Sandpoint, Idaho to Glacier National Park (Montana), 351 miles

After a productive day at the Sandpoint Library, I decided I wanted some truly local fare. This was the point in my trip when the change in seasons became much more noticeable, probably because I was in a northern tourist town and it was about mid-October. I was well aware of the seasonal changes at the national parks--research showed that a lot of these places shut down most camping and a lot of their facilities (if not all) at the end of September and certainly by mid-October. I'd never experienced what it was like in a tourist town during the off-season, so this was my awakening on the subject.

Sandpoint was showing some of these off-season symptoms, with shortened hours at many places (Starbucks), empty streets, and closed restaurants and honkytonks that no doubt blew the roof off all summer long. I was lucky enough to find a wonderful place called Panhandler (Pies, Restaurant, and Bakery) right on one of the main tourist drags. It had your typical All-American fare with regional offerings, such as Navajo tacos.

All I wanted was real food, with a salad and some vegetables, and maybe a slab of meat. They had a great special where you could get a steak and pie for something like $12.95, so I ordered and made myself busy going through that day's photos.

When I first emerged from my Den of Despair (yes, I must alliterate, yes, it is a problem), eating alone at restaurants would sometimes trigger my anxiety. Now that I'm used to dining solo, I'm hardly ever aware of it, even if I'm sitting in the middle of a crowded restaurant. The only time I do become aware of it is when little eyes are staring and staring, as is always the case in family restaurants. It used to annoy the living hell out of me, but now I know that they can't help it. Kids are staring little goonies who are curious about everything.

I was a little self aware at Panhandler, what with several little goonie eyes staring, but forgot about it once the food arrived. GOOD STUFF, highly recommended. The pie wasn't half bad, either. I was so full at that point that I mostly ate the filling and crust edges (my favorite part), leaving a scene of cherry splattered carnage on the plate, something I'm sure a true Goonie would do.

I headed over to the rest area (about an hour away, right next to Coeur d'Alene) and had a very uneventful and warm sleep. The next day I was up and happy to be right next to civilization so I could quick score some coffee and hit the road. They did have free coffee at the rest stop, which I took advantage of, but as any true caffeine fiend will tell you, a little cup is never enough. It would be nice if similar perks were available at some of the more remote rest areas, but I guess that is probably why they are able to offer it there at all.

Lake Coeur d'Alene was glorious that morning, with mists rising off of it all along my route. I grew up in a town where you had to go find a lake to see water--unless you wanted to be sad and look at the Arkansas river, which is small and not raging or fun at all. And if you went to my high school, you got to learn how to canoe and God help you if you fell in because then you had to go home because of the smell. What I'm saying is: We didn't have magical lakes with mists rising off of them, okay? Like, maybe a cloud of mosquitoes or something, but no ethereal misty mornings.

"M" is for Mullan, also Mountain. 

It was a thoroughly mountain-y ride, and I passed over the Montana border high up in the pass, where a rest area--as it turned out, the only rest area I ever found while in Montana--sat in the beautiful piney landscape as though it belonged there. I was thrilled to finally be in Montana--way back when I started hating NYC (before sobriety, and even before it got bad), I would think of Montana and its wonderful nickname: Big Sky Country. It was like a cool cloth on the back of a red hot neck.

Montanaaaaaaaa

When I arrived at Flathead Lake, just south of Glacier National Park, I was hungry and just in time to catch a late lunch at Echo Lake Cafe. The food was delicious and the service was okay (they seemed a bit overwhelmed with the late season rush at that hour, though it is a cafe with a waiting area and those little light up coasters, so they must be used to being slammed, so...), but what I will remember most was the Prince Incident.

Flathead Lake

Flathead Lake

Every time I mention my Montana dreams to friends or family, I usually get a mmm, I don't know, seems dangerous, etc., kind of response. Because there's red country and then there's RED country. I'd heard every bad thing, like Montana So White...plus all the survivalists and evangelicals. But it is such a sparsely populated state...surely these things can be avoided?

