Altitude Sickness on Teton Pass.

I woke up at 5 AM in Room 3 the next morning, sweating and sticking to my sleeping bag. I couldn't figure out how to turn off the heater so I just opened the window and went back to sleep. At 7, I hopped through the shower, making sure not to leave even a trace of water on the floor, and ran outside, looking for Len or Larry. I found Larry in the room the drunken old men had stayed in the night before. "Mornin'!" he called. "Ya sleep okay?"
"Yeah, but it was really hot. You want some help? I can vacuum."
"That'd be great," he said as he wiped down the bathroom sink.

Somehow we got on the subject of marriage and kids. "Please, let's talk about anything but that!" I said, stripping the beds.
"You got a bad situation?"
"No, I got a good situation. And a big fucking mouth."
"Come again?"
"Forget it. Anyway, what were you saying about your daughter's kids?"
"Oh, man! Well, she came home this one day and said, 'Dad, this is the guy I want to marry!' I just smiled and nodded and said, 'Okay, Stacy, if that's what you want.' So they get married and then about a year later I say, 'Hey, when are you two gonna have some kids?' and she says, 'Not with that asshole!' So I says, 'Alright.' She d'vorced him 'bout a year later and then she married this other guy, and he is real nice. So good to her. Now they've got three kids! She waited and waited 'til she was 31 and now she's got three."
"Stuff like that scares me," I said.
"What scares you?"
"Starter wives. Being a starter wife. Or making a mistake and marrying a starter husband. Aging, losing my looks and them losing interest. It's all scary."
"Oh, nonsense," he said, flapping out a bedsheet over a mattress. "You're just like my daughter, you two'll keep your looks like diamonds keep their glitter."

We made the beds and he showed me how to do hospital corners. I learned a lot about being a housekeeper that day, like how you can save paper towels and such by using the un-used towels and washcloths to clean the bathroom. I vacuumed and emptied the garbage, and we sprayed the mirrors down. Working together, we were done in no time. "You want some coffee?" he asked, packing up the cleaning kit.
"That's the magic word."

I followed him into the office, where a door opened onto Len's living quarters. Len popped out with a, "Mornin'! Come meet my wife." He introduced me to Cindy, a pretty lady with long red hair.
"So you're the girl who's writin' the book, huh?" she asked me.
"Yes, ma'am." For some reason, I was intimidated by her, like she was your friend's strict mother down the street that didn't want you tracking mud through her kitchen. It was a silly fear, but strong enough to be acknowledged.

Len's daughter lives in a camping trailer in a sidelot of the motel. Her dogs, two tiny Chiuaua-cock-a-poo mixes, taunted poor Dagger into a tizzy, nipping at his big nose with their tiny teeth and yapping. Len picked the both of them up with one arm and handed them off to Cindy, who walked them back to their daughter's camper. "Damn dogs," Len muttered.

"You want to leave soon?" Larry asked. "Where d'you wanna go?"
"I don't care! You're the one who knows all the great spots!"
"Well, okay. Len says there's a road we can take that'll lead up in the mountains and you can see the other side of the Tetons. But first we gotta go take care of Smokey, that's Len's horse. Keeps him up on his cousin's property down in Star Valley."
"Wow! Can I ride him?"
"Uh, I doubt that. He hasn't been ridden yet this year, so he's pretty jittery."
"Damn. I want to ride so bad!"
"Oh, I bet! Maybe we can rent some horses today instead, you wanna do that?"
"Actually, I'd love to eat something before we do anything."
"You got it. But you gotta wear your hat."

He had given me the big white cowboy hat as a gift the night before. "Len won't mind, he's got tons'a those," he had said. "You keep it. It looks good on ya."
I had thanked him cautiously. I didn't think I would ever wear it anyplace but the parking lot of that junk shop. Mind you, I wanted to, but it looked so clownish to me I only wore it to appease Larry.

