USA Road Trip Part 4: Idaho-Bound
The Dutton Ranch, Hallmark Mike, Chivalrous John & a Chuckwagon Airbnb
We hit Missoula, Montana and the houses sprinkled about the rolling hillside were really beautiful. And that fencing? It turns out at 40, I admire a good fence. 🤌🏻
We later learned from our Airbnb host that Idaho has a “fence out” law. Which means if you don’t want anyone’s animals on your property, you‘re responsible for fencing your property to keep them out, as opposed to the animal owner being responsible to fence them in.
It was a perfect place to stop for gas, washrooms and breakfast…and, if anyone wanted, a plethora of casino options for your 9 am gambling pleasures. Gas was $3.12/gallon. That equated to roughly $0.83/L USD, or $1.15/L CAD — for premium! I enraged my Canadian followers when I shared this news. Especially since it was probably our oil. Canada is so economically cringe.
There was a bakery attached to the gas station too. Perfect - we were only running on caffeine at that point. It’s pretty much a given that if a breakfast burrito is on the menu, that’s what we’re getting. Just stuff potatoes, bacon, eggs and cheese into a wrap and we’re happy. And oh my, were there ever breakfast burritos on this menu. Like, if you were to see a criminal lineup of burritos and had to point out the American one, it would've been these burritos. Offensively large, cheesy and saucy, looking like heart failure in a tortilla. My ready-to-shed uterus wanted a say at this death-defying breakfast experience, too — and all it saw were cinnamon rolls the size of dinner plates. Why, America? Why? Fuck it. I ordered a huckleberry & cream cheese roll. It came in a full meal size takeout container. I wasn't waiting. Rob stood back in horror as I crushed half of it in line while we waited for the rest of our fatal food.
I’m not one to crave sugar, but catch me right before my period and you might witness me licking it off the floor if I happen to drop some. Back in the Bronco we revelled in the mastery of our breakfast decisions. Turns out at 40, I also admire a good burrito assembly. Rob's had some sort of biscuit gravy, mine had a chunky salsa. We were animals, and we didn't care.
We were Southbound to Idaho, feeling like cardiac ward fugitives. About an hour and a half after leaving Missoula, we drove through this little town that had me instantly whipping out my phone to take a video. I just love it when a town looks like it crawled out of an 1880s western movie...only with pavement...and gas stations.
We were in Darby, Montana. The 406 Saloon would've been a must-stop had it not been morning still. We may have taken it a little too far if we had washed that deadly breakfast down with a cold one. We put Darby in the memory bank of places that would be cool to come back to, and we kept driving. I had my head down in my phone when I heard Rob exclaim, "You just missed that ranch! It looked like the Yellowstone ranch!"
I said, "oh yeah?"
Rob looked at the screen on the dash that had the map displayed, and said "holy shit it was!"
"What?!" I shrieked.
Sure enough, "The Dutton Ranch" was marked on the map as a landmark. Rob hit the brakes, and pulled a U-turn on the highway. We crept back up on the ranch, and there was the signature black Y on the big white barn. Holy. Shit.
The driveway was gated off and warned of security. But Rob pulled over on the highway and I got out and started snapping pictures and videos like the paparazzi. Kardashians? Don't know them. The Duttons? I actually ache that they're not real people, and that they’re not our neighbours.
Rob and I aren't television people. And we could give a flying piece of lint about celebrities or the characters they play. We are mostly clueless during mainstream film talk and just nod our heads and smile to support the enthusiasm of others and their fascination of big screen anything. But Yellowstone? That storyline had us hook, line and sinker - and it played a role in influencing the lifestyle we now lead. The plot, the landscape and the characters impacted us in a profound way. I believe it also culturally impacted society, by returning respect back to old ways, ranching, rural living and the complexity of land preservation. We've been described by many as Rip and Beth, a far cry from our former urban selves. Rob just needs to throw on his Ariat bomber jacket, jeans, cowboy boots and his black Stetson. And I just need to wear a dress and walk around our log home ranting about complicated business matters with a whiskey in my hand. This is not far fetched for either of us. We take it as a compliment, despite their glaring personality flaws.
