Today is a good day to go fishing . . .

In each town I have met special people, those individuals that make your stay worthwhile. Cokeville is no exception. Yesterday I had the pleasure of meeting Karla (its not a tumor) Toomer.
I first caught sight of her racing her son Elis to the town store and despite his interesting running style, arms flailing like a windmill, she still lost the foot race. As she passed me to enter, she said hi and smiled warmly and when I went inside, promptly introduced herself and invited me back to her home. It was there I learned that "today was a good day to go fishing" for her husband had chosen that day to disappear and it was probably for the best as it was getting very hectic in the Toomer household. There was a bicycle rally coming through town and Karla had not only volunteered to cook for the breakfast the next day, she also was taking some of the participants in for the night, as well as cooking for a friend. Upon entering the home, she was off like a shot, marshaling the children, 4 of hers and several, I think 5 of the neighbors, into action, cleaning frantically for their soon to be arriving guests, fixing the casseroles for that night and the next morning and making lunch for the large group of hungry, boisterous children. All the while, talking to me about my trip and the blog, planning for a meeting she had later and many other activities with the kids.
Karla and her children were a welcome breath of fresh air, lively, hilarious and as I have been finding all along this trip, kind. I visited with them for a few hours before heading back to the library and its quiet refuge and found myself thinking that today might indeed have been a good day to go fishing, but I wouldn't have had the opportunity to meet that amazing family if I had.

There was a travelling salesman . . .

Now as I have been cross the country, well at least the western section, I have noticed an interesting trend. There are a large number of trampolines in this part of the country. Every town I go to, I see them. Dotting the yards, inviting children to bounce their cares away and older people to shoot footage for Americas Funniest videos. It has got me wondering . . . how good was that travelling trampoline salesman. He or she must have been amazing.

In case you were wondering . . .

Now I am sure some of you might be wondering what on earth I do on these layovers. Well, quite frankly, not a whole lot. I sleep in, sometimes til 8, I know decadent of me. I tend the horses, clean and ointment any scratches, sores or bites, liniment their legs, make sure they have ample food and water and get them out and moving a bit so they don't get stiff standing around. If I can I do laundry (the town sometimes passes a law that I must) and try and find a library, like this one, to make entries to appease the cranky detail wanting peoples (you know who you are). I get online and talk to friends and search the town for the best bacon cheeseburger and pizza available.
Today I walked the 4.5 miles into town and will hang out til around 4 or 5 and head back. If I need supplies I hit the stores, finding the best deal to spread my dwindling cash reserves out as long as possible and I talk to a lot of random people. As any of you know that live in small towns, people know when you are new. They ask who you are and what you are doing and then the questions really start coming. I can't tell you how many times I have told people what I'm doing and why I am doing it. No matter how many times I tell people, I am always surprised that they are interested. I get told that I am brave, which I don't feel I am, and that I am strong and I don't feel that I am stronger than anyone else. I get asked all the time what cause I am riding for and when I say I don't have one, most people find one of their own.
I guess if I have a reason for this trip it is to live. Pure and simple, live. Do what you are driven to, take joy and pleasure in it, don't put things off or ignore the little voice that pushes you. We spend so much of our lives doing what we think we are supposed to and not enough doing what we have a passion for. I find that sad and I want all of you to find you dreams and ride hard for them. You will get "sores" along the way and have to take time to recover, but the journey is worth it, so saddle up and go find those dreams. Yee Haw.

Will this day never end?

So we left Preston, after a restful stay with the Coburn family, Bruce, Beth and Bo. Bo, their daughter, cut my hair for me, and did a wonderful job, so the girls were not so embarrassed to be seen with me anymore. We had a long day ahead of us and were on the road at 7 am. After about 12 miles on the pavement we finally reached the dirt roads that would take us up and over the last high pass in the Rockies. We stopped for a soda and some conversation with the owner of the Cub River Resort and got underway.
Riding on the dirt roads is wonderful, we can trot, well I think its wonderful, Mystic and Delightful would be more happy wandering around eating constantly. We covered the distance to German Dugway Rd fairly quickly, trotting for 15 min. then walking for the same and back to the trot. It was beautiful there, we saw cranes, hawks and even some vultures, all of which flew up right near the road and Mystic didn't even flick an ear at them. Apparently it is only murderous ducks that she spooks at.
We passed the scout camp and reached the start of our serious climb just as another pack train came off a different trail and dropped in behind us. This road that was so terrifying in the truck, was almost a pleasant ride, it is rocky in parts and steep, so I had to keep a careful eye on the footing and let the girls catch their breath every half mile. It took about 90 minutes to reach the top and when we did I hopped off and walked for about 2 miles to give Mystic a break.
The scenery there was gorgeous, almost so that you didn't notice the mosquitoes, almost. We rode on alternating between walking and trotting til we reached the Ice Cave where I stopped and tied the horses and hiked in for a look see. It is a bit odd to be in a cave on a 90 degree day and have it below freezing and a big pile of ice in the middle of it. After pausing to snap a picture of the guys climbing from the ice mound, it was back up on the horses and heading for our destination and some of the worst mosquitoes I have ever experienced. We were mobbed, we were forced to trot constantly, because if we walked we were covered. The horses were going crazy with them and I was alternating between swatting them off the three of us. By the time I found a camp to hail and beg some bug spray from (bless them) we were all dotted with bites. Securing some temporary relief we headed down to the road, racing the setting sun. I contacted our next person in Montpelier and arranged to meet her in Ovid, where she followed behind us in her car, hazards flashing to alert traffic to our presence. Darkness came and Delene and Keene Rigby followed behind us in the car until Keene took the girls for a stretch so I could run ahead to their home to use the bathroom (I know TMI) and Delene found a neighbor willing to get up at 11:45 to come and pick us up in his trailer and take us the last few miles. Thank you Paul, you are a life saver.
This day was long and tiring and Mystic needs a few off til her whithers recover from the saddle sitting on them and I am back in my jumper saddle until a new one that fits her can be procured.
So I am now in the last town before Wyoming and stuck again for a few days. I feel lately like I am driving a truck in the mud, we get going and are doing well, then stop and get stuck. I hope soon to have my saddle issues resolved and a steady pace heading across the country again and mostly I hope to avoid any dangerous duck issues.

