Adventure - Page 12
24 DAYS ON THE ROAD
Nancy suggested I go to the tasting room and taste a couple of wines while she put in my dinner order; the better to chose something to go with my meal. A smashingly civilized idea! The older man working the tasting room was quite a funny fellow. Mostly retired, but picking up two nights a week at the winery, he dashed here and there, ranting about Sunset magazine and how the winery had been written up in the latest issue, and I should really read it, and where's it got to, and who took it, and the place just goes to pots when he's not there, etc. I finally got him to settle down and just pour me something. I chose the Cabernet Franc to accompany my dinner, which happened to be the wine that was written up in Sunset magazine. Never saw the article, but the musty, oaky red wine went well with my sturgeon.
Later on my way out, I bought a bottle of the Cabernet Franc for a souvenir. I mentioned to the tasting room fellow that the baked potato I'd had with dinner was the best I'd ever eaten. He told me the restaurant owner grows Idaho russets, as well as wine grapes, and that he ships potatoes all over the world but saves the best and the freshest ones for his restaurant here. I felt like I had stumbled upon the greatest secret that night. Check it out if you're ever passing through Glenns Ferry, Idaho.
In the morning I went toward the river to find out more about the famed Three Island Crossing before hitting the road. This was an important part of the old Oregon Trail. The pioneers had to cross the Snake River here if they wanted to get to Oregon. It was a dangerous crossing, even though it was made when the river was lower, in July or August. Many lives, livestock, and possessions were lost. Those that chose not to cross the river here were compelled to continue on to California, as this river crossing was the crossroads for the Oregon vs. California decision. I could see the diagonal scratch in the bluffs across the river that the wagons had descended upon, and I could differentiate one of the three islands in the river, but not the other two.
About 10 miles west of Glenns Ferry I spied a small herd of wild horses off I-84 to my right. The 15-20 dark horses were clustered together, some facing this way, some that way, covering all directions. They were not grazing, just standing there, and switching flies off each other with their tails. You could tell they did not feel as safe as their tame pastured and fenced cousins, because these horses were on the lookout for something: something that hunts horses.
Took the Broadway exit into Boise, just to check out the town. Drove around downtown, but couldn't find two metered spots in a row for my car-camper-combo. Boise seems to have a thriving downtown including a financial district, but doesn't have that huge metropolis feel. Backtracked toward I-84, and stopped at a roadside fruit stand for some fresh peaches. The young fellow selling fruit had lived in Boise his whole life and said he loved the sunshine but was tired of living in a desert. That always seems to be the trade-off in the west, doesn't it: green=rain, sunshine=dry.
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The story is 16 short pages total. You can jump to other sections of the story here:
1 - Departure
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