after this trip.
When you're in a town with absolutely nothing to do, you buy some beer and hit the motel room to catch up on sports and blog work.
Well-rested with clean clothes and a fresh scent, we left Nephi for Provo and Salt Lake City. We figured this may be the last time we would be in Central Utah, so we wanted to check out BYU in Provo and The Salt Lake Temple. We decided not to stop at the BYU campus in Provo, but we did make a quick stop at Chase Bank for Peter. After a couple great conversations with employees inside about where we were from and our religious affiliations, we drove to Salt Lake City.
Provo City Library. Quite impressive.
We passed under Eagle Gate which was erected in 1859 to commemorate the entrance to Brigham Young's property. We made it to Salt Lake City - the capital city of Utah and the Mormon religion.
The Salt Lake Temple. Couples lined the outside of the temple eager to get married. By our quick count, there were at least 25.
Inside the Salt Lake Temple. The lady in white called this the largest organ west of the Mississippi.
Stunning skyscraper in the background of Assembly Hall.
We went to In-N-Out to help digest the Mormon Temple.
So good.
On our way out of Salt Lake City, we listened to University of Utah sports talk radio for as long as we could before getting static. The big news was that they just opened a new athletic facility that would attempt to "compete with Oregon's." Nice try. Onward to Idaho.
