When The Gas Light Goes On.

It was a classic "get to excited and forget to" moment.

For months we've been looking forward to the first steelhead trip of the year.  The night before I had the truck packed....rods, reels, food, beer, and about a billion flies.  I met my buddy at the designated spot at 4am and we were jacked to hit the road.

Speaking of that road.  It winds through Palouse country and at 4am, lets just say there's not a lot of services available.  I looked down and checked my speed and oh sheet....the gas light is on.

A quick gage check tells me I have 12 miles of fuel left and about 20 miles to the next known gas station.  Nothing like being an idiot, forgetting to buy gas to seriously delay your first day on the river

We were almost to a half horse town my buddy and I had passed a million times over the years but both though there wasnt a gas station.

Oh what the hell, lets check it out.

As suspected, the fill up station didnt have a card lock and wouldnt be open for hours.  After a few choice words by myself, we pressed on through town to the highway reconnect...

I see another gas station that looked like it was from 1955 and dejectedly I drove buy it but holy out of no where does my buddy see a ancient debit card lock on the pump.

Saved in a half horse town by what maybe the first 24 hour filling station in the history of humans.

Shoot, even the pump had the gallon and price counter on the rolling numbers.  It was awesome

Needless to say, we thanked our lucky stars and continued on with our trip, laughing at our luck.

Farm Relics....Land Boat Edition

Abandoned farms are fascinating to me.  Old building, gutted farmhouses, a million pieces of equipment .   Outbuilding after outbuilding and barns.   Oh yes, barns in all states of disrepair.  They speak to the shrinking of the farming class,  children moving away from a rural life and nobody's there to take over the farm when mom and dad get too old.

The land is leased to another farmer and is still in use.  Cattle still stare at you with a suspicious eye and pheasants sneak around just as always.  

This particular farm has my favorite relic.  It's a Chrysler, and she's a beaut.   The doors are open and inside is the June edition of some paper like the Western Stockman and cigarette butts are still in the tray.    My guess is this was a reward for the farmer who finally had some great years of wheat prices and it was his baby.  I can see the dust rolling down the dirt roads, rolling in style on the Palouse. Huge white cowboy hat and Marlboro lit up as Conway Twitty sang away

Today, the land yacht aint so pretty.  Mice call her home and the headliner is falling onto the seats. Still beautiful in a different way as a reminder of a generation gone and a family farmhouse never to be lived in again.

Nature is taking it all back, creating more cover to find a rooster hiding about.

There's a real beauty in ruins