Idaho, 2015, Day Three

I walked out of our hotel room this morning and into a blast of hot air already impressive at 8:30 AM.  I joined Paul in the lobby for the advertised free breakfast and found him deep in conversation with the daughter of the hotel’s owners, a petit Asian girl with a Canadian accent.  Well, Minnesota, but close enough.  Paul strikes up conversations with everyone he meets, unlike me.  I tend to live and let live, especially before noon or my third cup of coffee, whichever comes first.

I joined their conversation for a while but when another guest walked in and asked Paul where we’re from, I fixed myself a waffle and went back to our room.  I knew they wouldn’t even notice.  I envy this ability of Paul’s to immediately engage with everyone he meets; it’s a talent that escapes me.

Today was a driving day, most all of it in Kansas; we arrived at the border in the early forenoon and drove through the state the rest of the day.  We stopped for lunch at another local dive, Aunt Toadie’s.  They had me at the name although the packed parking lot at noon in an eye-blink of a town suggested this was a great place to eat.  Or maybe the only place.  The food was plentiful, tasty, and cheap.  The pies were home-made and two bucks a slice so even though I didn’t need one, AT ALL, I had one anyway.

Several hours later, after bouncing along on less-than-pristine roads, and driving 25 miles out of the way (thanks to a detour sign that didn’t specifically tell us the bridge was GONE,) Wade felt sure the tires needed balanced so we lurched into a small shop that looked like they knew tires.  Turns out the thirty-one year old mechanic had already been the owner of the business for eight years so it was safe to assume he knew what he was doing. 

We sat in the spotless and air-conditioned (more important than being spotless) office for fifteen minutes while the tire guys worked their miracles on the van.  An air-filter filled with dried flowers was hanging on the wall.  I admit I never would have thought of putting those two together but it somehow worked here.   Another customer walked in and sat down, his blue jeans covered in white splotches and tattered in places.

“Dry wall or paint?” asks Paul.  

“Neither,” says the man.  “They’re designer.” And Paul had another friend.

We weren’t sure whether to believe him or not, today’s fashion trends being what they are.  Paul told him they must be worth a few thousand then, the shape they’re in.  The man laughs and says “Stucco. And they are really heavy.” He laughs again and we exchange home-town information. 

“You haven’t seen the best part of Kansas yet,” he informs us.  It took me a few minutes to pick up on the sarcasm.

“What’s the best part?” I ask.  I wasn’t surprised there was more to see since what we’d driven through so far was mostly flat, nondescript farmland with a few scrubby trees, the occasional cows, a few scattered houses and not much else.

“Well, about fifteen miles that way,” pointing in the direction we are headed, “there is nothing. Just flat open land. And nothing else.”  He gestured the way we had come.  “This here’s hilly!”

About then Wade yelled at us to come get in the van, the tires are balanced.  The business owner and his young helpers were finishing up, sweat literally dripping on the concrete.  One of them informs us, “This ain’t bad at all.” I’d hate to see what “bad” is, I thought. Wade paid his twelve-dollar bill adding a few more for good measure and we piled back in and hit the road.

Stucco man was right.  Flat, flat, and more flat.  Those wheat fields hold a beauty, though, that is probably missed by people who see them every day.