We jumped in the cab, KC sitting on Larry's lap -- an odd site in a pick-up truck. We forewent the air-conditioning for windows-down and drove up towards the mountains that lay beyond the motel. "This here is where Len's cousin has some property. He's got a house he's building up here, and Len might build up here, too. It's expensive, though."
"How much?"
"Well, they're selling land up here nowadays for almost a million dollars. People from California, they buy it right up. All this here," -- he pointed to a development as we drove through, picket-fence yards and pre-fab housing shaded by the mountains -- "all this is new. And the property higher up the mountain is runnin' about a million-two per package."
"It's so disgusting. Pretty soon there's going to be nothing left. My uncle works for the Forest Service. Last year he and I were sitting, having coffee, and we both... just.... stopped talking and got this weird look in our eyes, like fear, like it's all disappearing. What's going to happen to all the open space? Who's gonna protect it?"
"Oh, I know what ya mean. Did Len tell ya last night about the National Forest land someone wants to buy?"
"No."
"Oh, yeah! Some developer's in talks to buy out some seven hundred acres of the National Forest, and everyone's up in arms about it. But it's jobs. And commerce."
"And terrible. And damaging to the environment."
"You're right. But don't no one listen."
He parked at a restaurant on a golf course. When I see golf course, I think country club. I was wearing jeans, Doc Martens, and a wife-beater. And a big white cowboy hat. "Can we go in here dressed like this?"
"Oh, yeah!" Larry assured me. "It's quite alright. Plus, they got a great breakfast here."
Breakfast? As in, hot and not instant oatmeal? I hadn't had one of those since... Bob and Dean fed me in Watford City, North Dakota. Wow.

The place was quite casual, with the trademark Western paraphanalia on the walls and tables made of unfinished wood. We took a seat by the window and I watched cowboys on golf carts rambling by. This being the Great West, there wasn't exactly a Lite Fare menu. I figured the daily special would be nice. For $4.50, how much food could it be? I ended up literally ordering a frying pan full of eggs, sausage and hash browns slathered in sausage gravy, four pieces of rye toast, coffee, orange juice and water. Sweet Jesus. I gorged myself and still couldn't finish it all.

As is usual on the Western side of the Mississippi, the coffee was weaker than an American Idol reject. Half a creamer and it was snow white. God forbid you forget where you are and add the whole thing, then you're just drinking beige milk. However, now that I'm in the Northern Midwest, I've started noticing little stands scattered across the landscape offering ESPRESSO. Every little gas station, every drug store, every barber shop has a sign: ESPRESSO. I haven't stopped at one yet -- too afraid of the prices -- but it's nice to know that if I want good coffee, I'm not out of luck like I was all through South Dakota and Nebraska last year. Hell, even Kansas had crappy coffee.

Over breakfast, Larry told me more about the divorce. "She was mean. I don't know how else to describe it. It was like I couldn't do a thing right." He spoke slowly, choosing his words. "Actually, since the divorce I kind of... don't know... how to talk to women. They scare me. Not talk to them like make a pass at 'em, but just simple conversation. I just walk on eggshells around 'em, like habit. Like my friend's wives. I don't know how to act around them anymore. And dating... god. I tried it, because my friend was like, 'Lare, ya gotta get back out there!', but he's not the most sensitive guy towards women anyway, but still I tried that phone dating thing and it was just.... not for me. I talked to this one gal on the phone for a couple months before I even met her. Then we went out and -- now I'm not a bad person, so please don't think that, but -- she never told me she had an eye problem. One of her eyes pointed a different way. Now, that's not so bad, and I actually took her out twice, but it just wasn't for me. She was... kinky. She asked me over the second dinner if I liked golden showers. And I said no, so then she said, 'Well, how 'bout a different kind of shower?' You can imagine what she meant -- think urine, but from the other side. Now, I'm sorry, but that's just... no."

It was awkward enough to hear him talking about the date, I could only imagine how it must have felt to be on the receiving end of that question.

He continued, "And I told her right then, look, I can't see you no more. I gave up that dating thing, then I got KC. She's my life -- well, she saved mine. She's the only woman I need. I even told my daughter, when I got her from the pound, I called up Stacy and I said, 'Stace, I found a new woman.' She said, 'Oh, really, Dad?' and I says 'Yup, and she's a black girl, too!"

I had left the cowboy hat in the truck, feeling just a little too silly to be seen in it. Larry chided me for taking it off. "You're supposed to wear it outside the truck, that's what it's for!"
"I know, I know, but I just... I don't know. I feel weird. Plus I have a thing about wearing a hat at the table. Something my parents drilled into me."
"Oh, I know what ya mean," he said, his cammoflague still firmly planted over his dark hair. "I don't like it either, but I tell you what, I got the worst haircut of my entire life before I left to come here. My gal wasn't at the shop that day but I didn't want to wait so I went to the Wal-Mart salon."
"Well, that was your first mistake."
"No kidding! And this gal, she didn't have any idea what she was doin', she just--" He took the hat off and I gasped, completely involuntarily. Usually I'm the person who says, "Oh, it's not that bad," but I seriously let out a "OH!" before I could stop myself. It was bad. I didn't know Wal-Mart did their haircuts with sickles.
"Yeah," he said. "I put this hat on in the morning and I take it off when I go to sleep at night. It doesn't leave my head at all durin' the day. And it's Len's hat! I'd never worn a hat, ever, before this happened. But man, I got used to wearin' a hat that day!"

