Lafayette, We Are Here

I'm Walking to New Orleans   (The songs in this entry are all longer. I won't mind -- and won't know -- if anyone skips all or part of the music.)

As we were walking down Bourbon Street I asked dw: "Did you see that naked green woman?" And she replied: "I didn't notice her."
    I certainly noticed the naked green woman. She was pretty, young, petite with definite curves; wearing sandals, a very very tiny butt-floss bikini bottom, shamrock pasties and nothing else except a coat of shamrock-green body paint -- from her toes to the top of her hair-in-a-bun. She was the vanguard for the New Orleans St Patrick's Day Parade.
   "If she had been a green near-naked George Clooney with shamrock pasties, I bet you would have noticed." I thought, as we approached the Angry Baby.

We had driven from Wisconsin to Lafayette, Louisiana  and later New Orleans to watch and cheer on Steve -- dw's brother -- who was running his 50th state marathon. (not his 50th marathon, he -- and his SO Kay have run more than 50 -- including some 50K and 100K runs) But this run would complete his "marathon in every state" goal. (Kay made the same goal two years earlier)

The drive itself was mildly pretty in spots, but mostly uninteresting until we got to Louisiana itself where we had to detour west to avoid flooding. For miles the elevated freeway was isolated, with on and off ramps flooded -- flat land, no drainage and very heavy rain -- there were many roads closed but no one seemed to think it was a disaster -- just an inconvenience. Apparently when you live in hurricane country a bit of flooding is just a chance to use your piroque to go grocery shopping.

When we got to Lafayette we went to a tourist info office (5 minutes waiting in the car for a particularly heavy rain shower to pass), collected a city map and some brochures for things to do, checked in at our motel, and then connected with Steve, Kay, and the rest of his cheering section. Steve had arranged for housing and t-shirts for all of us -- one of the posse was a home brewer and had brought two excellent beers, others contributed assorted food stuff as well as other beers and wine -- moderation ruled as several (besides Steve and Kay) were running the marathon -- it was  a fun party.

dw and I enjoyed exploring Lafayette. The Martin Zydeco accordion factory was closed but we peeked through the windows of the non descript wooden building -- and couldn't see anything. We visited the fine University of Louisiana art museum which was featuring a collection of Haitian art -- which both dw and I really like, and a collection of haute couture dresses made with pages from romance novels -- amazingly detailed. And we visited the cathedral, which is nice, unusual, and which probably wasn't built with slave labor or enforced financial contributions, which makes it even better. From what we could see Lafayette doesn't have much in the way of interesting architecture or old buildings but it is an attractive city with an alive city center.
    The morning of the marathon (officially:  Zydeco Marathon & 1/2) we all collected and escorted the runners to the starting line. The temperature was pleasantly cool and awesomely humid (condensation was literally running off walls) -- but -- at least for someone who wasn't running -- it seemed like a good day for a run. (later Steve said the weather at the start was fine and later, as it got warmer, the humidity decreased so the whole run was at least tolerable) After a bit of breakfast, the cheering section met at the half-way point with beers, bells, and zydeco music. After the last runner passed we then collected at the finish line (because of the layout of the run and street closures it wasn't practical to cheer at another location).

    One of the more interesting runners was a woman pushing a runner's stroller (with toddler) -- as she passed and we cheered her on, she noticed John holding a stadium cup of beer. She asked: "Hey, have you got another one of those?" so he gave her his cup. She chugged it, belched, returned the cup, said "Thanks"  and ran on -- she got an extra vigorous cheer. A fun day for all of us.
     After crossing the finish line, Steve and Kay didn't seem tired, and in fact did a brief dance step or three. Amazing I think. Even more amazing, after a shower and a bit of food, several of the group -- including Steve, Kay, two other runners, and dw and I -- went to Whiskey River for some zydeco music and dancing.

