Making Flippy Floppy

Last Sunday was grey but gorgeous, a groovy day for a nice little day trip in my new car. So I loaded up the iPod with fresh music, and Q and I headed north, with no particular destination in mind. We drove around Sandpoint trying to find Synergy, the nightclub but never did come across it. Downtown was just crawling with tourist types with their sad nineties hairdos and pastel polo shirts, looking for an overpriced bottle of wine or a crystal healing experience. We cackled as we nearly ran a few over as they jaywalked into Coldwater Creek. As we continued north, we noticed that we had pretty much crossed an invisible borderline: land as yet untouched by Californians. I'd only ever been to Bonners Ferry once, to the casino, at night. I'd never really had a chance to check out the town. On Sundays, they pretty much roll up the sidewalks and shut 'er down in Bonners Ferry. The downtown area is a bad time warp, retro but not charming at all. Literally the only people we saw down there were orange-vesters from Bonner County Jail doing some light spring flower gardening in front of the police station. Spooky. We stopped at the only open gas station to fill up and got questioning looks that said "yer not from here, are ye?" as if we were some kind of wild riff-raff from the big city. We decided to head east on US Highway 2 into Montana. I hadn't had a lot of love for the music of Nine Inch Nails in the last few years, but I'd thought I'd give the new album "Year Zero" a whirl, and it turned out to be the perfect soundtrack to middle-of-nowhere driving. I think I like it as much as "Pretty Hate Machine" - Trent's toned down the nasally drama and metal histrionics and settled into a tight, crunchy electro-distorto groove, and the album flows well from beginning to end. My jaw dropped during "The Great Destroyer" but Q was unimpressed, bitching that it hurt his ears. We drove into a little campground that sits right on the gorgeous Yaak River. There were already a few spots occupied with hardcore campers (brrr!) We pulled into a spot and parked for a while to enjoy the great greenness of mother nature. The rush and babble of the river was so hypnotic we had to wander down to the shore. I put my toes in and the water was surprisingly warm for this time of year. I picked out a few pockets full of interesting rocks to go in the aquarium. We made a vow to come back and actually camp at this magnificent secret spot (which is probably not secret at all and is overflowing with obnoxious campers all summer long.) We blinked as we passed through Troy and missed it, but right outside of town we came across a little parking area at the side of the highway with signs that said "Suspension Bridge" so we decided to check it out. A little cement pathway led down to an enormous enclosed footbridge over the railroad tracks and down five flights of dizzymaking stairs. These stairs were constructed of steel that had been cut full of holes, the edges turned up and spiky to prevent slipping, rendering the steps nearly transparent and giving the illusion that you're walking on air five flight up. They were bad enough going down, but I knew that they were going to kill me on the way back up. See, it's no secret that I'm not exactly in shape. Years of desk jobs and lack of time to exercise have rendered me pretty much useless in the physical fitness department. I enjoy walking and hiking, but I tire easily and my lower back gets unbearably sore after a while. Anyway, we followed a rocky little path that just kept going and going, with no suspension bridge in sight. I started to huff and puff and sweat and thank god there were nice rocks to roost on every few hundred feet. I felt even worse when little old ladies began passing me on the trail, "Get outta my way!" By the time we made it to the actual bridge we must have covered at least a mile and a half of winding mountain path. The suspension bridge was okay, but even cooler was the Kootenai River and Falls: I sat catching my breath overlooking one of the most gorgeous tableaus I think I've ever witnessed. I sat rapt and Q continued on the path, but I needed to relax a while so I stayed and waited. I laid back in the sun on a nice flat rock and was intoxicated by the heady sounds of raw nature until some lame teenagers came along and shattered the peace by loudly trying to push each other of the bridge. I sat up and saw Q waving at me from way across the river gorge and I snapped some photos of him. I slowly made the trek back to the parking lot, one bit at a time, and when we made it back to the bench at the top, I was out of breath and dying but actually felt good that I'd gotten in some much-needed physical activity. Now that I know it won't kill me, maybe I'll do it again. Back on the road, our thirst and cottonmouth became a primary issue, so we decided to cruise over to Libby for a bite. A big '70s sign that said "Antlers Restaurant" caught our attention. the menu was huge and colorful, varied and vivid, like Denny's. Is "Antlers" a chain or do they just have a really well-designed menu? We begged the waitress for a pitcher of water, and it was the best water we'd ever tasted in our entire lives. I was so parched, I couldn't get enough. I ordered a burger with swiss cheese and tomato on sourdough bread, and it was absolutely one of the most perfect creations I'd ever had the pleasure of enjoying. Seriously, I'd drive all the way to Libby again just for one of these. The fries were crisp and plentiful, hell, even the dill pickle spear was exceedingly green and crisp. Q agreed his Bacon Burger was worth getting moisty-eyed about. Maybe Montana cows just taste better, I don't know. We had asked our waitress if she knew a cool route back to Idaho and she recommended heading down Route 56, then back over through Hope to Sandpoint. Dubbed the "Highway to Heaven", Route 56 cuts right through the gorgeous peaks of the Cabinet Mountains and the entire stretch is untouched by homes and buildings, just ancient forests. Deer meandered in every clearing, we had to slow down a few times to avoid them in the road. Further on, the view of Lake Pend O'reille from the Hope area was breathtaking. Low purple clouds hung over the deep blue waters, making it nearly disorienting to drive due to the distraction of the natural beauty. I'd never been through here and always wondered what the hype about Hope was all about, now I understand. We decided to make it a point this summer to get out and explore or own backyard a bit more. As long as I've lived in Coeur d'Alene, I'm ashamed and amazed that there are so many places right in the area that I have never really spent the time investigating. Look out, Loon Lake, Genesse, and Polson, here we come!

