We went to Lake Coeur d'Alene for Memorial Day weekend. The drive over there in late May is heartbreakingly gorgeous. Swift moving rivers, snowy mountaintops and rich green grass everywhere.
I didn't expect nice weather; the forecast called for 42 degrees and 100% chance of rain all weekend. I packed in preparation of drinking and playing scrabble all weekend. Instead it was beautiful, with only a shower while I was on a bike ride.
Harlow has become quite the road trip dog:
She'll lie down on the "dog taco" in the back seat and do that drowsy dog thing. You know, eyes closed, head bobbing up and down, almost asleep but not quite there.
It cracks me up when she lies with her paws crossed. Such a lady.
The dog taco came in handy on Friday night, when Harlow had her first bought of car sickness after driving down the long, windy road into Harrison. She puked just as we rounded the corner at One Shot Charlie's bar. Not the first time One Shots has made someone toss their cookies. Thankfully the dog taco caught all of it. We hosed everything down and were off into the night.
I've done a bad thing. I taught the pupperoni that two pats on the bed means come cudde with me.
She learned that trick after about two tries!
I went for two 25 mile bike rides over the weekend, and one16 mile dwadling bike tour with Dusty. You've got to bike it out in this crowd, or else risk coming home 1 lb heavier for every day you were out there. My family likes good food.
On my way back towards Harrison I came upon this guy, snacking on an aspen.
We stared at each other for a bit, unsure what to do. He is obviously not an adult moose, but also not a baby, so I wasn't too worried about getting between him and his mamma. Those things will charge you if they feel threatened. So I stood there with my bike for about 5 minutes, willing him to run away. When he didn't, I rode past him as far to the left side of the bike path as I possibly could.
And then two miles later I came across another moose!!! Two moose in three miles. Those things stink.
Harlow, in the mean time, was an exhausted dog by Sunday. She spent Saturday playing epic games of chuck-it, a lengthy game of fetch the duck with my dad, and generally socializing.
By Sunday she could barely keep herself awake to enjoy the fun.
Have I ever mentioned the shack at the lake? See, when my parents bought their place, they also bought the little house next door from the previous owner. Alternatively called "the guesthouse" or "the shack" but sometimes "the shithole", the building has been bike and tool storage, a rental, and all but abandoned. Until my mom worked out a deal with a local handyman last winter; he and his wife lived in the shack rent free in exchange for them fixing the building up. My parents bought the materials, they did the work.
I assumed the worst with this deal. I've always thought the shack was salvage-able; I just wasn't so sure about this horse-trading arrangement. But, to my chagrin, it worked out. Crow makes an excellent dinner, FYI.
There are still a few things to be done, like fixing the window in the door, and a bit of trim work. But it's otherwise liveable and rentable and a cool little building. My parents will have it painted this fall and have gutters installed.
I shamed my mom into keeping the original windows in the building. They thought about replacing them with something vinyl and I was
Overall, a very, very satisfactory weekend. One which makes me rethink my entire career choice. Why didn't I become a teacher, who could live at the lake for the summer?