An A$$hole Abroad: Gab Fest

Who da' ho?

We have reached the apogee of our continental orbit, and it is Moscow, Idaho. They pronounce Moscow with a long 'O,' as in Bosco (not like that Russian city where our president is from). My lovely niece, Gabrielle, is putting herself through the University of Idaho there, and that was a good enough excuse as any for us to drive 3,000 miles. The first thing I noticed was how things have definitely changed since I was a poor, struggling college student.

Struggling college student with her man at
their summer place.

For instance, aside from the off-campus apartment she shares with a roommate, she also has a summer place about an hour away in Orofino, Idaho with her boyfriend, and she drives between the two in her zippy little Lincoln. I don't know if I'm jealous or I just really want to go back to school. Of course, I give her shit about this because otherwise I would just be gushing about how very proud of her I am, and, let's face it, people don't read my stuff for that kind of schmaltzy prose.

Follow the arrow to the haunted hotel.

We stayed in a very hip, restored hotel right on Main Street in downtown Orofino. You know the kind of place: exposed brick lobby, an old-time, draw-gate elevator, a wooden drop box for your room key, and rumors of ghost sightings involving dead cowboys and hookers. I seriously enjoyed the hotel, but it did lack one thing: a bar. Fortunately, there was a very classy place just a few steps down Main Street called "The Oasis."

The White Zone is for vomiting only. Cars parked in
the White Zone will be towed.

The Oasis is the kind of rundown, small-town bar I adore and Wife absolutely abhors. Most normal people would side with Wife on this one. For whatever reason, I crave a small amount of irrational chaos in my life at all times, and the occasional shit-hole, shot-and-a-beer bar tends to satisfy. Clique-y locals smoking at the bar (regardless of laws "suggesting" otherwise), awful(ly) loud music, overheard conversations about how Lotto is fixed, bottom-shelf well drinks, and the ever-present threat of alcohol fueled drama kind of make me giddy. It's just who I am, and I'm OK with that.

If this doesn't work, I'm guessing there will be a
Turtle Soup Special on the menu by the end of July.

It was a slow afternoon at The Oasis, so we introduced ourselves to the bartender/proprietor, Dave. Dave treated us well and even gave Wife the last of his box wine for free (he really wasn't sure how old it was). He eventually even trusted us enough to explain the peculiar presence of an aquarium full of turtles in the front window. Apparently, he had purchased them as pups (obviously I don't know what baby turtles are called), and he was raising them so he could host turtle races at the back of the bar by the 4th of July. And although I'm sure off-track, turtle betting is probably even illegal in Idaho, I don't think that was really going to stop good old Dave from executing an otherwise brilliant plan. Yep, Orofino (pop. 3,000, not counting turtles) is just about perfect to me.

Dam. I mean, Day-um!

On top of that, the entire area between Missoula, Montana and Moscow, Idaho was breathtaking. Pictures of mountains, valleys, raging rivers, and the flock of creepy little cave swallows that nested right outside the window of our hotel room filled up my iCloud space. If you are into epic scenery, world-class fishing, and (apropos to nothing) one of the best bakeries I've ever visited, Orofino might just be the place for you.