RV Adventure, Day 3

Been awhile since I last posted about my 2008 RV adventure. Thought I'd continue it again, just to keep up the discipline of writing here.

Day 3: Cascade, ID to Wentworth Campground, National Forest Service, near Lolo Pass
miles: 231
fuel: $74.00
campground fee: $8.00

Followed the Salmon River through eastern Idaho, a wide blue-green highway with Class 1 and 2 rapids. Not many rafters today, a Saturday, but lots of fisher folks around Riggins, their cars lining the highway on both sides for a half to three-quarters of a mile. They must be elbow to reel out there, below the pavement, in the rocks.

The hills here are nearly bare, sandy gravel covering the tracks of old volcanoes. As I got close to Grangeville, I noticed a few fancy houses way up above the river. Folks with a true love of solitude, who don't want to spend any time mowing would be my guess. They can see for miles, and that reminds me of the Anasazi, who lived on cliff faces, under rocky, smoke-stained overhangs, their places of entry hidden from enemies.

I left the Salmon, and followed the Clearwater, one branch and then another. This is what sells postcards--conifers as far as you can see, a soft understory, the wide, shallow river, bluer than the sky, frothing with rapids and winter melt. Here were the rafters and kayakers, some in wet suits, as the water must be numbingly cold.

Highway 12 from Kooksia to Lolo is surely one of the most scenic routes in the U.S. The tumbling blue river, the deep green conifers, the indigo sky, round brown granite peeping out from under the slick, flowing water.

And the motorcycles! Hawgs, I mean. Big fat tires, guys with ponytails, and gals hanging on their backs like papoose. They ride the corners so low, their handlebars almost touch the road. Blasting hawgs, just like an old Henry Fonda movie. I even saw a few baby boomer couples, riding their candy-apple Hondas, towing trailers.

The heat wave I've been running from has finally caught up--must have been in the mid-nineties high in the mountains today, and I resisted using the a/c in the Jeep as we steadily gained altitude. I am scaling the back of the river, upstream to where I'll find her youth, small and boiling.

Sitting outside, surrounded by flies and the occasional mosquito (scouts for this evening's grazing), I don't want to move. Finally, the bugs drive me inside, and I turn on the fan in the trailer, which immediately blows a fuse. I pray I've got a replacement in this little playpen I haven't used for 5 years. You might guess the anthem I sang when I found one and the fan sucked some warm, but moving air, inside. It wasn't the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, but it was sure heart felt!

Hyber-Nation

When Hyber-Nation
first came online,
I was among the first
to wear their eclipse-black
sweatshirt with matte-finish
Olde-English letters
just under the left arm.

We recognized each other
that way, a forlorn
little half-wave was all it took
to see that you were not alone
in your Hyber-Nationhood.

At first, there was no other way
to find other Hyber-Nation members.
Just the little half-wave,
and you were left wondering
how long that person
had spent in Hyber-Nation,
whether they ever came out,
how many others there were.

Once online, we were able to blog,
to add masks to our logo apparel,
to give news of the years spent alone
in Hyber-Nation. We found couples
who shared a Hyber-Nation, even
entire families, and as knowledge
of our existence began to spread,
others joined us, if only to buy
the sweatshirt.

Soon, we were receiving thousands
of hits per day on our website,
Hyber-Nation dot net.
We elected our first president,
exchanged recipes, spoke of our
mutual distastes, some even ranted,
an unfortunate few were flamed.

People left jobs to blog full-time,
others divorced when their spouses
complained. People dropped out
of colleges and divinity schools,
soldiers went AWOL.
People were left stranded
in locations with WiFi reception
as their cars ran out of gas.

Service clubs began to close,
schools began to empty as parents
forgot to take their children,
symphony halls stood empty thanks
to the extraordinary attraction
of Hyber-Nation to violinists and
oboists. Sports teams folded
as players refused to leave
the bench.

Fights broke out in libraries as crowds
packed in to use WiFi and computers,
and people became irritated
at the inherent contradiction.
Eventually, Hyber-Nation
exceeded available band-width
and server space. No permanent
record was ever kept
of Hyber-Nation members.
I never see the sweatshirts
or the masks anywhere.
It feels so lonely again.

Oil "Spill"

When you said yes,

I thought you meant yes,

I thought I owned you

like a man owns a dog.

They told me Jesus

said that you were mine

by rights, that we'd

be together always

until I got tired of you.

They told me that in church.

Now, you're bitchin'

and spreadin' rumors,

and spreadin' yourself

around town

until I want to slap you.

What the hell are you thinkin',

you whore?

I was told you'd put out,

but nobody said

you wouldn't listen.

Preacher said you was mine,

and by god, I'll see to that,

damn you to hell,

and when in the fuck

will you stop puttin' out?

You goddamned Earth!

White Clouds on a Still Black Lake

White clouds on a still, black lake,

so smooth, we walked in space,

saw the moon rise under our feet,

fell upward into warm, deep, water.

Online Relationships

I am tired and wired

as the frayed fabric cord

of a toaster my grandmother

kept using, despite the cries

of "FIRE, FIRE" every time a slice

of her homebaked bread

went into the oven a second time.

Our planned meeting date,

at first so safely curled in the cozy

nest of the distant future,

now approaches with the speed

of glaciation, as tomorrow torture

drips into yesterday, and the day after

that becomes lost

as a forgotten coronation.

With every email, each phone contact,

my elevator makes an express trip

to the top of the Expectations Building.

The view from there is stupendous,

but where is the Down button,

the floors in between,

is the window the only exit?

I'm searching for the stairwell,

that drab spiral of concrete and metal,

where hoarse breaths echo and clang,

where landings give pause, and doors

open onto law offices

and insurance companies,

and pert receptionists ready to help.

I know myself well enough by now--

a life's practice of introspection

and second-guessing. I know just what to do.

I'll march past the dreary Stairs sign,

past the smirking receptionist,

I'll run, yelling, "Hold the elevator!

Hold the elevator!"