Where did you go, Idaho?

This post will be short and sweet as the barista at Starbucks is wearing a look on her face that suggests she does not believe our order of two small drinks to be worth the copious amount of electricity our computers, phones, and Ipad are sucking out of their few sockets.

In the past few days we have made our way over two states lines and intend to cross another this afternoon. Please be entertained in the following order.

Western Washington:  – Farewell, you were wonderful. We will miss Seattle as it will be our last city for some time.

Eastern Washington: I managed to snap some beautiful pictures of your heinous landscape. Plant a tree or something. Also, I don’t know if those little yellow butterflies are an endangered or an invasive species but I have about 27 of them plastered to my grill. So…. you are welcome, or… I’m sorry.

Idaho: Your panhandle is beautiful, but I’ve seen the rest of the state, so I suggest that the residents of the handle pick up the state and shake it like a dirty rug. Don’t worry, the potatoes will hold on better than the flat-tired trailers that riddle the southern half. We camped on the river and truly enjoyed ourselves. We couldn’t stay long but I can definitely see myself returning to Cour d’ Alene.  I apologize for Katie’s drinking from the Memorial fountain, she was careful not to disturb any of the corpses. I haven’t yet leaned how to handle a parched and grumpy Bertha.

Montana: You continue to impress me every time I come through. I know they say everything is bigger in Texas, but I am absolutely confident that Montana, The Big Sky state, could successfully Mess with Texas, despite the advice of countless Texan bumper stickers. We dined in an enormous back-wood hole-in-the-wall type eatery last night that solidified my impression of Montana being the true ‘don’t mess with’ state. The entire establishment was occupied by about five disagreeable looking gentlemen, two of whom I’m sure could have eaten me in a single sitting. Above the door, a hand carved sign with a pistol nailed  to it read “We don’t call 911.” The food was great; the beer, better. Stay big, Montana, stay big.

On a personal note, I would like to thank Bobbie Lee for putting us up for the night and entertaining us with some wonderful stories about living in Montana and traveling through the Rockies. We also appreciate you telling us about the hot springs up the road, we are feeling quite a big more relaxed after that dip.

On to Wyoming.

Cheers.

Matt

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