Prineville, OR

Made it to Oregon today. Turning south next.

We’ve run into some strange men on this trip. A seeming eighty year old patriarch who still rode his motorcycles and showed off pictures of a kid—his grandson, perhaps— playing a horrible version of “Moon River” on the violin. Sounds interesting, but the vibe was very strange—unpleasant. His little terrier, Lulu, did her best to abandon him and climb into my arms for the ride. An angry veteran, with a nearly crippled wife, told us at length about how he and his friends’ would kill anyone who came to Idaho they didn’t care for. A rail-thin father dressed like a Mormon pioneer open carrying a long cowboy six shooter.

It’s been sobering.

The riding was beautiful.