Whiskey River, on the La Rose Bayou (Blue Bayou), is a dance hall/bar and on that afternoon featured "Geno Delafous and the French Rockin' Boogie" -- My Zydeco Shoes -- It was a hoppin' joint. The band had the accordion of course, plus a guitar, drummer, triangle, washboard and a five string electric bass player. The five-string bass is something I've never seen before so on one turn around the floor, I guided dw right up to the band stand to see if I was imagining something, but it was indeed a five string guitar. dw and I danced several dances. I remembered, well enough, how to waltz, and a standard Texas two-step fit the proper zydeco so we (I) managed not to be embarrassing. We didn't try the line dancing as that seemed to require knowing what you were doing.

    A fun evening. Whiskey River had one bartender who was noted for jumping over the bar to sort out miscreants, another (Alberta) who was noted for being awesomely slow, and an outside food cart (Whiskey River Ambassador) who was noted for telling customers that his food was inexpensive (it wasn't), and better than anything you could get in town (it really wasn't). I didn't notice anyone who got drunk enough to swallow his line (it was hard enough to swallow the food) but there was nothing  else available to eat.

The day after Whiskey River, several of the group moved on to cabins at Lake Fausse Pointe State Park (again arranged by Steve) where we spent a relaxed two days: Watched alligators -- little guys we could have rassled had we wanted; took some easy walks -- avoiding the extensive flooding and heeding the signs that warned of water moccasins; and noted a variety of birds, one deer and some small beasts (who also managed to avoid the water moccasins) and some butterweed flowers -- A very pleasant time with friends and family -- hanging out in a cabin built over the water.

After Lake Fausse, Steve, Kay, dw and I, toured Avery Island -- home of McIlhenny Tabasco Sauce. As we drove up, it was obvious that Avery Island isn't an island, rather it's a hill. A hill? In the Mississippi delta? That seems unreasonable. But it's actually the top of a large salt dome which was mined before and during the Civil War. We toured the Tabasco factory and the extensive grounds which were lovely with lakes, small bayous, live oaks with Spanish moss, a large snowy egret rookery, and assorted statuary. We got a small bite to eat at the bad cafeteria. Got some samples of Tabasco ice cream at the gift shop (way better than you would think) And in all enjoyed another relaxing day.

    This was the end of our marathon celebration: Steve and Kay moved on to a cruise ship (Galveston) and dw and I drove to Chauvin (SW of New Orleans) to see a sculpture garden -- and then to New Orleans with the naked green lady and the Angry Baby.

New Orleans was interesting and we wished we had spent more time there. The French Quarter was appropriately seedy and gearing up for a St. Patrick's Day Parade. (our lunchtime waiter: "Oh, yeah. St. Patrick's parade is our second biggest one. There's not an Irishman within five hundred miles but we use any excuse for a parade and drink.") At Napoleon House we had an excellent gumbo for lunch. (Napoleon House was offered as a refuge for Napoleon during his exile -- he didn't make it, but the name stuck) We could have tried gator, but decided against that: (at the tourist office) "Get fresh gumbo, it's really good almost everywhere. If you have to try gator, get it grilled not fried. Fried is awful."

    We walked the Warehouse Arts District and enjoyed some really good galleries. And of course we walked the French Quarter. I thought of getting some beads by threatening to show my hairy old moobs but decided against it. I enjoyed the green woman, and we both noted the angry baby -- who was a guy in shoes, a diaper, and a large pumpkin sized baby head. When you took his picture he would assume an aggressive stance and double flip you off.
    We were too early for much live music. Naturally the bars were playing music but the live bands wouldn't start for an hour or more after we needed to leave. There were a few street bands but they were really terrible -- I've heard better here in Portland (I think we just had bad luck with the street bands) -- they were bad and were playing against each other so what you heard was dissonant cacophony -- so unpleasant we weren't even slightly tempted to stay and listen.

     And finally, on the way back to Wisconsin, we stopped at Carthage, Illinois and visited our grandson, Shane.
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Louisiana sent a 122 pound sweet potato as one exhibit to the 1901 Buffalo, NY Worlds Fair
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RUNNING TO PARADISE   W.B. Yeats

As I came over Windy Gap
They threw a halfpenny into my cap,
For I am running to Paradise.
And all that I need do is to wish,
And somebody puts his hand in the dish
To throw me a bit of salted fish,
And there the king is but as the beggar.