The cafe was primarily white, lots of well off people in windbreakers, with ruddy cheeks, good health, gleaming teeth and all that. Nothing wrong there. And I was charmed by the music, which was a lively set, mostly 80s stuff, that seemed a bit young still for the crowd...and I was further encouraged when "Let's Go Crazy" came on. Certainly not Prince's naughtiest song--we all know the greats, right? "Let's Pretend We're Married," "DMSR," "Darling Nikki," others. "Little Red Corvette" was probably the raciest of Prince's songs to reach the top ten (all the way back in 1983). I am not a Prince expert, so maybe there was another, but I remember it well, what with the Trojans and some of them used (o my)...but "Let's Go Crazy"?

I don't know, maybe it was the purple banana, maybe it was the brief heavy breathing (neither of which had played yet), but about 10-15 seconds in, the song clipped off. There was silence for a good ten seconds, then on comes Coldplay. That was the beginning and the end of the Soul portion of our musical experience. Maybe it was just the sexual threat of Prince himself, with his slinky, full-lipped, side-eyed power coming full on through those little cafe speakers. I guess we'll never know.

Flathead Lake

And before you cry Foul and say snowflake liberals are always looking for racism or a "problem" I will say this: I was listening that whole time. 80s music is my thing, and I specifically noticed it as soon as I came into the restaurant. There were no other abrupt changes in the music. A famous, well-loved song by a sexy little black man started playing and they abruptly turned it off. It was obvious and stupid. It was, as they say, what it was. I'm not declaring the Echo Lake Cafe racist. I'm just saying there was a Prince Incident there and it was noticed.

Undeterred I headed out to Glacier National Park. Boy. Oh. Boy. What a day. It wasn't a bad day, exactly, but it wasn't great, either. In a different state of mind, I might have cried or had a panic attack, but I did neither. I just let the day flow over me and found sweet comfort at the end of the day at the Best Western Flathead Lake.

First, extreme evangelicals definitely own land that lines the way to Glacier. I'm no stranger to pro-Jesus and anti-abortion sentiments posted on handmade signs and full-blown billboards along major and lesser highways. They're all over Kansas. But this was next level. Most were the usual stuff, pretty mild, just declaring that Jesus is in fact our Lord, that we can be saved, and so on. But there was a point where the fervor got downright scary. I drove by it twice, once on the way up and once on the way down, and still can't figure out what it was. I don't want to know, honestly. It was some sort of small building at the middle, with a V of billboards spanned out on either side, each screaming, proselytizing, shrieking in a rage of religious insanity, beyond faith, beyond fellowship. Just...terror.

I was raised in the Quaker faith and find most religious processes a bit too exotic for my taste (the first time I went to Mass as a child I was petrified), but extremist evangelicals are downright scary. I do not see God anywhere in their frenzied, bullying rhetoric. I see mania, fear, and a manipulative power play so evil the Devil himself would be impressed.

The sight of so much harried screeching in the name of God made me unhappy, but I soldiered on to Glacier. I would be healed by nature's beauty. I hoped.

Lake McDonald

Remember what I said about seasons? Well, I got to the park and used my pass to get in (thank God, or I would have been furious to pay the $30 fee), driving up to the first spot where I could see Lake McDonald, which offers an amazing view of the mountains. After taking some pictures, I looked over the map and found my best bet: Going to the Sun Road, which is the best way to see the a good portion of the park by car. I only had the rest of this day to see what I could, so it was a perfect option.

I'd noticed detour signs on my way to the lake, but only upon tracking back did I realize that the Going to the Sun Road was closed. I followed the detour signs to see if there was a roundabout way to meet up with the road--maybe it was only partially closed?--but it just took me in a circle. I found a ranger who confirmed that it was indeed closed.

The website is full of lies, saying that it is a seasonal closure, but seeing it in person I can confirm that they closed it after the summer season to repair it. The road was already completely torn up from my vantage on that day...so I guess congratulations for next season's visitors? Because there was nothing much for me to do otherwise. I decided I'd had it and wanted to relax at the hotel. So back I went.