I attempted to stand up after the heavy meal and it was a process. Sausage gravy rolled about in my stomach, threatening to knock me over if I moved too fast. We trudged back to the truck and I wondered if a waitress at a golf course in Thayne, Wyoming could actually make a living. KC was anxiously awaiting our return and Larry had to break it to her that we didn't bring leftovers. He aimed the truck toward the mountain again and soon we were pulling up alongside a steep corral that ran up the base of the mountain. It was empty. "Where is he?" Larry mused, looking for Smokey. Finally, a large grey stag appeared at the top of the hill, his eyes covered with a fly-guard mask. He took his time coming down to us as we crawled through the barb-wire fence, as if to say, "You guys leave me here all alone for days at a time so forgive me if I'm not rushing over to greet you."

Larry shook a can of peanuts filled with horsey treats and sprayed Smokey down with fly repellent. I stroked his velvet muzzle and calculated what it would take to mount him bareback and ride off into the mountains. His mane was long enough that I could steer him with it, and his back just hollow enough to cradle in. As I mentally measured the physics of the fencepost I would have to jump onto to get the right height, Larry saw the inner mechanations of my mind. "Silly girl. I wouldn't try it if I were you."
Yes, he was a father.

We didn't spend too much time with Smokey, as we both we eager to get to the mountains. We climbed back through the barbed wire and into the truck, KC taking her trademark spot atop Larry's left leg, and the truck took off to the north as magpies swooped from every angle, their wings iridescent in the midday sun.


Larry and I stopped at a gas station for bottled water and snacks before our big drive into the mountains. For once, and for Larry, I forced myself to wear the cowboy hat into the store. I probably drew more attention to myself than need be, because I was so self-conscious that I walked very fast through the aisles and covered the side of my face with my hand, like a true dork. Children giggled and I giggled back, completely called out on my cowboy-hatta-phobia.

Finally, we were on our way. We passed back through Alpine and branched off of Rt.89 there, up towards the Tetons. KC fidgeted around in the cab, making me fear for Larry's driving. We got higher and higher into the mountains, watching out the windows for deer and elk and big horn sheep. A few times we pulled off the road to try out Larry's binoculars on the rocky cliffs, but all we saw were white rocks. We did see one deer, but a trucker coming the opposite direction blew his horn wildly, to scare the animal back into the tall grass and grubby trees up the side of the mountain. Larry was miffed, but I knew it was only because the trucker didn't want the buck jumping out into the road.

The higher we climbed, the more nauseous I felt. "What's altitude sickness?" I asked Larry.
"Why? You feelin' sick? Oh, dammit, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have brought you here." He seemed so mad at himself that I lied my green face off."No, no! I'm fine! Really. I just wondered what it was."
"Oh, well, I think it's when you get up high and the oxygen is thin. It can make you queasy. I got it when I first got here."
"Really? Okay, then I don't feel so bad."
"Wait! So you are sick?"
Dammit. I'm a terrible liar. "Kind of."
"I'm sorry!"
"It's not your fault!" I wondered if this was part of what he was saying over breakfast, about being nervous around women, like he was always going to screw up. "Don't worry about it, I'm fine," I assured him. It seemed to help. His psyche, not my stomach.

At Teton Pass, we stopped next to a viewpoint and sign that read, "HOWDY STRANGER! YONDER IS JACKSON HOLE -- THE LAST OF THE OLD WEST! Teton Pass Elevation 8431 Feet" A silohuette of a cowboy pointed the way and I posed next to him, in my cowboy hat of course. The wind ripped through the pass and nearly knocked me over the side of the mountain. I had to hold the hat to keep it from blowing down the caldera, or taking me with it. Pictures finally taken, we fought the gales to open the truck doors again, and nearly lost KC as she jumped out and tried to run, beaten down by the wind.

