Strange how the universe works. We had some discussions about going to a potato museum. Last night a couple rode in on a Goldwing. So the conversation started. The gent actually works in the potato industry and knows that museum. They both agreed that it was not the best potato museum and suggested we would probably find a better museum elsewhere. Later on, I picked up a flyer from the front desk that contained a multitude of things one must see and do while in Polson. In about the middle of the list was a museum within a coupe of clicks of the Red Lion Hotel. When I started reading it, our plans instantly changed. The magic words about this museum that caused us to react so quickly and decisively were “Iron Steeds & Leather Britches” dating back to 1908. Now how could any motorcyclist turn down a chance to see a 1908 motorcycle. 1908 was only 3 years after Alberta became a province. We now had a new plan.
The breakfast this morning was by far one of the best “free breakfasts” we have had in a very long time. Hop on the bikes, ride a couple of clicks to the Miracle of America Museum.
There are over 3,000 pieces of motorcycle “stuff” including a 1908 Wagner. There was so much “stuff” that in most cases it was almost impossible to get a good picture of a single item. Everything is really packed in tight.
There was a motorcycle with a sidecar that was probably physically bigger than a Smartcar. The passengers sat up so high, they must have had a commanding view of their surroundings. Another motorcycle was specially equipped to pull a machine-gun wagon. There was a retired police Kawasaki that must have been in service very recently as the emergency lights were all LED.
Then there were the cars. Both Ties and myself were astounded at the number of European cars in the collection; something that we had not expected to see. There were sections dedicated to farm tractors and equipment, railroad engines, road building equipment, logging (they even had a fully functional old style plank cutting machine that they used to make wooden planks to repair their own buildings. The museum is just under 2 hectares or about 4.5 acres. To round all this out there is a fifties style fully functional soda-bar.
Okay gents, it is now time for some twisted throttle therapy, so side stands up and go. This time with a tentative goal of a place called Salmon, Idaho we continued south on 93 until the cross-winds, brand new oily asphalt, and the upper 20s temperature caught up to us. Coincidentally this was when we reached Salmon. Rolled into the Super 8 motel only to be told that they were fully booked and so is just about everyplace in town. Next stop was the first open restaurant which was Dave’s Pizza. If your are in the area, its worth the stop. The white sauce southwest smoked chicken pizza is a symphony for the taste buds.
Of course our big challenge was to find a place while we were eating. Calling everyplace on the list from the Super 8 and from google maps only succeeded in increasing Fido’s cell phone profit margin. We finally called The Greyhouse Inn and Cabins, about 18 kilometers south on 93. The call was answered by Sharon, the owner, who was off somewhere at her son’s wedding. She said that she would call he neighbours who are looking after the B&B while she is away. A few minutes later, my phone rang, but we were unable to actually talk to whoever called (Marty). Shortly after, my phone rang again and it was Sharon telling me that Marty tried to call but could not hold the signal and that we should get on our motorcycles and head out there. Gulping down the rest of our meal, we jumped on the bikes and made a bee-line for the B&B. Okay, there was no bee-line to be had as this fantastic road followed all the twists and curves of the river that it paralleled. Arriving at the B&B we were heart broken to see someone being shown the cabins. Luck was on our side and we did get 2 cabins for the night.
The neighbours (Sherrie & Marty Jacobs) who are looking after the B&B were absolutely delightful. In a matter of moments after meeting Marty some reference came up that moved from the Three Musketeers to the Three Stooges. Having no idea who we were or what our names were, Marty looked directly at Larry and said “you must be Larry” at which point Ties and I totally lost it. After a lengthy conversation with them we headed for our respective pillows from which I don’t think any of us saw the beautiful mountain sunset we heard about the next morning.
What another grand day.
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