The Indignity of Being Towed (pt. 2)

Even seen from the confines of the interstate, Utah is one of the prettiest states. (Actually, I'm not much of a judge since there are a very few states that I've been to--as Nabakov called them, "three "I"'s in a row", Indiana, Illinois and Iowa--and didn't find especially attractive.) I-15 traverses several nice passes and the cities, even Salt Lake, to my eye aren't terribly obtrusive (except for Las Vegas).

Real clouds.

A nice gradual mountain pass. I'm a little too far to the right, but this was only my second day of driving a rig this big.

Salt Lake and the Wasatch Front.

We'd only been in Idaho about half an hour when I felt something happen back on the trailer. I looked into the rearview just in time to see the tread of one of the trailer tires flying through the air. A quick pullover revealed a complete tread seperation. Penske told us that we just needed to drive, slowly, to the next exit where we'd find Popeye's Diesel Repair and a fix to our problem. We left the alligator behind (not worth it) and pulled into Popeye's.

Popeye is exactly the kind of guy you want to come across in a situation like this. He blasted surf music on the shop stereo and changed the tire with the kind of real enthusiasm and aplomb that comes from a man who has found and is genuinely comfortable with his niche. He told us his story, which was kind of personal so I'm not going to put it here. Suffice to say that he was a SoCal refugee (like us) who was welcomed to Downey with open arms after the previous diesel mechanic there had retired. I played fetch with his dog "Kenworth" as the tire was changed and would still be there playing fetch if Kenworth could've had his way. If we're ever that way again, you can be sure we'll stop in to say "hello" to Popeye.

Southern Idaho grows a lot of barley, and we all know what you make out of barley. Truth be told, I really don't mind Budweiser too much (though I hate Bud Light) and in fact, though I'd never count it among my favorite beers but thanks to my long employ at (World Famous) POPears, I've probably drank more Budweiser than any other beer in my life.

Melissa, having once driven from Anchorage to Phoenix (!), via Seattle and Los Angeles (??), in four days (!!), had seen plenty of logging trucks, but this one was my first.

After a night in Pocatello, we made the final lunge to Missoula on the third real day of the move. (Our itinerary was Goleta to Barstow (done from 11pm to 430am), Barstow to St. George, St. George to Pocatello, Pocatello to Missoula.) Inside Montana now, this is the Northbound interchange of I-15 and I-90 just West of Butte. I did see the sign (click for large) but still took it a little fast.

Big Sky Country.

Along the Clark Fork of the Columbia, the river that eventually winds through Missoula.

I guess this story ends not so much with a bang as with a whimper. The rest of the trip was uneventful (the blown tire was really the only event) and we pulled into Missoula, cats howling but intact, to begin unpacking. This shot is of the Missoula County line. So far it's been worth it, I think.

Fin