Labels: Montana, New Car, Pickles, Restaurant Reviews, Road Trip

They said Toyota trucks last forever, and they were wrong. Following a rough couple of years, my poor little black truck decided to finally go tits-up for good last week. It lived through nearly twenty Idaho winters and hundreds of thousands of miles of road. I inherited the beast seven years ago from my dad who had driven it back and forth to work in Spokane every day for it's entire existence. It was a little rough around the edges, but being a Toyota, it still held quite a bit of oomph and I vary rarely had any issues with it. I think Lou has some kind of curse with vehicles because once he gets behind the wheel of an auto, it starts a slow and tragic downward spiral. He has a long, bizarre history of running cars to death. He drove my truck like a four year old plays with a Matchbox car, and it began showing signs of exhaustion. It really never was the same since the winter before last, when he managed to smash up the left front end in a snowy collision two blocks from home. That wreck must have knocked something loose deep inside my truck's soul and it's been on the slide ever since. On Monday, after a final examination at Cook's Automotive ("She's just plum wore out..."), the white sheet was pulled up over it's windshield, so to speak. The death of a long-suffering loved one is often accompanied by relief. I was finally free of it's burden and I could start exploring new vehicular possibilities. The timing was perfect, actually: since graduation is a little over a week away, my dad decided to gift me the down payment on a new car for my graduation present. I did just get my tax return back, and I was planning on spending that money, but with his help I was able to look at cars from this decade, rather than $600 beaters that barely run. Since I had to work every day this week, I put my dad in charge of doing some shopping around. I couldn't be too picky, but I did have to lay out a few basic guidelines: no granny cars, except maybe vintage Cadillacs (they're like living rooms on wheels.) Must have cassette deck or working cigarette lighter (so I can connect my iPod - I don't think you can connect one through a CD player.) Must have working AC (why bother otherwise?) Earthy or subtle tones, no bright reds or neon greens. Preferably a black or cream colored interior. He picked me up after work to go to The Car Lot way way north on US95. A new place with a clever name, eh? He had found a cream colored Mazda Miata within our price range. Question: why are all car dealers so very car dealery? Mike had a big gray bird's nest mustache and a red boozy nose under drowsy eyes. We piled in the car for a test drive and one block out of the gate I looked in the rear view mirror to see an enormous cloud of stank exhaust rolling out behind us. We returned to the lot and the shop mechanic laughed and said "blown head gasket." I wasn't in love with the car anyway - it had a bad dog hair ambiance, a non-functioning CD Player and a little dashboard drawer that wouldn't click into place. Next! We milled around the lot looking for better options. Mike returned to let us know that the owner of the dealership felt "so embarrassed" about the exploding Mazda fiasco that he was willing to knock two particular cars down by $1500. One was a mid-80's model dark grey Mercedes, which the idea was tempting until I looked at the destroyed interior. The other car was a light gold 2000 Mercury Mystique (as pictured above). It must have been owned by someone who never smoked, farted, or drove through Del Taco once: it still had that alluring new car aroma. The upholstery and dashboard looked shiny new and untouched. We hopped in and as I drove us north on 95, I fiddled with the stereo and AC, both worked! The ride was soft and quiet, the brakes were like nothing I'd ever experienced, so smooth and buttery. Yes, buttery brakes. The price was right and I was sold. We filled out paperwork and hung out in the lobby for what seemed like an eternity for the big credit approval phone call to happen. Turns out the finance manager was Jimmy, an old co-worker of mine from Coldwater Creek. As we waited, we listened to Mike the Car Dealer tell us about how he worked his entire life selling RV's in nearly every town in the Great Northwest...Everett....Bend...Pasco...Lewiston... you name it, he'd lived and worked in 'em all, but Coeur d'Alene was the tops, the best place he'd ever lived. When he started pulling out pictures of the grandkids, I began tuning him out as I texted away on my cell phone telling everyone about the new wheels. Finally, Jimmy returned with our approval and after settling on a payment plan I could realistically stick with (let's hope), the deal was done. Searching the web today for more info about the Mercury Mystique I learned that it is the exact same thing as a Ford Mondeo, which was that company's stab at creating a specifically European car for the European market. I'm not exactly sure what that means, but I like the sound of it. The Mondeo was a big seller across the pond, and the Mystique is the same car, just marketed under a different name in America. Oh la la. The main bitch I read in the user reviews was about the extreme lack of legroom in the back, but it's rare that I'll ever have people back there, and as long as there's enough room to create a random pile of clothing, magazines, and tapes then I'm happy. Otherwise, online reviews were quite favorable and people love their Mystiques. And so do I. It's the first car I've ever owned that's less than 10 years old: I feel like I'm moving on up to the East Side, I finally got a piece of the pie. The dealer wanted to keep the car another night to fine tune some details, so I am anxiously awaiting the end of my work day so I can go get it. I'll have just enough time to pick a lovely sunset to drive off into...

Labels: Mercury Mystique, New Car