With an extra spring in our step, we hit the gas and kept heading for Idaho.
You'll learn about my fear of heights later on this series, but that leg of this journey started about here, as quiet, single-lane Highway 93 took us through a mountain pass that wound us up to the top of a range before dumping us off down into Idaho.
High enough that puddles were actually snow banks, and I became an absolute mess in the passenger seat, leaning as far away as I could from door as if to ensure my weight redistribution in the Bronco would save us from death by free-fall off a mountain. There were guard rails though, something I took for granted. That'll make sense later in this series, too.
Mountains make land totally unpredictable. You never know what you're going to see next, around any corner, or as you crest any highway hill, because when we landed on the other side of the range it was like we were in a completely different land. Most of the time while we were driving it was just a verbal ping pong of "woah look at that! - woah! Look over there! - Do you see that?!" between us.
I think road trips are so underrated. People are always in such a rush to get to a destination by air that we miss literally everything in between - a metaphor of modern life. And yet still, we felt the same on this trip, even from the road. There were countless places we encountered in our travels that we could've spent a whole week in, just exploring, but we had to keep moving. We were cramming 7 states into 14 days.
Coming into Salmon, Idaho we were winding around the North Fork Salmon River, with rough cut rock tearing through the tops of otherwise soft green, sagebrush-filled rolling hillsides. It was unbelievably stunning land.
Idaho was already blowing our expectations as it was pummelled into our brains through endless Idaho jokes that there was nothing there other than hoes and potatoes there. Like to the point where Rob actually contemplated booking a potato Airbnb for my birthday. I'm not kidding.
And then we arrived in Salmon, Idaho. Another picturesque western town. Be still, my heart.
We found our Chuckwagon! And Oh. My. God. Instantly our brains began to scurry with how we could start a Chuckwagon accommodations business. We also added this to the growing list of businesses to build. Two days in. Two new business ideas.
Once we were settled, rain started to move in so Rob suggested we go for a drive. He found a road recommended for more backcountry style driving so we got back in the Bronco and headed for the hills - literally. This would also be our first of many encounters of land equipped with signs that say "Watch for falling rock". I'll shut up now and just let the pictures and videos do the talking for a bit.
Dang, Idaho. 💅 We made a mental note of that campground too, alllll the way at the top of that mountain with no one else around - which is what made us go "Huh....are these available everywhere?" As I shared in my last entry, Montana's state and federal parks were still closed for the winter season. So when we learned about the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) sites, the camping game changed. We prefer more rugged, off-the-beaten trail camping and to our surprise once we started diving into the world of BLM camping, most of it was free, or at least super cheap...Hugely popular amongst the van life and backcountry adventurists.
Back in town, we hit Bertram's Brewery for post-adventure beers and food.
Rob asked me if I was sure I didn't want a fancier dinner for my 40th birthday, but I was more than thrilled with a plate full of nachos and a pint. When we walked into the pub, we were greeted by an enthusiastic dude named Mike who told us to sit wherever we liked. We grabbed a small table near the window and Mike made his way over, but not without excitably asking us, "is that your rig parked outside?!" Loud enough for the entire bar to hear.
He was referring to the Bronco, which opened the door for a conversation about where we were travelling.
"So where are you guys from?" He asked.
"Alberta!" We proudly stated.
"Canadians! Are we supposed to like each other?" He asked.
We laughed, and we said, "Yeah, we're good don’t worry."
"I wanted to move to Canada once." Mike said. "But then Covid happened, and I didn't want to move there anymore."
We laughed again and shook our heads, feeling a tinge of embarrassment and shame for the atrocities of the Covid era in Canada. We told him we didn't blame him one bit. Happy to be in the presence of a like-minded Idaho local, the conversation flowed about the great outdoors and much to Rob's excitement - elk hunting. The two of them yammered on about outdoors things, and their preferred rifles and scopes. It was evident that Mike loved where he lived, even referring to Idaho itself as a hidden gem. And I'm pretty sure he'd prefer it stayed that way.