My brother Mourteen is worn out
With skelping his big brawling lout
While I am running to Paradise.
A poor life, do what he can,
And though he keep a dog and a gun,
A serving maid and a serving man,
And there the king is but as the beggar.

Poor man have grown to be rich men,
And rich men grown to be poor again,
While I am running to Paradise.
And many a darling wit's grown dull
That tossed a bare heel when at school;
Now it has filled an old sock full
And there the king is but as the beggar.
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Tigers have striped skin. They need it, so when they go punk and shave off all of their hair, they'll still have stripes.
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Pyramidion: The capstone of a pyramid.
Jirble: To spill a liquid by shaking or unsteady movement. i.e. -- At dinner this evening, I nearly jirbled my wine.
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So a horse walked into a bar and ordered a drink. The bartender said: "You know, you come in here pretty often, are you an alcoholic?"
   The horse answered: "I think not." and disappeared.
This, of course, is a joke concerning the philosopher Descartes and his famous dictum: "I think, therefore I am."
   I could have explained that first, but that would have been putting Descartes before de horse.

What do you call an alligator wearing a vest? -- An investigator.
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And so it goes. DJA



  

 

Sea And Sand, Sea And Sand Redux

To celebrate our anniversary, dw and I spent two nights at the Sylvia Beach Hotel in Newport. The owner of the hotel also owns Rimsky-Korsakoffee House, a coffee house known for conversation and classical music, and also known for being the location of our second date. And look where that date brought us.

The 100 year old hotel is directly on the beach, so close that when the 9 earthquake and accompanying tsunami hits, anyone in the hotel had better be a really good swimmer. Our room was the Hemingway Room --- each hotel room is decorated to reflect, and stocked with books from, a different author: Ken Kesey, Mark Twain, Shakespeare, Poe, etc. and the dining room is known as the Tables of Content. The top floor has a respectable library, a large selection of picture puzzles, board games and magazines -- coffee from an actual coffee maker and in the evening hot mulled wine. And anyone staying there needs to enjoy such things for there are no TVs or radios. No wifi -- although I imagine cell phones would work. In all, a very pleasant place to spend a few days.

Other than lolling around the library we didn't do much. Cruised the town, which occupied an hour or so. Walked to the Yaquina Head lighthouse (7 miles round trip), which occupied several hours. Had dinner (with Guinness, of course) at Nana's Irish Pub two blocks from the hotel  -- during that dinner, we were called "cute" -- not so unusual for dw, but a first for me, at least a first in the last 60 years. 
     Our waiter was a dead ringer for Robson Green, the English actor. After some verbal thrashing around between dw and I:
Me: "Doesn't our waiter look just like that actor guy you like so much?"
dw: "I'm gonna need more than that."
"You know, your boyfriend. That English guy in McCabe and Mrs. Robinson." 
Then a woman at a table next to ours said: "You mean Robson Green? I was thinking the same thing."
   And we chatted for a while about the actor and PBS and other things. Then the woman (who was with her father, grandfather, or antediluvian husband -- it wasn't clear) said: "You guys are so cute. You're talking and laughing and having fun. I see so many couples just sit there without talking or anything."
   The woman was pleasant, and the conversation was pleasant, but I was taken aback. When I conjure up a self-image, depending on my mood, assorted words come up -- generally positive or  complimentary, sometimes not -- but I have never thought of myself as "cute". And I've never thought of dw and I as a "cute" couple. We weren't offended, but we were surprised and actually sort of pleased.   

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A couple of weeks later RD and I (names are changed to shield the guilty) took a day trip to climb at Smith Rocks in central Oregon. The trip wasn't a complete failure, I led one climb and RD led zero climbs. And I was as slow on the trail and as timid on the climb as I've ever been. The weather was fine, if a bit hot, and the day was lovely -- the fields, grasslands and forests were still green. The mountains were snow covered. Everything about the day was great -- except for the climbing.

     Rescue litter in the climbing area. I considered lying down in it, hoping that some kind souls would pick me up and carry me.