The hotel was empty when I arrived, with one person manning the desk and no guests anywhere in sight. It was a strange scene, because the hotel is fairly new and huge. I couldn't help but think of the Overlook hotel on closing day, the guests nearly gone, only the skeleton crew closing up before leaving a small family to fend for themselves, trapped in snow, over all those winter months.

After settling into my room (which was fabulous), I headed down to see what was available from the restaurant. I checked the website but they don't mention the name--I swear it has one and my memory has failed. I didn't feel like going out and figured they probably had something I would like, despite the fact that it was so seriously offseason that it was getting downright spooky. As I went through the lobby and into the large restaurant/lounge area, my sense of isolation was complete. No one. Anywhere. At the back of the room was a massive bar that took up almost the entire wall, fully stocked. The Shining was pulsating through my head (redrumredrumredrum) when I heard tiny giggles coming from somewhere behind the bar...under the bar. I approached on high alert, ready to run, or beat someone with a pepper shaker, who knows. The creep factor had surged to 11 and time was up.

But it was just two staff members crouched behind the bar, watching something on an iPhone. I ended up scaring them, instead of the other way around, and we laughed together at the absurdity of it all.

I ended up ordering spaghetti with meat sauce--it was very good, and the garlic bread was excellent. I spent the rest of the evening watching the Blue Bloods (I know I know) and mentally preparing myself for the next day's marathon drive south through Idaho.

View from my hotel room.

Sandpoint Library, East Bonner County Library District, Sandpoint, Idaho

When I imagined Idaho in earlier stages of life--on very rare, very fleeting occasions--I believed it was similar to Kansas. Mostly flat with a little bit of hilliness here and there, and full of potato crops (instead of wheat), which I assumed were green (thanks Google, they're green). I have seen quite a lot of Idaho now, from the edges of the Palouse up north, to the gorgeous lakes of the Coeur d'Alene region, down past the Sawtooth Mountains, and through the Craters of the Moon. Idaho is NOTHING like Kansas. Idaho is singular. Idaho is spectacular.

Hey girl what's up

I knew this before my trip started...one of the joys of discovering new places is in researching different routes one must take to get from Interesting Point A to Gobsmaking Point B. What I kept crisscrossing over was Idaho--it's a weird, long state with that arm extending upward and separating Washington from Montana. At first I thought it would be a pass through state, one that luckily* allowed overnight parking at rest areas, but my research proved I was going to have to spend some real time in Idaho because it has lots of glorious, shiny, pretty stuff.

*There will be a whole section dedicated to Idaho Rest Areas in another post. "Luckily" was not how it turned out.

And apparently everyone knows this already, as there are tourist towns all over the place, with Sandpoint, my first official Idaho destination after Palouse, being one of them. There's hunting, fishing, skiing, and massive lakes all around this area. I just needed to use a library--whatever they had would do.

My first view of the Sandpoint Branch was not inspiring. First of all, it looks like a converted Best Western, with that pressed metal look common in 2-star hotels and backyard sheds. Furthermore, they were doing construction to add a new wing to the library, so one whole side was sectioned off with wooden planks. It looked like it was going to be a noisy pain in the ass.

Wrong. What a great library. The patrons were all respectful and mellow, the construction was present but muted and minimal, and the workspace was exactly what I needed to complete my post on Mount St. Helens.

The wood finishing and furniture suggested it was an older structure, but from what I can glean off the internet, the building was only recently constructed in 2000. It didn't matter. It was cozy and comfortable and, after a series of cold libraries and cold nights, Sandpoint library's perfect temperature was a relief.

It also had some quirks that I am sure make sense to the community but flew a bit over my head. I loved the sassy Lincoln in the foyer, and the Ode to Famous Art Bear near the front door, but my favorite thing about this library above and beyond everything else: Plants. Plants everywhere. Somebody has a green thumb and she's bringing her talents to work. I've seen libraries with fake plants. I've seen libraries with one live, sad plant dying in the corner. I've seen things in between. But I've never seen commitment on this level. It was awesome.

I was able to plug in and use the space for the entire day, packing up only because the library was closing. It was a wonderful place to spend some time among Sandpoint's patrons, books, and well cared for flora.