"D'you wanna go down to Jackson Hole and get something to eat."
I hated Jackson Hole and just the thought of eating was enough to turn my insides. "No," I croaked. "I just want to go back."
"You sure?" Larry sounded disappointed.
"Yes, please."
"Okay, then."

Driving down the mountain, I remembered Other Larry's advice for getting rid of sea-sickness that he had taught me on the North Haven Ferry off the coast of Maine the year before. "Just look at something that doesn't move. Look at the horizon or the land coming toward you, don't look at the waves and don't close your eyes. Focus on a constant." I stared at the dashboard, which, while rocky with the descent, at least wasn't coming at me.
"Open the glove compartment, there's some pictures of my grandkids in there," Larry said.
I found a stack of photos, school pictures and family reunion snapshots of a huge family. "Yeah, we're all real close," he said, noticing the one I was looking at. "That's why it's a little odd to be out here all of a sudden. Don't get me wrong, I love it, but family's family."

"I think I'm gonna sell my house," he continued.
"For how much?"
"Two-thousand."
"DOLLARS?!?!"
"Yeah."
"THAT'S IT?!"
"Well, yeah." He spoke so nonchalantly. I, in the meantime, was calculating how I could jump on this opportunity.
"How many square feet is it?" I drooled, tasting the sweet promise of equity.
"It's a trailer."
"Oh..... nevermind."

This led to another discussion on -- of course -- the insanity of the housing market. It's such a viable topic, everywhere I go. I told Larry about the backyard buyout trend and the crappy 2-bedroom that sold for $375,000 around the corner from me. He told me about the yuppies moving from DC and New York to Butler, PA and how he thought he could escape it in Wyoming, but was wrong. We shared the same fear -- bring on the Apocalypse, as long as it's got wide-open spaces and no Gaps.

He asked me about my National Parks Pass. "How much didja pay for it?"
"Like, sixty bucks. Best sixty bucks I ever spent."
"That's great, I got one, too. 'Cept mine was free," he teased.
"What? Why? You're not old enough for the senior discount."
"No, but I'm fully disabled."
"Huh? You don't look handicapped."
"Well, I am. I have a bad heart and I can't work. I'm on disability. It was odd, too, 'cause I started having pain and I went to my doctor. And I worked on his car (Larry was a mechanic) so he was pretty straight with me, and he said, 'Lare, I ran the tests and you need an operation.' So I says, 'Okay, what kind?' and he says, 'Quadruple bypass and we have to do it today.' I was in shock! And I called muh wife and said, 'I gotta have this here surgery,' and she got all upset at me, because I wasn't going to be around to feed the dogs that night! But anyway, I had it and afterwards my doctor said, 'Lare, you can't work no more, or it'll kill ya.' I didn't wanna give it up, but I had to. So now I can't really work on cars no more." He told me all about his old cars, how he'd fixed them up for years and how he'd sold them just before the divorce. "I miss them cars, but at least I got my free National Parks Pass!" he joked.
"Well, there ya go!"

As we got closer to Thayne, my nausea subsided. I think being a passenger in a car may also have something to do with it. Maybe I have control issues. But as we headed for home, KC curled up in my lap and I just enjoyed the drive. We stopped to inquire about renting horses the next day at a place that offered unguided trail rides and I considered staying another day in Thayne. Until the woman in the sweltering little shack told me that this week was booked up, but next week would be better.

I was anxious to be moving on, but tired too. Larry and I got back to the motel and found Len in the back of the junk shop, working on fixing up an old tool box. "I thought you were going to fix the ceiling in Room 4 today."
"Yeah, I still gotta get to that. Didja have fun, girl?" he asked me, laughing at the lunchbox in my hand.
"Yeah!"
Larry had left the room and Len leaned over to me. "Well, good. And it's nice that you could spend time with my friend Lare, 'cause he's been pretty lonely since the divorce. I think you did him a lotta good."
"I hope so. It did me good too."

I took their picture and they took mine, and they waved as I headed off into the afternoon sun, bound for Idaho. "You give us a call if you're ever back around again!" Len called. "I want to read that there book you're writin'! Just don't write about how we let you sleep on the bed, that's bad for business!"
I smiled, waved back, and said nothing. "I can't not write about that," I thought. "It's too perfect. I just won't name the motel by name!"

I gave another wave as I drove out of sight, honking the horn and uproariously happy not to be nauseous and to have been able to spend time at the Swi--- oh, sorry, can't mention it by name.