     As I arrived back to the car from the climb, RD's phone rang: A Damsel In Distress!! After some talking and cursing and sighing it seemed that said damsel had lost her car keys someplace in about  100,000 acres of sand at Cannon Beach. Could we help? Said Damsel in Distress couldn't locate a rental car anywhere on the northern coast. The key was one of those with a chip that can't be duplicated except at the dealer --- and the nearest dealer was in Portland. (more cursing and sighing). Oh! Alas, alack the day.
   I admit, I didn't immediately leap to the rescue. Driving to Cannon Beach after the drive to Smith meant nearly a 400 mile drive for the day (on top of the strenuous, if dismal, climbing session). But I volunteered to drive RD to the beach. (he had a second set of keys for the Cannon Beach strandee) After several more phone conversations (more cursing and sighing) we agreed to ride to the rescue as soon as possible.
   We stopped in Portland, picked up some clean clothes and picked up dw who decided to come with us and continued on to the beach. (to be a bit clearer, the stranded maiden is RD's wife and certainly -- at the time -- a Damsel In Distress but not actually a maiden -- I assume)
   In the meantime, the Damsel in Distress had snagged a very nice suite in a motel, again directly on the beach, and again a very poor place to be when the Big One hits. So in the end the four of us had what turned out to be a very pleasant evening.
   RD and Damsel in Distress left early the next morning (things to do and people to see) and dw and I slept in a bit -- had coffee in front of the room's big ocean view window and watched a couple of fishing boats and a whale spouting. The fishing boats didn't actually spout although the whale certainly did.

Then dw and I had a leisurely drive home, completing our beach, and beach redux.

BOOKS: Scipio Africanus, Greater Than Napoleon (B.H. Liddell Hart) For most of the book, Hart explains and analyses  Scipio's victories over Hannibal and Hasdrubal (Hannibal's brother).
    (Scipio: Roman, Hannibal: Carthaginian --- the Punic wars, 235 B.C.E.)
(N.B. from dw: "snore")
   The early chapters are interesting and well written. Hart discusses the politics of the time, as well as the battles.  In the last chapter Hart compares Scipio to Napoleon and Alexander and Caesar and assorted other generals old and new. That part, the compare and contrast -- who cares?  But the bulk of the book is well worth reading.
   Scipio seems to have an assortment of pronunciations:
   "Sip'-e-o" -- I don't like this variation. I think it makes him sound like a tosspot.
   "Sheep'-e-o" -- I don't like this one either. Scipio took names and kicked butt, there wasn't much sheep-like about him.
    "Skip'-e-o" My preference. I think of Scipio happily larking about, slaughtering people, sinking ships, etc. Just sort of skipping around committing mayhem -- The guy you want on your side.
   On the subject of names, what parent would name a poor baby "Hasdrubal"? It sounds like he usually had a load in his pants, or like a tropical disease that causes water retention.

WORD OF THE DAY: Onolatry --- Worship of the donkey or ass. In the past I would have thought such a word was completely unneeded, but with the rise of The Tea Party I can understand it's utility.

NATURAL HISTORY: The quaking aspen has a double hinge arrangement on the stem of each leaf. -- Two sections of the stem are flattened at 90 degrees to each other. That hinge arrangement is what causes the distinctive shimmering effect when wind hits the trees. I have no idea what the evolutionary advantage is for this kind of leaf. (Oh, baby! I love your shimmer! I'd pollenate you any day!)

And so it goes. DJA

Dead Things, Hairballs, And Angels

Tuesday I was occupied with two of my very favorite things, holding a book and insuring that the couch didn't start floating around, when dw came up and said we needed to do something.

 "I am doing something." I said, using the book to gesture at the couch.

  "We need to do something besides being a lay-about. We can go for a drive or a walk or a bike ride."

Neither a walk nor a bike ride was truly compatible with a book and a couch so I opted for the drive. After all, since dw would be driving, I could still read and a reclining car seat is similar to a couch. The couch itself might ding up the walls or scare the cat but that rarely happens and we haven't  had an actual cat for several years.