I think I am gonna die . . .

Yesterday a very kind and helpful man, Lynn Griffiths, picked me up from the fairgrounds and took me, his wife and his youngest son out to drive the trail I will be following to Montpelier on Sunday.
It was terrifying! The thought running through my head was "I think I am gonna die!" The road is a forest service road that they, the Forest Service, insisted was open to truck traffic, although I highly doubt they actually drove a truck on it to find out. It zigs and zags up the mountain climbing to the pass level of 8000 feet. It has sections that are smooth dirt and parts that are gravel and then there is a section of about 3 to 5 miles . . . It is rocky. It is rutted. It is slanted towards a sharp drop off. As the truck bounced over the ruts and rocks and slid and slipped closer to the edge, tilting at uncomfortable angles, I kept thinking I was gonna die and I was confused because on this trip I was sure that would involve a duck in some way. So to distract myself from the imminent and painful death, I started searching for the duck that would be involved in my demise. Thank God it never showed up! We lived! Much to my and Katherine's, Lynn's wife, surprise. She was apparently told we were going on a nice drive in the country, I bet Lynn sleeps on the sofa for a week after that.
Now all the terror aside, I want to thank Lynn, he showed me a more beautiful path to my next town and I am sure that the ride will be peaceful and serene, because four hoof drive is much more secure than four wheel. I look forward to posting some pictures of the trip, as it contains some of the most gorgeous scenery I have come across in Idaho. Hopefully there are no ducks up there on Sunday.

Like a Rhinestone Cowboy . . .

So the last few days have been interesting. When I last tried to make an entry, I was in Malad Idaho, at their Library, and they decided to close an hour early due to the holiday weekend. Having been thrown out of a library (a first for me, really) I headed back to the fair grounds, to see several men setting up the fireworks display for the 4th, a day early.
It appeared that the fireworks for the town were to be shot off from the fair grounds on the 3rd this year, about 30 feet from where the s were corralled. With permission, I moved them to the arena til after the display was over, an additional 100 feet from ground zero. I climbed into the stands and waited for the sun to go down and the reaction from the mares. Promptly at 10 p.m. the first shots were fired and . . . nothing. Mystic and Delightful barely looked up from their search of the arena for possible food. It was a good display with screamers and whistlers and explosion after explosion and I don't think those mares even gave one jump, start or spook. Now if they had been releasing flocks of ducks onto the fair grounds, they probably would have torn down the arena fence and headed back to Oregon, lucky for me that wasn't part of the display.

The next day, it was Ken and Kristy Eliason to the rescue, they sent their son over with an old felt pad that I cut holes in over Mystics saddle sores to allow them to heal better and we were off again. I would have liked to stay for several more days to rest Mystic, but Ray Davis, the Grounds manager was unable to find anyone willing to donate more hay. We headed up through 2 Mile, a short cut through the mountains, which oddly enough is longer than 2 miles. We made great time, trotting on the dirt roads off and on throughout the morning, until I came around a bend and spied a truck and trailer. As I slowed to a walk, I saw a cowboy ride up, step off and load up his horse in the trailer, and decided to ask his opinion of what path would be best to take.

Now this cowboy ended up being one Brooks Clark, Cousin to the Eliasons, and a wonderful and impressive man. Upon hearing what I was doing, he promptly offered me an ice cold coke (woohoo), a chair and a snack cake. We sat and talked for a spell and he made me realize that I am not as tough as I think I am. He had just been through one of the worst physical years of his life, starting with a bad four wheeler accident and ending up with an infection that the drugs used to treat it almost killed him. He was told no less than 6 times that there was nothing that the doctors could do, and he was going to die, but here he sat, next to me, sharing a coke and a little debbie cake. When I feel tired and sore and that I can't go on, I am going to think of him and tell myself to stop being such a wimp.

Brooks directed me to the eastern road and gave me another shortcut to Dayton. He then finished his work replacing a fence the cattle had torn out and met me at the next cattle guard to open the pass through gate for me and helped me get the stubborn Pei Pei over her first gully. Thank you Brooks, you are an inspiration, I am sure Glen Cambell had you in mind when he wrote the song, just minus the rhinestones.

Well that day ended up being a long one, I got to Dayton only to find that it is a town that has everything, Town Hall, Post Office, Several Schools, Park, Public Works Dept, etc etc., just no restaurants and the only store in town is closed on Sundays, so I rode the extra 5 miles to Preston. Where I met Kevin Hanson, a wonderful man that brought the s 1 bale of hay and 2 of alfalfa and is getting us more so we can stay here til Sunday. At last Mystic's back will have a chance to fully heal. Then we head for Wyoming, ooh boy!

Attention K-Mart Shopper . . .

OK I was going to make a nice long entry, but alas the Library is closing for the night. I promise the next time I get online I will regale you with some truly exciting, enthralling, thrilling . . . well I will make an entry at least.