You cannot be in Idaho without thinking potato. For most of the uninformed world, that is its claim to fame. We noted on the map that husband’s tribe, The Blackfoot or Blackfeet tribe, had their own town of Blackfoot on our route and, not only that, the town boasted their very own potato museum. A huge sign outside read “Have a spud-tacular day” and, in we went to do just that.
Potatoes are more interesting than one might think — a fantastic food source to many in the world with a long history. We enjoyed the exhibition of Spudnik potato equipment and the evolution of the potato, before ourselves enjoying a lovely baked number in their potato café. All in all, that was a most successful expedition. Though we didn’t see evidence of husband’s tribe in the town, we knew they were there around the place. We felt their vibe.
As you jet toward Wyoming, there is some lovely scenery to behold. The landscape alters — less corn and sunflowers, more water and valleys. The roads climb more up into the hills and the trees resemble a Christmas tree farm, as far as the eyes can see. “Howdy stranger!” the sign read. “Yonder is Jackson Hole, the last of the Old West.” We had made it to Wyoming! We stepped out of the truck and witnessed the orange bear warning signs everywhere. “Multiple bear families sighted in this area!” Oh yes, we had certainly arrived in bear country. An old raven sat on the tree nearby and nodded at the travelers who came to gasp and ooh at the scenery of his valley.
Your first sight of the Tetons is one for the memory bank. You cannot take your eyes off those marvelous, jagged things that go on for about 40 miles. We were inside the Grand Teton National Park and what a park it is — 310,000 acres of wide-open spaces with the Snake River running through it, all superbly edged by the craggy loveliness that is the Teton Mountain Range. Oh, and that is where the buffalo roam. Actually, they are bison, not buffalo — look it up — but I love the sound of the word buffalo. So cuddly, like an enormous soft toy. And boy, were they roaming.
As we cruised along the relatively empty road through the park, the herd was large and grazing happily. Some dumbos stepped out to be close and personal — as they tell you not to — but I just cautiously snapped a photo of a Mama, baby and daddy Bison with birds on his back from the relative safety of my vehicle! I did so chirp at myself for that, as amateur photographers are wont to do.
Next, we were headed for my first dude ranch in my whole life. (Bucket list is on fire!) Being a hardcore “Yellowstone” fan, I often wondered what such a life might be like. “Where exactly are we staying tomorrow?” husband had broached the subject. “Hotel, cabin, tent?” I told him it was a teepee, and his eyebrows raised. Fortunately, he is a mellow man and not one that is easily roused.
“We upgraded you to a covered wagon,” the rather feral check-in lady tells us at the Buffalo Valley Ranch (not cowgirl at all). “The teepees are closed for the season.” “Oh, that is very nice of you,” I remarked cheerily, rather glad that this was the case, since it suddenly occurred to me that the temps were changing rapidly and there was likely no power in a teepee. “The bathrooms are across the parking lot from the wagons.” Ah, separate bathrooms. That had also slipped my mind. Across the parking lot, no less. He will love that.
The covered wagon was pretty fabulous, I do have to say. It was spacious with a large bed and four bunk beds, there were electrical outlets for our essential coffee- making equipment and his breathing machine, (that had also skipped my mind as an essential for overnights). They even gave us a heater for the 30-degree mornings that kicked us Californians upside the head. I would call this “glamping” at its very best, never mind the warnings to keep all food out of the wagon. (But I don’t want my car to get smashed up either!) I could even get a slight WiFi signal from the top step of the wagon and we were able to catch a few fragments of the presidential debate, that made us feel a little bit more attached to the real world. (We weren’t missing anything.)
And the Wyoming storms, who knew? Crashes of thunder and lighting, wind swaying the wagon at night and hail bashing the sturdy exterior. This made for some interesting journeys across the lot to the bathrooms and showers, though husband later confessed to me he had just peed from the top of the wagon step at night. No wonder there had obviously been a large bear come by that very same night and sprinkle a larger puddle next to his. Boys will be boys, I guess. There was also the night they left the cabin door next to ours unlocked and we snuck in there to use their facilities like a couple of naughty teenagers. Of course, husband was supposed to be spotting me in case anyone came to the cabin and had to have the last laugh on me, knocking on the window and whispering someone is coming while I am crazily trying to pull up my draws. Yeah, the fun that 60-year-olds can still have. Apparently.
In not dissimilar fashion to my beloved “Yellowstone” series, the ranch hands and workers were seemingly society outcasts. Missing many of their teeth in some cases and most of their manners in others, they were truly an interesting bunch. I learned that it was the end of the season and many of their helpers had already quit. (Explaining, perhaps, their complete lack of customer service and foul attitude.) The server in the restaurant made us laugh out loud; he was so rude and unaccommodating; but we knew what we had signed up for and the animals were well-taken care of, so I had no real beef. The horses were about to be shipped off to Arizona for the winter and the huskies had just returned from Alaska for their winter dogsledding.
“I’m a musher,” said the feral clerk in the office, stroking her pink hair. “Yeah, we all get snowed in durin’ the winner time,” remarked her obvious boyfriend. “There’s no getting outta here.” Again, that reminded me of my beloved show that I must now re-watch. Check another thing off the bucket list — dude ranch, Wyoming. Been there, done that.
(Part 4 of “Mapping” will continue next time.)
