Ex-Deputies, tubes, and valleys
If you are approaching Lookout Pass at the beginning of an incipient snowstorm or bout of snow, and if you don't have the right tires, here's the right thing to do: slide into that sign that welcomes you to Idaho, gently, and wait for help. And definitely do this if you have Jersey plates.
So, mileage eh. City mileage, highway mileage, what kind of mileage do you get from your car? Is it a sedan, is it an SUV, is it a truck, is it a "big-ass" truck with those wheels that make you higher than everyone else on the road. Everyone else except for semis? More on semis in a minute.
In the mountain passes of this region, you will not get that cool 34mpg hwy. No no. You'll get (at least I got) something like a whopping 41-43mpg. Simply because you're a fool if you use the gas. Just put it in Sport, let the engine control the braking, and let gravity do it's job. 60-65 mph, easy. Don't worry, that's the speed limit anyway. In Montana (where they did not have any speed limits for a long time), they tell you to "slow down to 65" around a sharp mountain curve. Gotta love Montana. There's no sales tax in good old MT either (which is why I don't bear much animus towards that jerk in the Walmart in Montana who sold me the wrong tires, and little towards that snide fool in Yakima who told me, after 90 minutes of trying to put on the tires, "oh the tires didn't fit, ha ha ha ha"; I still think that guy did something to my TPMS, because he was asking about TPMS when I gave him the car. Anyway, all apologetic to this strange looking guy that looked like a cross between a Trini, an Indian and a Lebanese or some other assorted Arab, the store manager said, "we will refund your tire cost, but unfortunately we can't pay you back the sales tax." Oh cool, Mr. Washington State, Montana has no sales tax. So give me my money and I'll be on my way to Les Schwab. Now that is a tire company. Those guys that work at Les Schwab are always running. Rock on, people of Les Schwab.). Love the Freedom of sales tax free MT. 1 million people, 7 million guns.
Ya, so Lookout Pass. Semi rolls up, in the faster lane left of me. Curious guy, wondering what Jersey plates are doing here (I guess). I mean, why else would you go side by side across 4 consecutive and closely placed curves with a car that is making it clear that you have the fast lane Mr. Semi, keep on keeping on, I got no beef with you Mr. Semi, just overtake me and let us be on our way. But no, we are dancing next to each other in the slick icy rain. Curve after curve, bend around bend. Ok, so we are really doing this? So if you shift a bit, or if I slide a bit, something will happen for sure, because we are side by side? Ok, then. After four curves like this, next to each other on two narrow mountain lanes, Mr. Semi had seen enough, and sped away. I wiped the spray of dirty snow off my window in time to see the next curve, and dive right in. Fun fun. "I was born to be a mountain driver," a motto I have adopted from a dearly departed friend. There's no other attitude to driving in the mountains.
And so, to Riggins, ID, population 539. Blink and you'll miss the workshop and listening room of Sonist Audio and Snake River Cables*. Drive in when the sun is coming up, for some of the most gorgeous views of Hells Canyon and Snake River Valley. Oof. Words can't describe, and your iPhones can barely do justice. Here's the thing anyway: I am not that keen on picture taking for later posting. I prefer to keep the digital screen from between me and the view. It's mine for the moment, to take in, sink into, sediment into the reservoir of memory that I think of as my experiences. I've had a cosmopolitan time of it so far, and Facebook had nothing to do with it (I was only on the social network for 4 hours).
I do take pictures of food though. There's little point to cooking if you can't share. Sucks if you cook for just yourself. Food is for sharing, and for feasting.
So, my first treated-room-cables-on-stands-mono-amps-sweet-spot-spl-meter-calibrated-192/24-24/192-oh yes they're going to be in the room with you experience of this audiophilia thing (usual disclaimer, the tag line is audiology, and I resist that term audiophile. Resistance!). Oh my goodness. Snake Farm, Come on in my kitchen (yes she was in my kitchen and she was cooking!), and a few other selected songs. It was a cosy, carpeted, darkened room inside one of those structures that homeowners have at the side of their house. Some call it the barn, some call it the garage, this guy I know in MA who makes cars and has 3 racers under construction calls it the Barn (isn't it a garage?), others call it nothing. Dim lights, door slightly ajar to keep the room pressure right, and I am sitting in the couch. Transported. Cool guy, gently guided me through each track - here, listen for where they stand (image), here, listen if you can differentiate between the instruments standing back and front (imaging and staging), and here, can you tell where the hi-hat is and where the snare is, and where the singer is (imaging, staging and wet your pants)? Recital 2. Concerto 4.
This ex-deputy Sheriff (hey, call 911, make a cop come) just did the most American (US) thing. Started tinkering in his barn (garage?), and making some incredible cables to transport current, while carrying on the work of a man who ran these tall wooden speakers with a 5 watt per channel tube** amp at audio shows just to make his point, but who is now no more but his passion for making good noise lives on. This thing is what is quintessentially American (US) to me - the guy in the garage (barn), tinkering, creating, and boom.
Of course, passion don't pay all the bills. And of course, this is Also so so American (US) - everyone has to take a second job because your retirement does not turn out to be what it was promised to be, and there was some fine print, and there was this other stuff about how many years of service, and then we changed the number of years a week after you decided to move on, and it was grandfathered in so you were included (Inclusion!) which actually means you are excluded (Exclusion!) from the benefits you banked on when you decided to take the plunge (NOTE: not actual details, but this is what happens when you Bank on Death and Invest in Life - Robin Blackburn, look up the book, and your investments in the future are subject to market forces, please read the offer document carefully).
And while we are at it, have you seen that commercial "I have a structured settlement and I need cash now! Call JG Wentworth, 877-CASHNOW!!!"? Look for the old guy conducting the singers. He's swaying to the sweet intoxicating sounds of singing dancing our future away and JG Wentworth will take a fee to draw down your retirement funds and give them to you now. Oh wow. And there was another one, 'So and so is empowering you to take charge of your investments.' With AN APP. They give you an app and let you play with your own investments in the market, something you most likely have no competence for, and something that app doesn't help you with. I mean, no app is going to make you an investor. Just like that guy who made a mil with a ringtone that made the sound of a shotgun being cocked - he's not going to make you a shooter. Oo that reminds me of Montana and guns, but that is for another day.
But this is America, these individuals standing on their own, buffeted by "market forces," opaque things that wash away lives in minutes, take the years that were put in and remove the years to come, all in minutes. Or seconds, high speed trading. Rentiers rejoice.***
*http://sonistaudio.com/
*http://snakeriveraudio.com/
**http://www.glow-audio.com/AmpOne.html
***https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2017/mar/30/wealth-banks-google-facebook-society-economy-parasites
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