The Road Home

Incredible hospitality and loveliness notwithstanding, I was so excited to be heading home! I was like a barn-spoiled horse, lunging forward, straining at the bit, coiled and ready to be back just as soon as I could possibly get there.

I had been in the habit of filling my tank with gas first thing in the morning before setting out on each leg of my trip, but on the day I was returning home, I couldn’t stand the detour ~ I had half a tank as it was, and I knew I’d be stopping in Billings, Montana for an errand just two hours into my day’s journey, and that I could just as easily fill up there.

Famous last words.

The road to Billings was smooth and quick but I got a bit lost while in Billings, and was so focused on finding my way out of town (and on the road home), I forgot all about getting gas.

Now, there is but one road from Billings to the Wyoming border where I must cross it, and it is a dislikeable road. I first rode this road on my Vespa in 2005 and I disliked it then, and it has not improved. It’s two lanes, one in each direction, straight, flat, interminable, and there is always traffic. Lots of annoying speeding cars and lots of slow RV’s and lots of big rigs just doin’ what they do.

I am not a reckless driver. It’s just not worth it. It irritates me when people act like cars are toys. So, even though I was achingly anxious to get home, when I ended up behind a semi that was driving rightright behind another semi, I gritted my teeth and hung out where I was.

There were opportunities when I could have passed the semi directly in front of me, but there was no room for me to fit between him and the semi in front of him and no way for me to pass them both at once. So there I was and there I stayed, drafting a semi that was drafting a semi at a steady 53 mph (when I could have been going 70).

I kept wanting to hate the semi in front of me but every time I tried to, I was overtaken by a nagging feeling that I should be grateful to it. I had no idea why I was feeling this, and so I compromised by being reluctantly annoyed.

As we began to approach the Wyoming border, a desolate stretch of road free of towns and human life, I glanced down at my dash. And I saw my gas gauge needle hanging limply below the red. I had forgotten to get gas in Billings! And now I was in the middle of nowhere.

Obscenities flashed through my mind and I held my breath, held it for ten miles, each roll of the odometer bringing me closer to the town of Frannie, Wyoming, yet also closer to asphyxiation. I reached Frannie. There was an ancient gas pump in a gravel lot with a broken down rusted out car angled in front of it, a futile hope, but I pulled into the tobacco shop across the street and ran in barefoot with my truck idling, to ask (rather frantically) if the pump was functional.

Nope! Gas could be procured 30 miles to the north or 8 miles to the south. But I had at least reached Wyoming, and even though I’d never met the people in the tobacco store before, they treated me as family. “Don’t worry,” said the trucker at the counter when I wondered out loud about the possibility of coasting south. “I’m headed that direction and I’ll keep an eye out for you!” So at the very worst, I had an angel willing to run me to town and back for a gas can of go juice should my trusty truck putter out. An angel driving a big rig, to boot!

And let me take a moment to state the obvious: I can be such a blond sometimes! The truth is I detest stopping for gas ~ it’s been an aversion of mine ever since I started driving. My first car, my wonderful little ’67 Bug, had a reserve tank. So when the main tank was totally depleted, I could just push a lever and then have the reserve tank to run from. But there was no gauge for the reserve tank and I’d push the limit so often, and ran out of gas so often, and had to hitch to a gas station so often, I took to carrying a gas can in my Bug’s tiny boot.

Anyway. I made it eight more miles. Miraculously. I made it all the way to a gas station and it had everything to do with the semi I had been trapped behind for so long. If I hadn’t been drafting him for hours, and if I had been going 70 instead of 50mph, I know I would have run out of gas in the desolate zone north of the Wyoming border.

Moral Of The Story: If you aren’t getting what you do want, perhaps it’s because you’re being protected from something you really don’t want!

Proficient Motorcycling

I just watched a guy pull a majorly dumb maneuver on his motorcycle. One that probably would have ruined his day, his bike, and his bod if he’d been unlucky enough to pull it in front of someone less motorcycley-inclined as I. I always watch out for riders, natch.

But this guy would have caused a major crash, all in the name of looking “cool” or “bad to the bone,” if the oncoming driver had been distracted, slow with reflexes, or speeding. (All of which are very common among drivers.) Dummy could’ve lost his life.

And so I feel compelled to share THE BEST book on riding in existence: Proficient Motorcycling. I read this cover-to-cover before my cross-country departure and I suggest anyone who rides do the same, and do it annually.

If you know someone who rides and you love them, give them this book. It’s straight up, no frills, easy to read. It’s graphic when it needs to be and empowering, too. It’s an education on technique, safety, and how not to be stupid (unintentionally or otherwise).