   "OK, where do you want to go?"

And as it happened I knew exactly where I wanted to go: Mt. Angel Abbey in Mt. Angel (the town) to visit the museum and see the giant porcine hairball. --- Supposedly the biggest pig hairball in the world. dw was skeptical but willing, as long as we also visited the Wooden Shoe Tulip Farm in Woodburn.

Following inane Google directions (to the Wooden Shoe) we drove 99E to Woodburn. The traffic treated us gently and it was a more interesting drive than the freeway would have been, but Google's directions were logically impaired.  The tulip farm was still in preparation for it's yearly tulip viewings. They were setting up booths and tents. Play equipment for the kiddies. Elevated viewing stands --- in full swing they put on quite an act. And the tulips are pretty. Thursday the flowers were only starting to bloom (there was one swatch of red) with the other colors being spotty and spread around, but in a week or so I think it will be spectacular. We looked at some of the sights and dw bought several bunches of flowers to bring home.

On to Mt. Angel. We had lunch at Der Glockenspiel. (dw: sausage dog, me: sausage and spaetzle) and we each had a Warsteiner Dunkel dark beer. It was very good, although I thought the portions were skimpy for the price. (note: with a splat of bratwurst and mustard we fell off the vegetarian wagon) And afterwards we walked around a bit. Watched the glockenspiel do it's thing (it doesn't compare with the European classic ones but it's not too bad), walked by the Drunken German bar but didn't go in, looked at the (turned off) fountain with the little boy and girl dancing. (It's rather saccharine but well done. dw looked and said the little girl was showing some panties. I would have taken a picture, but I didn't want to be taken for a pervert.)  And finally drove to the Abbey to see The Worlds Largest Pig Hairball.

The Mount Angel Abbey Museum has a small, but world class eccentric, collection of stuff. As advertised a football sized pig hairball, set beside four smaller (pool ball sized) hairballs -- one is cut in half so you can appreciate that it really is a hairball. Next to the balls are two stuffed calves, one with four extra legs, the other with two extras. They are as bizarre as they sound. Also collected and displayed:   Some expected pictures of previous abbots. / An assortment of liturgical vestments. / A model of a sailing ship. / A collection of minerals and rocks. / Assorted Indian and Pacifica native art work. / Some rosaries. / Old farm tools / Arrow heads and other Indian relics. /  A box of pebbles from Jerusalem / some "Bird-Skin Art" -- ? -- / Some fossils / A replica of Christ's Crown of Thorns. / In short, a whole bunch of stuff.

And the largest collection is the "Larry Epping Wildlife Exhibit". Larry was an early graduate of the Abbey college. He made good, made a lot of money, and spent much  of his life going around shooting things. Killing them and stuffing them. At some point he probably thought: "All these dead things are so cool, I'm going to share them with the world." so he donated them to the Abbey Museum (I'm guessing they came with a large pot of money) On exhibit is one or more samples of every large mammal (predator and prey) native to North America.  (Really odd: a bald eagle and a golden eagle and a screech owl.  I have no clue as to how they get away with that) 

The Museum is a great example of what used to be known as a "Wonder Room" -- a room with a bunch of odd things that caught some body's interest.

After, we drove to Silverton, got gas (for the car) and walked around until we found an example of another world class one of a kind:  (This is a real parking meter, however only a few are left)

And we looked at the shrine for Bobby, A Great Collie --- the real source of the "Lassie Come Home" book, movie and TV series.

And then we

 came home. I for one was entirely satisfied by the Great Swine
Hairball.

(N.B. dw, while editing this entry, said: "Oh, I forgot about the stuffed animals."
"Good lord," I said, "How could you forget all of that?"
"I think I was overwhelmed by the hairball." --- fair enough --- )

 My Word of the Day: Truncate --- to be sure, not an unusual word. To shorten, or cut off the top. A word we all ran into in math --- a truncated pyramid, or cone, or triangle --- My question is: did the Guillotine truncate Robespierre and Saint-Just -- If anyone deserved to be truncated, those two did.

