Yun left early this morning for the airport. I was dead to the world. I woke up around 8:30, the latest I have awoken so far on this trip.

The morning was slow. With Yun gone this trip is over and a new one begins. I was not sure where to go or what to do. I considered just going home. I considered staying at the Best Western where Megan and the rest of the staff had taken such good care of us.

I did order Megan a bouquet of flowers as a thank you. Does anyone do that any more? "She'll probably think you're a creeper." Yun had said when I mentioned I wanted to do something. "In my generation ..." I started thinking how odd those words sounded, "it was so much easier. You send flowers. It's just what you do and it's understood." But these days things are overly complicated ... a simple thank you never seems enough but doing more always seems ...

I eventually hit the road at 11AM and headed towards Lewiston, ID and US route 12 that so many had recommended. My day was occupied with thoughts of generational differences, how we are formed around our circumstances and how, with accelerating technological changes, there are greater rifts between generations than has been the case "in the good 'ol days".

This was going to be a long and involved post.


I've got 99 miles ....

But all this was derailed this evening by a moment. I made it to Missoula, Montana. The processions of Harleys were clearly visible as they made their way by the hundreds to Sturgis.

I had dinner at the Iron Horse Bar and Grill which sounds like it should be a Harley Bar but it's actually quite a reasonable moderately upscale place. On a whim, I decided to take a different route back to the hotel. As I walked along the unlit blocks of empty storefronts, I was surprised to hear music. At first I thought it was a concert. Then I thought someone was blaring a stereo. But I was mistaken. It sounded like bluegrass music from "Brother Where Art Thou?" I walked a few more yards when I noticed down an alleyway four people. Each was playing an instrument. A banjo, a fiddle, a mandolin and a guitar.

I stopped and listened. There was no audience. There was no amplification. They were just playing for themselves in this deserted section of town under a street lamp in some empty alleyway. The shape of the alleyway created a natural amplication effect. You could clearly hear them over a block away.

I stood in the shadows quietly far away so as not to disturb them and just listened for quite some time. As Angela said, "We remember the moments." It was a wonderful moment listening to people do what they enjoy very well.

This is one I am likely to remember.

I leave you with some photos from today.


Wheat fields hiding the rotating giants.



The frontage road down into Lewiston when coming in from the West on 195. Take it. Curvy as all get out and much longer than it looks. 20mph switchbacks all the way down. Challenging.


The river next to Route 12. Beautiful.


334 miles today.

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