Such an imperfect day

After a few days of lay over at the Mecham Ranch, hoping to figure out my next itinerary, I leave with some delay, out of my control for once: the car’s battery has frozen because of inactivity and my wheels are too deep in the snow. Calm and smiley, saved by Rick, I leave nonetheless. Scared that I would never go. Even more scared to go. I am afraid because of the snow, because of the car’s unwillingness sometimes; I am afraid of everything , I am afraid for nothing. I don’t know where to go, how to deal with my last roady wanderings, how to organize my last steps. I am called South, I am hesitating between Utah, Colorado and Arizona, but so close to Wyoming, having missed it in December, I want to give it a chance, I make it my detour. A bit like going through Florida to reach NYC…!
On my way to Idaho Falls, I feel a bit absent as I am driving through that piece of Idaho I have already seen. My mind is somewhere else, I am nowhere. I don’t really look around, only when I pass by the Three Buttes, probable ancestors of moon rivers further down. They rise above a sunny sea. Fields around are snowed and because the sun is so low, because it is dancing with some clouds, an ocean sparkles on Idaho Plains. In this giant and empty scenery, clouds are unstoppable, no tree no mountain fro obstacle, and they travel with the wind, they shine and rain in a minute. Weather travels so quickly on immobile plains.
Arrived in Idaho Falls, it almost night time, mechanics are on holidays and the walk river calls for my cold feet, as for my early sleep. I follow the frost along Snake River, still in my sleeping car.

I awake late and warm when I thought I wouldn’t go through the night. I go to the car’s doctor in order to change the oil and check the battery. I am ready – even if still anxious – for Teton Pass and my park explorations. I drive in the snow, empty look since landscapes are foggy blinded. I am focused on my wheels waltzing with black ice, witnessing two cars sunk in the snow after a tight curve, working with shelves and hoists.
I stop, quickly, at Jackson Ville to know my opportunities and I take detours so I can observe some elks and moose, hidden. Then, stubborn, I walk Taggart Lake trail, ideal for snowshoes and country skying at that time of year but not for my hiking shoes. I miss my turn, sink to my knees, get lost and mad. Exhausted, I don’t even glimpse at the lake. I only look at the snow falling through the trees. I only look at the clouds revealing some blue. I only look at a tiny tornado on a tiny plain on my way back.
And I gaze at the clouds pinked by the sunset. I seek shelter at Dornan’s bar, where I am not alone, where my night won’t be abandoned.

I awake, almost like an igloo in the snow, Teton Range still invisible. I didn’t sleep well, not because of the cold but for some unknown reasons. My heart is heavy. I got the sad answer that have drowned me for weeks.
I then ride with my heavy soul and bladder. The sky is low; landscapes, invisible. Except when the bison field shines, like a divine encouragement. I keep going, hoping to find my missed morning in Colter Bay Village, but the place is snowed and desert. And the road after not utterly ploughed.
It is too late for me, Teton National Park is not my first wish anymore… I am tired of snow, fog, invisible mountains, failed hikes. I need to run away from this suffocating scenery. I then shorten my stay. I then flee the brighter sky revealing some peaks. I can’t get a glance at Flagg Ranch, I don’t understand landscapes’ beauty anymore. I truly need some fresh air.
I am finally ready for a last stop in Jackson, to put my day outfit and start new adventures. Light, I hope. Instead, the key gets stupidly stuck in the ignition. And my fragile heart blows up, uncertain. I need a break, a comforting voice and I understand why the car can’t start. I feel better, I let fate ruling my heart again. I drive towards new destinies, brighter and brighter.

I follow the Snake River, winding in between peaks, a blue line on the horizon. I am literally driving towards the light. Snake River truly draws such a peculiar path from Twin Falls to Wyoming, to its reservoir, until it turns into Salt River. It is not always a canyon, but it is so unbelievable to think such a tiny river has cut mountains so widely a road can fit today. Once the snake has turned to salt, mountains turn into the same hills than in Idaho, now borders in between the two states.
I miss my turn and I am happy about it. I keep going on US-89, that already blew my mind in Montana. I trust the river, so beautiful and cheerful in the snowy sun. And all of sun, above a sparkling snowed sea, rises a unique butte, sheltered by an antique barn.
I feel so oblivious until I drive through Geneva, golden under the snow, drawing me a fluffy landscape in the clear blue sky. Thus, my amazement is not completely lost. This tiny piece of Wyoming I am glancing is unperfectly beautiful. Fleeting though.

Because I am already passing Idaho blue sign on the famous Oregon trail. It is sad to think the path is not named after the states it crosses, only because nobody wanted to settle in Idaho, the flat potatoes land. People wanted the Pacific, they wanted the American dream. It is sad but Montpelier tries to make it for Idaho.
And Bear Lake awaits for me, majestic and blue in the twilight sun. Suddenly mesmerized by this new beauty, by this surprising enchantment, I wonder if I saw that lake from the sky two years ago. Because its colors definitely match my blues and my pinks. The lake gets a transcended power from the moon. Cut in the middle to turn into Utah, I remember I haven’t seen an ocean for a month. I acknowledge the fact the lake is my water power to balance my tears.
Going up Bear Mountain with my four wheels is my last gift of the day: such a beautiful view on the lake and the valley rises on the top. Twilight is getting dark but I can still follow tortuous Logan River. Thinner and stronger than the Snake. It is so close to my wheels in this narrow dark snowy mountains, way too big for my eyes in Cache National Forest. And when I finally reach Logan, the last minute of daylight gives me a glimpse of the stunning canyon where the town was settled. I only guess rock contours on the side, mountains tops in the sky, but what a splendid darkness, what a majestic light.