Slow and steady, we made our way up the first climb out of urban hell, through rolling hills dotted with cattle and sunflowers. Suddenly I took a second look at a pullout across the highway. Incongruous with the landscape, there was a man, alone, next to his plus size pick up jamming away on a full set of drums in the dirt while traffic cruised along. If it wasn’t so risky to kill the Beauville’s momentum up the pass I would have requested we stop to take a photo, or ask him if this is a regular performance spot, or if the acoustics are surprisingly good at this pullout, or is he just blowing off steam on a Friday evening after a rough week? Maybe we all should pull over and bang on our drums without worrying what passersby might think.
Over the summit the Beauville meandered along the Payette River, railroad tracks tracing the opposite bank. I wondered how much they’re still traveled. We passed ranches for sale that inspired brief daydreams of cowboy life and a very cool collection of small propeller planes further down the road. The mountains, cut through by river and road, became more pronounced, reaching violently up into the darkening sky, and stoked my excitement for the days to come.
This morning we woke along the river bank and postponed our daily coffee and writing until the Beauville delivered us further into the mountains. Again, assorted vehicles shot around us one after another over the passes and led us down through the morning fog sitting low in the valley, but no matter, life at Beauville Speed suits me fine.