Day Thirty-Nine, Orange

The day started much like any other. I slept until nine AM. A mere eight hours but I still felt bad. I should be on the road at the dawn. As it was I set out in the midday sun. It gets warm in this part of our land.

Still, all in all, it wasn't so bad. I don't think it got much past eighty. There was a slight headwind but that can be cooling. My walk took me mostly uphill. When I turned at Ravalli I lost my river. The land is drier here. But my feet are fine and I am feeling strong. I hiked the ten miles to town.

The town is Arlee, which may be the biggest city on the reservation. They have got a proper grocery store and at least two saloons. And sidewalks for a good half mile or so. Not a bad little town. I lingered there while my battery charged. Then it was back on the road.

I don't think I made it five more miles. I was stopped on the side of the road. And invited to a new sort of paradise. A commune known as Orange Acres.

Not a commune, precisely. These are modern times. It is run by a man named Jeff. He has a good hunk of land on which he manufactures trailers, sells used cars, and invites travelers to stay for long weeks at a time. After three days he is happy to put you to work, clearing brush and building cabins. From old wooden pallets. He collects them copulsively in a bid for world domination.

Really.

So far there are three or four small but sturdy structures, all with a western theme, in addition to a number of travel trailers and a sort of central lodge with a kitchen, showers and bunks upstairs. That is where I enjoyed a steak dinner and a complimentary can of beer.

Jeff is at least loosely affiliated with an online organisation known as Couch Surfing, a worldwide network of places to crash. I first heard about it from a kid in Skykomish who had ridden his bicycle across America. But Jeff has taken this concept to a whole new level.

He ain't a hippie to look at him. He looks more like a stockbroker of no small ambition. He keeps busy and is an indominatable force. He's a Libertaian. But he also beieves in Karma. So do I, I reckon.

In addition to the fine meal, I met a lot of interesting people. There's a frisbee player from Hawaii with a quiet charm and a beard like Yusuf Islam. There are two kids from England, all shiny and new, and an Australian troll on a bicycle. There are welders and gardeners and three damaged dogs, and one homicidal redneck. America.

I've got a great place for my tent and it's pretty here. I am a bit tempted to stay. It's coming up on two o'clock now. I've been out looking up at the stars. This camaraderie is good for my heart but it dulls my poetry.

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