Seriously, guys like the one I encountered give riders a bad name. And after riding 6,000 miles on a 150cc scooter I can honestly say you can put safety first and have incredible amounts of fun and be truly “bad to the bone” all at the same time.

Proficient Motorcycling: The Ultimate Guide to Riding Well
.

I Like Lichen

A few glimpses of the patio I built!

The Fence Post

I built a fence. I needed a fence to keep Daisy and her disciples out of my gardens and my home ~ Daisy has broken deck boards and patio stones and even tried to waltz right in my open door (Exhibit A).

I wanted to build this fence myself. Mike showed me the steps, he sharpened my ax, and then he reluctantly left me to my own devices. And I discovered I have some pretty kick-a** devices. I built this fence!! A post and rail fence. Posts are vertical. Rails are horizontal. And I do believe you can build one, too, if ever you should want. Here’s how:

First, become a PhD. The useful kind: a Post-hole Digger! OOH! No offense, other-kind-of-PhDs!!! {I don’t know what got into me.} Dig a hole at least 18″ deep. Eighteen inches to two feet will do the trick.

Rural wisdom: the key to setting a sturdy post is to pack all the dirt that came out of the hole back into the hole with the fence post. Shovel in some dirt, tamp it down, shovel in some more, tamp it down some more. Do this and the post will not budge.

Hole dug. Post set in the background. I scavenged posts from my neighbor ~ these are treated posts and so, while the visible part is weathered, the part in the ground still looks totally new. Treated posts keep the wood from rotting ~ if you don’t use treated wood, your posts will rot and your fence will fall down and you’ll have to start all over again!

An exception: Cedar posts need not be treated. Cedar does not rot and will last for generations ~ longer than treated posts, even. But there weren’t any of those laying around in my neighbor’s “the-more-you-take-the-less-I-have-to-clean-up” pile.

For the rails, I used pine trees that Mike and I got from the mountain, from a special spot we call the Pole Patch. These are tall tall skinny skinny trees that died long before we arrived to gather them. If you use green wood you will have issues as the wood dries. These poles are about 12 feet long, so I set my posts 10 feet apart.

One could nail these up as is, and many people do just that. BUT. If you nail a round pole to a round post, the point of connection is just that: a point. It’s weak, and the roundness of the pole allows the pole itself to roll, ever-so-slightly, via gravity or whenever someone climbs over the fence, etc. Over time it will work its way loose, eventually pulling the nail out of the post, and your rail will fall off.

The remedy is simple and fun. With a trusty ax, I flattened a section on both ends of each rail. I anchored the pole against the ground with my foot and shaved off flakes of wood to create the flat area. To help visualize: the movement of the ax is similar to a golf swing. The resulting flat area goes up against the post, creating a wide, flat, secure area of connection.

Poles with ends amended.
Once you have your poles ready, you get to nail ’em up!
With really big nails:

I should note that I do not wear giant rings while I’m working. I wear leather gloves. But I also don’t take pictures when I’m working; these photos were all taken on breaks, whilst adorned.

A nail, gleaming ever-so-slightly in the shadows, pounded halfway in.

A big iron mallet, to do the pounding.

A post and rail fence can be customized to fit your needs, materials, and desires. A two rail fence would have kept Daisy out, but I wanted something more substantial. I built an eight rail fence (though these pictures only show the beginning stages and up to six rails), because to me, an eight rail fence is more unique and more beautiful, and it creates an airy sort of wall around the oasis I am creating around my home.

Putting up the first row of poles is key, of course, for everything else grows from there. The poles should not touch the ground and should be level. Nail one pole between two posts. Move to the next section and nail up another pole. This rail will rest on top of the first rail. Then move again and nail up another pole. This rail will rest under the second rail. Diagrams are easier here:

The poles are stacked directly on top of one another at the posts. When the fence is completed, the ends of the rails can be trimmed with a chainsaw so they line up with eachother. This isn’t necessary for the integrity of the fence, it just looks nice. The two bottom rails will be trimmed to match the the rails above, after the fence is done:

The Final Specs ~
Cost: Half a tank of gas to get poles on the mountain + a few bucks for nails.
Length: This fence is 80 feet. I’m already planning another one.
Time: I worked on and off for about a week, when I could find pockets of time between rainstorms and all my other work.

This fence project started as a challenge to myself and from the simple standpoint of functionality but it grew into something so profoundly wonderful. Build a fence like this, and you can build corrals; with a few additional techniques, you can build a cabin.

And now, not only are my veggies safe from Daisy’s unforgiving hooves, I have an elegant structure that I truly love, and which reminds me, with but a glance, of my own strength and ability ~ and what a smile that brings!