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.
"The Loner" - Neil Young
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