What does a quantum duck say? ---- "Quark, quark"

So a priest, a buxom blond and a rabbi walked into a bar. The bartender said: "What is this, some kind of a joke?"

Natural History Lesson of the Day: Mourning doves are the pinheads of the bird world.

L.A. -- Venimus, Vidimus, Vicimus -- part 1

I read the title to dw and asked: "L.A. Venimus, vidimus, vicimus. --  Los Angeles, we came, we saw, we conquered. Do you think that's too pretentious?"
   And dw in her concise and certainly not pretentious manner answered: "Yes." 
   I considered debating the point but I recognize that my side is pretty weak so I've decided to just use the title; confident that dw is discrete enough that her sigh and groan will be inaudible and everyone else is out of hearing range.

A few weeks ago we had an early mid-winter crisis and decided to drive to Southern California for sun, fun and decadent pleasures. And rather than going for speed we chose to drive hwys 101 and 1 staying as close to the coast as possible. We made a few stops during the two day drive to San Francisco.
    At Crescent City we visited a co-op art gallery which, mirabile dictu, (sticking with the Latin theme) had only one painting of a crashing wave. Probably the other coastal galleries will band together and drum the Crescent City gallery out of the Society For Proper Coastal Art.
    And further south we spent some time looking at the area where I lived nearly 60 years ago. It's remarkable how little it has changed. The communities of Klamath, Klamath Glen, and Orick are the same size they were then. (Since I lived there, the Redwood National Park has been established -- and it didn't increase the population)  ---  Although the two Klamaths have been relocated, since both were wiped out by floods. ---
    The logging industry is nearly gone, of course, (really bad form to log in a National Park) so several saw mills have been removed.
    The house we lived in is still there (as a tourist cabin).
    My grade school is still there (Orick) -- it's the same size and even painted the same color.
    The 5 mile road to the actual beach is the same as it was 60 years ago:  heavily pot-holed gravel and mud, mostly one lane twisting over a series of ridges. It's amazing that the park hasn't improved the road.
    Part of the old 101 is open for cars (most of it has been turned into a pedestrian / bike lane) -- we drove that section and stopped to look at a WWII radar / anti-aircraft station. It was disguised as a small farm. (Originally the concrete blocks were covered with wood siding)
  

Stopped at Eureka for lunch and I looked for a copy of the Arcata Newspaper (I had already looked in Arcata) but didn't find a copy. The paper is noted for it's reporting of the official police blotter -- such as:
     ---A man in a gray shirt and jeans enjoyed a magazine as he took a dump in a 10th street parking lot ---
    --- A pit bull is being allowed to roam freely on Stewart Avenue ---
    --- Someone put a plastic baby doll inside a wicker basket on Spear Avenue and set it on fire ---
    --- A man watered a wall at City Hall and then used the public phone with his unwashed hands ---
    --- A woman charged $232.86 to the account of her estranged husband and signed the receipt "Asshole" ---
    --- "GET OFF ME" a woman yelled from a Valley East apartment, accompanied by door slamming
    --- In a shocking development a man with a beard and beanie smoked dope on the H Street sidewalk ---
    --- More yelling on the Plaza ---
    --- South G Street report: A cow mooed for more than an hour. ---
    It is possible that report #7, if common, is somehow connected to the other reports. And this is just a sampling --- there are many, many more.

During the afternoon drive, dw said she needed a Fatboy. We stopped and looked at convenient places but found no Fatboys.
    Newly retired dw remarked that her new goal in life would be to have a Fatboy everyday at 4 p.m. and already she was in danger of failing. I remarked that it was an overly modest goal but I would do what I could to help her achieve it. Alas on the very first day of her new goal in life, she sort of failed --- We found no Fatboys, so she had to make do with a Big Bunny.