Mike reminded me of the quintessential Hallmark movie character. The born-and-raised small town bar server, rugged and charming. Everyone in the town probably loved him. Stubbornly proud of his roots. Likely hesitant of big-city folk coming in with any business that didn't hold reverence for his little slice of heaven. Yet most likely to end up marrying a city slickin' woman who sat down at his bar in an uncomfortable pencil skirt and pantyhose after a stressful day of corporate travel to this little hole-in-the-wall-town, and order a glass of wine, instead of a pint from the plethora of beer selections.
Hallmark Movie: A Salmon Romance. No, that wouldn't work.
The beers were strong (more like boilermakers - geezus) and we were done after 1.5 pints, and queso-covered nachos (The most American day of food of our journey). So we said farewell to our new friend Mike and rolled our puffy bodies out the door, and headed back to our chuckwagon for the night.
Have you ever watched Seinfeld in a chuckwagon? Because I have.
Have you ever woken up in a chuckwagon to the sound of a herb of sheep? Because I have.
As we were packing up the next morning, a gentleman came through the fence from the neighbouring property. He reminded me a bit of the old western actor Sam Elliot. Cowboy hat. Big moustache. It was John, the owner of the chuckwagon airbnb. He had come to apologize for the sheep, because they had broken out of the area they were supposed to be in for the night, and set up shop right beside us…at sunrise. As John introduced himself to us, he shook Rob's hand firmly with eye contact, and as he turned to me, he removed his cowboy hat and held it to his chest as he shook mine with a slight bow of the head and a smile. A gesture so small, but so meaningful. It caught me off guard how that had felt, to be so respected by a complete stranger, simply because I am a woman. Oh how far we have fallen as society, where these simple manners feel shocking when you ‘re in the presence of them.
Salmon. Elk-hunting Hallmark Mike. 1800s gentleman John. Chuckwagons. Idaho was winning big in our books. I was about ready to send a crew of movers to fetch our belongings, dogs, donkeys, goose and figure out American immigration. Idaho felt like home. I did finally got my period that morning, so I was all up in my feels a little extra.
We chatted outside the chuckwagon with John for a while. He told us he was an auctioneer, and also does work for the NRA (National Rifle Association). I couldn't wait to tell my dad. He told us all kinds of stories, and we were thrilled to hear every one. We got to talking about sheep and donkeys too, of course. Rob mentioned he'd love to have a mule one day. And wouldn't you know it, Salmon, Idaho hosts a nationally-renowned annual mule auction every year. Ha! We had a reason to come back already! We said our goodbyes to John, and off came the cowboy hat again for one more handshake and nod. I instantly felt sad that I might never get to see John again. Isn't that wild? How one encounter with a person can make you feel so appreciative of the impact they had on your life? People like John make me want to be a better person.
We had loved our 18 hours in Salmon so much that we decided we didn't want to leave Idaho that day as originally planned. We actually found an open state campground (Smokey Mountain) at the very southern end of Idaho so we could experience the state for one more night, before crossing into Utah. And off we went in search of coffee, and a road less travelled. And boy was it worth it.
Until next time,
Sarah
Next up, the Peaks to Crater highway, the debut of the Lug-A-Loo toilet and our first night in the truck tent.
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Accommodations & Food
Chuckwagon Airbnb - We loved it. It was part of a small lot with one other chuckwagon, and a few cabins. It does neighbour a farm, so be prepared for farm noise like roosters and sheep! We thought it was so great, that we’re strongly considering providing accommodations like this o our own property one day.
I’d link up Bertam’s Pub, but it’s one of those joints with a terrible website and next to no social media. you’ll just have to go to Salmon, Idaho yourself and find out!
And if you ever find yourself in Missoula, Montana, make sure you hit up Wheat Bakery for a heart-stopping breakfast.
Dutton Ranch??!! Yes!! Loving these accounts of your trip - which I caught clips of here and there with your IG stories. Looking forward to the next one !
I am absolutely loving these shares! I am so invested in this trip and making notes for future adventures 💛