Boise will be Boise

"When we get these thruways across the whole country, as we will and must, it will be possible to drive from New York to California without seeing a single thing."---Steinbeck

Off the great thruway, and into Boise. A town with old roots and new growth and some interesting threads holding the two together. Boise has a history in sheep herding and I believe drinking beer and whiskey are as integral to sheep herding as are sheep dogs and shears. Boise now has a modern history of Mormonism, which generally gets along without any of the above. I was told that the growing Mormon population and its strengthening role in local politics was trying to run herd over the older drinking habits of this western town, but they hit an interesting road block. The sheep business had made Boise a destination for many Basques starting back in the late 1800's , and with Roman Catholicism as a religion, the English and the Scots as their bosses, and shepherding as their day job, it is no surprise they like a good drink. As some of the Mormon ideals began to work their way into legislative edicts, the Basque community united, raised their profile in the community ("The Basque Block" is squarely downtown) and went about protecting their way of life. With my local historian and ex-Marine, Jerry, I raised a glass to these mountain men of the Pyrenees: "Good on ya', fight the good fight!" I was only sad I didn't get down to their Block with its history, bars and restaurants.

As Boise has remained a good place to have a drink, they close several blocks for a "Live at Five" free concert and street party every Wednesday in the summer. This fills a good chunk of town just Northeast of the Boise State campus with revelers who linger well into the night. I enjoyed a good old place called the Tavern, with nice patrons and staff, but who must have missed the "Live at Five" memo and were woefully understaffed. This is where Jerry told me of the Basque, the Greenbelt, the growth of the city and of the 35lb. wild turkey he bagged earlier this year. I had no idea wild ones got that big; I thought our factory farms had a hard time reaching that tonnage. He also pointed me to a quieter neighborhood known as Hyde Park up to the North and West.

Here we pulled up to a parking space in front of the Parrilla Grill, an indoor-outdoor bar manned by a pair of body building twins, one probably twenty pounds bigger than the other, but either beyond adequate to keep things quiet in this small and peaceful joint. The bar was peopled with a college crowd despite its distance from campus. Five attractive young women, possibly drawn more by the bartenders than the microbrews, and a few young professorial types in deep talk. After a few minutes I looked over my shoulder to where Luci was biding time, and watching me closely through the open rear window. I asked if dogs were allowed and the less-large twin said, "absolutely, we like them more than people. Ah, is that your dog? She was breaking my heart staring in here." Luci was the guest of honor for the next hour or so. While I drank Sockeye IPA, which may be singlehandedly responsible for the current hopps shortage, Luci drank from the communal dog dish and befriended all takers. Which was everyone except the professor types, too consumed to notice her desire to join their debate. This was when one of the bartenders, hearing Luci's story, asked if I knew of "Travels with Charley." A Good bar.

We ended our evening there wishing we had more time to spend. Boise has borrowed a trick from Seattle. They tell all visitors that the weather is bad and the place boring. I have been to Seattle a dozen times and hardly seen a rain drop. These are the lies told by a place fighting hard to keep its sense of place. I hope with these lies, the Basques, and the turkey hunter that change comes here only in small and welcome doses.

I chose this post's Steinbeck quote because for the rest of my journey the interstate was an amazing road: I-84 from Glenns Ferry it follows wide rivers and skirts the Wallowa Mountains before climbing the Blue Mountains and then hitting the Columbia River gorge at Boardman. From there you travel the Oregon side of the Oregon-Washington border, the wide and dramatic gash that runs from here to the Pacific 180 miles away. "Interstate" versus "Interstates" deserves the same distinction as "American" versus "Americans." The single example should not be besmirched by the generalities of the species. Next post I'll say more of I-84, this most excellent road and the two big things I would have missed without its help.