In the evening we made it to San Francisco, where we stayed two days with our friends Kate and John G. (owners of the sybarite cat Beaner)

 

Jackson, Wy -- A Short Trip With A Fun Event

   Last week dw and I drove to Jackson, Wyoming to watch her brother Steve and Steve's SO Kay, run a marathon.   Actually we only watched the finish -- we were awake, but we didn't get up to watch the 7:30 start, and we didn't find a spot to watch any part of the middle of the run -- so by "watching a marathon" I mean we waited at the finish for fifteen minutes and actually watched the last fifty yards of the 26+ mile run.   But our thoughts were positive and we offered strong moral support.  As we drove to our spot at the finish we passed both Steve and Kay as they ran on a road-side path.   We honked  waved and yelled in a strongly supportive fashion. 
   Our stay in Jackson was only two days so we didn't do any hiking -- it was mostly a social event.  We  (dw and I) did visit the National Museum of Wildlife Art, located just north of Jackson.  The 1994 building is reminiscent of Anasazi ruins, and the collection is, as advertised, wildlife art --  Mostly but not exclusively American artists and North American wildlife -- nearly all of the art is realistic.  The subjects and style of art isn't particularly to our taste, but we were glad we went and it's a very nice museum / collection.
   Eating in Jackson was a disappointment (for me).  First we went to the Snake River Brewery (good beer, as it happens).  I ordered a BBQ pulled-pork sandwich.  The bun was stale, the pork was too sweet without much flavor and was nearly cold.  The fries were cold.  And it wasn't cheap.  In my opinion, go there for the beer and pass on the food.  We also ate at Thai Me Up.  I ordered drunken noodles (no alcohol involved) with chicken.  It tasted good but the chicken seemed to be the same sort of faux glop that McDonalds uses to make it's McNuggets.  For the price I expected better than that.  But as I said, it tasted good (true, it's hard to mess up Thai).
  
   Small events along the road:
    Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayer was in Teton Village (where the marathon finished) -- We didn't see her but there were a bunch of Secret Service guys lurking around with their ear buds and dark glasses.  One was wearing a magenta colored shirt and tie! -- I didn't think that would be allowed. 
   We went to the Jackson Farmers Market where I found a selection of Stetson hats for only 40 dollars.  I felt the craving for another hat but they only offered XXL or XXS.  I tried the XXL and my head felt like the clapper in Big Ben.  The XXS would only fit a toddler or a pinhead -- made me feel like I really am a fathead. 
   Road sign outside of Idaho Falls:  "Warning to tourists:  Don't laugh at the natives"  --  I didn't see anyone there who was risible but I didn't really look. 
   Sign at Rupert, Idaho:  Corn Dogs -- at Mr. Gas -- a service station.
   Downtown Rupert is a town square surrounded by 1910-20 buildings, mostly unaltered.  It's an attractive little town which seems to be kept alive by Hispanic people.  We ate at a bodega / carniceria / cafe.  (Three tacos and a burrito).  The place had the feel of Baja California except for the unexpected zydeco music. 
   A feedlot west of Massacre Rock State Park has a large manure holding pond sited beside the freeway.  It had a pontoon boat floating in it.  I guess some people take their recreation wherever they can. 
   We ate at the Rainbow Cafe in Pendleton.  Two older women were sitting on a bench outside the cafe having a smoke.  They strongly recommended the place, and on the basis of one of their recommendations I had the chili-burger -- it was good.   The cafe (according to a photograph) looks much like it did when it opened in 1940.  It has a bunch of neon lights and signs which they never turn off because they aren't sure the neon would fire up again if they were turned off. 
   We had breakfast at Frosty's Cafe & Lounge in Rufus Oregon, where the waitress shooed us away from the "fly table".  It was a table in front of a window which apparently was very popular with the local flies. 

And the Fun Event:  On our return drive we stopped at Horseshoe Bend (north of Boise Idaho) where we did a zip-line ride.  It was great!  The first picture was just before we started on the paired line (the other lines were single).  This line ended at the light spot above the greenery nearly centered between our helmets.  The second picture I took while we were sliding down the cable.  --  Because I weigh a bit more than dw shortly after I took the picture I passed her.  Again:  the end of these cables is the light tan spot  just right of the left-hand cable.  The tour had six different cables, four short and two long.  If we ever do it again we'll want more long cables but this was an excellent first time out.   And so it goes.  DA