In 50-Word Flashes: Our Summer Vacation
An exercise in writing flash stories while holding on to memories.
Visited the daughter and kids on our way to start our Basque Festival adventure. Dropped off our pet Basil plant. Played with the rambunctious grandson and held the quiet, observant granddaughter. Got lots of hugs that stilled the eerie vibe of Naomi's ghost that haunts me between Fernley and Winnemucca.
Winnemucca, NV: Sharing a Basque dinner with a Chinese family at The Martin, we learned how dangerous it is for Chinese Americans to enter China from Hong Kong. They will be arrested for anything, prosecuted at spies. No Chinese currency can leave the country. Fewer Chinese are traveling these days.
Boise is an alternate universe from the angst-ridden, cranky world. People generally are friendlier. talking to strangers at the Basque Festival with ease and humor. Wonderful food, beautiful Victorian neighborhoods. Even the drivers are polite, even to tourists. Only the redneck Trump parade cast a brief shadow on the festivities.
Basque music blared loud and joyous. Children aged five to teenage did their best to maintain formations in the folk dances. People talked and laughed, hugged and welcomed friends, sat in small groups without cell phones. Food vendors dished out paella and chorizo. No one was treated as a stranger.
Roses! Redolent roses' aroma cut through smoky air from distant wildfires. Brilliant colors defying Nature and dim sunlight robbed of its heat. A tempest of oranges; a riot of reds; pinks ranged from salmon to mauve and lavender. Corralled by an iron fence in the middle of an urban park.
Boise Art Museum: BAM, a collection of artists telling the story of human interaction with the earth. One glass sculpture, Tidal Pool, swirls together blue and crystalline ridges. Delicate scarlet jellyfish and anemones flow through the current churning inside this sparkling bowl. Nothing else catches my attention quite as magically.
Exploring the "burbs," we spot kids carrying inner tubes to float down the Boise River. I did that when I was nine with my cousins. Lazy sections, rapids, big waves under bridge supports, and two little falls make it a glowing memory. People are still doing it. Hooray for tradition!
Flan! We may never eat another flan after savoring this eggy wonder from Leku Ona on the Basque Block. Light vanilla custard cooled the tongue. A caramel glaze sweet as honey dribbled over a garnish of blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries. How ever did I manage not to lick the plate?
Uber Lime scooters hummed around town and were dropped in the oddest places to be reused or rounded up at the end of day. Mostly teens chauffeured themselves around, weaving safely among pedestrians. We didn't feel endangered until a professionally dressed woman approached. We stepped aside out of her way.
Strolling downtown, we admired how Victorian-era buildings folded in among high-rise apartments and business towers. Tree-lined avenues with sidewalk bistros and shops where people enjoyed a vibrant street life show how the city cherishes its past rather than erasing it in the fever to modernize. It's a safe, friendly neighborhood.
Highway 51 from Mountain Home to Elko is lonelier than Highway 50, "America's Loneliest Highway." Duck Valley Rez refreshed our eyes with verdant pastures after miles of bleak, sun-bleached grasslands. Over 100 miles of "no services" and no shoulders alongside the road bed. What if we had a flat tire?
Lunch at the Lone Mountain Station broke the hypnotic monotony. A group of weekend bikers and a couple working at Wild Horse Reservoir already there. When leaving, the man asked us, "how'd you like that burger." A great way to start a conversation lasting several minutes in a backwater roadhouse.
Years ago, we stopped at Lone Mountain. Crickets swarmed the outside walls. "Close the door," yelled the old man as we sat at his bar. Soon, two Pyrenees' heads bookended my lap. Strays the shepherds dumped. He retired and lives twenty miles up the road. Don't know about the dogs.
Smoke obscured everything. Though active wildfires in other states choked the air, we didn't realize how close and recent two lightning-sparked fires were until we drove across the rolling plain along Hwy. 51. Miles of charred grass and sage still smelled of soot and ash burned only a week before
.We had to check on Lamoille Canyon. Victim of wildfire a decade ago, we needed to see how much had recovered. Dead white trees still stood among new saplings of aspen. Grass across the burn scarp toasted in the late summer sun, but near the top, wildflowers grew in profusion.
At the Star Restaurant, we tried the fish … cod grilled in butter, a squeeze of lemon, with a layer of garlic. Only a Basque would add garlic. It might be the national flower, but we were not certain. Had to eat something different this time, besides our usual lamb or steak.
It's a tad more humid in Boise, probably because of the Boise and Snake Rivers. Eastern Nevada is more lush and verdant than the western part where we live. In Boise, we didn't need lotion while in Elko we felt the air suck the moisture right out of our skin.
Waitress Emily hurried around cluttered tables, not seeing the butter on the floor as she rushed to serve hungry diners. Finally, someone started clearing tables. I wondered if he'd been cleaning restrooms before coming to the coffee shop. A nostalgic hotel short staffed with lots of deferred maintenance.
It's so strange the difference between Idaho and Nevada: one thrives with economic vigor and purpose while the other languishes in the boomtown ruins of the Old West. Maybe both are necessary to remind us of the struggles that got us where we are while displaying our potential for success.
Another precious visit with our daughter without kids careening around us. Then home where we lay about in post-road trip stupor. Chores and laundry kick us into action, but we still don't want to return to the same old grind. Is it possible to retire and wander again so freely?
Photos of rose garden and roses by Jeff Cauhape. Remaining photos unless otherwise noted are by Sue Cauhape.
If you enjoyed this essay, feel free to explore more essays, poems, and stories in the Ring Around the Basin Archive. I also love to read your comments, so please share your thoughts. Let’s start a conversation.
Excellent description of a great Road Trip!
Oh, I’ve heard about that state. The one they call The Tick Fever State, or The Cousin Marryer State, or the State Modern Dentistry Forgot.
Why would anyone ever want to go to a state like that?