Buhl, ID
(June 7, 2004)

I was driving through big sky country. With so much room and desoalte beauty, it hardly makes sense that people want to live on top of each other in noisy, polluted cities. In Oregon I stopped at each rest area, reading about the folks who spent months going through this land in covered wagons. While renegade Indians were sometimes a threat, most often the native residents traded with the settlers as they passed. Settlers would trade their own scrawny, worn-out cattle two or three for one, fat, healthy one. The native Americans would then nurse those cattle back to health and fatten them up on pastures with plenty of grass, and trade again, one for several. Quite a business.

Compared to the hardships of the settlers, I was whizzing along on a super highway at 80 miles per hour. What a difference. Having not done my email for a while, I stopped in the last town in Oregon (Columbia?) to look around. I found a health food store, which sent me to the tourist information center, which sent me to Java and Jolt. Located right downtown on a typical street of two-story wooden storefronts, they occupied quite a bit of space, including a coffee shop, outdoor tables, and an upstairs room in the roasting department. I picked the latter, with high ceilings and big windows. In 30 minutes I was done and back on my way.

When I passed Boise, I started looking for the exit, thinking I was almost to Buhl. There, I had been invited to visit by Kathy Ruyts, a friend from the Labyrinth Society and founder of the 8th Street Center for the Arts. Just to get the directions, I called Kathy, who told me I had three more hours driving to do! What a shock. The last 30 miles were on a two-lane road that went through some picturesque countryside. By 8 p.m. I arrived in Buhl, easily finding the art center. it was located in a former church, which Kathy had redesigned and expanded in a rather spectacular way. In fact, it was over the top, which means that I liked it instantly.

I know that there are labyrinth people all over the country. During my travels, the ideal plan would be to stop and meet people. If I were their guest, it would save the cost of a motel and also add interest to my day. We had a late dinner in Kathy's house, located next to the center, while her teenage daughter and a friend curled up on the couch and watched a movie. Outside it was very windy. I slept in the basement of the art center in accommodations intended for visiting artists. Very cozy. I left in the morning early, having said goodbye the night before.

Soon I was speeding eastward. I stopped once at a scenic overlook. Just inside Idaho I stopped in Snowville (or something like that) to eat at a small cafe. Wow. The local folks who came in looked weathered and aged beyond their years. I guess life is hard here. It reminded me of the joke about the two buffalo who were standing out on the range when a couple of tourists drove by. One tourist said to the other, "Those are the mangiest, most flea-bitten, disgusting examples of buffalo I have ever seen." One buffalo turned to the other and said, "I think I just heard a discouraging word."

I was now long gone from cloudy skies and rain. Too far inland. The skies were not cloudy all day. I cut across Idaho and headed for Wyoming. My Mapquest directions were somewhat humorous. They said to get onto Highway I-84 in Portland. the next tun was 776 miles further, which was the turn to get onto I-80 east going through Wyoming. The instructions were to go through Nebraska, making the next turn after 882 miles. Distance means nothing out here. I didn't plan to go to Nebraska, as I was cutting south into Colorado to go to Denver. It seemed to me that I should be able to get to Chyenne by evening.

Then, I met Ranger Bob at a rest area. He told me about some things to see (a Pony Express station here, a museum there, some elk and buffalo). He suggested I might want to take a side trip on Highway 30 up to Medicine Bow. That would indeed become my next stop. See Medicine Bow.