Have I mentioned I love the road?

Boy, this trip out to Moscow just began Friday morning, but I feel like I have done a lot of living between then and now.  The demanding nature of the road, the elements (hot as hell), the people I met along the way,  all of these factors have made this feel less like a 2,000 mile errand and more like a journey with little surprises at every stop;  it was amazing. 

 The road through Wyoming was hot and crowded, and seemed to stretch longer than it has in past trips. Upon entering Montana though, landmarks and towns that I have passed many times began to fly by.  Before I knew it I was pulling into Bozeman, hooking a right onto East Olive and parking at the Bozeman Backpacker's Hostel, as if I hadn't been away for these nine months.




My dear friend, Miss Eliza Strawberry, manager of the hostel, was sitting out on the front porch, wearing a bright yellow traditional Mexican day dress.  As I approached, she didn't even recognize me, most likely because I'm not filthy, covered in red dirt like I was when she met me last fall after leaving the HF Bar Ranch.  I had to yell "Hey!, it's Michelle."  We chattered and caught up on life, her having been in India doing children's welfare work, and myself doing God knows what.  There were people riding bikes and walking all over the streets, and she told me that there was a huge street party going on called Music on Main.  We hopped double on her scooter bike, looking too much like Harry and Loyd, cap gun in hand, and sped off into the warm Bozeman evening screaming and laughing the whole way.  We rode around downtown, play shooting everyone that got in our way, which was really everyone whom had the right of way...Eliza refuses to obey stop signs or red lights.  I held onto her shoulders with a grip inspired by pure fear, my sandals jerkily skimming the asphalt, kicking up rocks and skinning my toes at certain rowdy times.




We returned to the hostel as a few more people were arriving.  Travis, a young guy that has been hitching around the western states while on vacation from his job as a deep sea fisherman, was staying at the hostel as well.  We instantly became friends--he's a California native; a surfer; a veteran of the Coast Guard, where he served in missions assisting with the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and lived in Hawaii while stationed on home turf; he has lived in Alaska these past four years, working four months on a fishing boat and taking one off, then back on full time...a courageous and demanding field, no doubt.
 


I was headed West, and he needed to get to Seattle, where his ship is in dry dock, so we took to the trail together, tackling over 400 miles on Saturday.  I think he may be one of the most interesting people I have ever met; his life experiences were so vast and so intense, I couldn't help but sit back and listen, allowing little bits of his past to find their way into the conversation. When I pulled the car into Spokane, Washington, we looked at eachother and lamented how that eight hour drive hadn't seemed nearly so long or tiresome as it surely could have.  We were both tired and road weary, but the friendship and easy, mutually enjoyed conversation made it one of the best days I have had in quite a while.




I turned around, covering the thirty miles back to my junction to head South to Moscow.  The steep mountain pass was quickly summitted, opening up into one of the most lush valleys I have ever seen.  Around here they call it The Palouse, a geographical feature of rolling green hills, with sixty inch deep topsoil, which produces up to 125 bushels of wheat per acre...and the farmers don't even have to irrigate.  The Palouse hills are at once stunning and baffling; the National Forest borders the wheat fields, leaving an image of contrast:  the brightest, spring green against a backdrop of rich, evergreen color.  After seeing and doing all I had today, from swimming in the Clark Fork River, taking a nap on the lawn of the Ranger's Station, dropping a new friend off at the edge of a major interstate, without a guarantee of whether he will be safe and back home soon, I sped on. 

The Palouse, North Central Idaho




Besides all of the fun that preceded actually arriving in Moscow, I traveled all this way to meet people and see the town where I will be living.  I arrived at the farmhouse and was greeted outside by Brett, one of my new housemates, as well as Kathryn and Kevin, a young couple from Northern California.  We really hit it off.  They are all intelligent, thoughtful and conscientious, and very involved in the lifestyle they have chosen.  They started off my initiation to the house by showing me the grounds.  I absolutely love the house, but what initially drew me to the property was the Palouse surroundning the property on all sides.  I am still in awe of the fact that I will be living here.  Brett made a nice fire in the pit outside, and we all layed around and talked. Being pretty tired from the busy day, I made my bed on the front porch and fell asleep watching the stars.



Yay, my new home! Mine is the front window on the right.

My backyard, the Palouse.

 
Saturday morning was full of new experiences as well.  I met my new Graduate Adviser in downtown Moscow at the farmers market, where he showed me around town, introduced me to his colleagues, and took me to coffee.  He is an expert in Wilderness Management, but he is so much more.  He is a horseman; an ex-medical student; an artist:  he uses the lathe to create incredible bowls and decorative pieces out of wood.  We headed out to Moscow Mountain, where we took a short hike, and threw the ball around for his dog.  It was like nothing I would have expected for a first time meeting with a professor, but I really appreciated the casual and friendly nature of it. 

A gorgeous brick building at the University of Idaho.

I couldn't have asked for more from this journey; I traveled and arrived safely,  I was awestruck by the gorgeous and diverse scenery of Wyoming, Montana, Idaho and Washington;  I visited and made amazing friends.  But despite all of these incredible occurances, I feel like I don't have my footing, like I have been walking around everyone else's homes...I can't wait to return to mine.  Oh, Wyoming.