July 5, 2026
I try to select the text of an email address to copy it. The computer beams
Your cursor is over an email address. I bet you want to send an email to the person. Let me open your mail application.
I desperately try to separately copy/paste lat and long from the coordinate search that the helpful devil did get for me '$43.6801° N -114.3644° W':
Oh, but you can't possibly want these numbers by themselves. See, I know what this is. These are called latitude and longitude coordinates. They belong together, including the dollar sign, little circle, the minus sign, the N, and the W. Why don't I copy all of that.
What the computer does not know is that the map you see on the upper right on each of my posts is generated automatically from my post file's metadata information. I place lat/long separately as straight numbers, in my post file, and a JavaScript snippet outside the page does that map showing-magic. But the script no understand lill degree circles °!
Arriving in a nice place is increasing of significance as I age. I've entered the Best Western Plus, or Hampton Inn and Suites era of my life. From camping to Days Inn to them. A life time of changing hotel preferences.
Mind you, this Tyrolian Inn in Ketchum, ID had me bite down on a rubber bone to preserve my teeth when booking for the two nights I needed for my body. They charge an entry level iPhone's worth of dollars for my two nights. And you know what?! The coke machine is all sold out and told me so after taking $2 from me.
I'll say that the reception returned those to me. Plus, when I arrived yesterday, sweating, and tired, I told them my age, and my beloved AAA membership, as well as being a long time, near lifetime member of the Best Western family. She gave me 10% off. Still an iPhone's worth.
A headline in the local newspaper gave me a clue why the prices might be so high. Some "secretive" meeting, dubbed the "summer camp for billionaires," takes place every July near here. Though they are not staying in the Tyrolian Best Western, I imagine. Maybe it's just the July 4 weekend. Even the receptionist was wincing at the price.
The other thing here is that this was Ernest Hemingway's happy place. Where he murdered ducks and other birds. In fact the above shown saloon holds some of Hemingway's guns, and the menu speaks of a shoulder held duck hunting cannon, I believe by Winchester. You got ducks to show themselves by releasing what were called "Judas ducks." Then you fired away.
You know, coming to think of it. Maybe Hemingway put a round through his head in the Tyrolian Best Western? After emptying the soda machine. Maybe that white chalk figure outlined on my room's floor is where it happened. Exciting, yes. But an entry level iPhone's worth exciting???
I couldn't resist a second night at the saloon. This time, in honor of one dead, and one alive reader who used to flyfish in this area, I ordered a fried trout, reportedly from around the area.
I had the sense that these guys might be fire fighters. No alcohol ordered. I need to tell potential fans that their conversation could not be called fluid, or unusually sophisticated. Still... Sometimes: "Who needs to talk???"
My bike, you see, is a libertarian. Let the bike decide speeds. Its six (!) cylinder, 1600cc engine knows what's right. Keep the government out of it. Want to be doing 35mph in 6th gear, and accelerate to 90mph from there without a gear change? Be its guest. My bike lives in 6th gear. Because, you see, those six cylinders want something to strain against.
My bike has cruise control, which I sorely missed on its predecessor. Because, even Nevada has State troopers, cleverly camouflaged in gray cruisers that are indistinguishable from the surrounding desert. That cruise control is my way of telling the bike that yes, of course, 150mph is what citizens should be doing here. But...
For the first time yesterday I found reason to use the hydraulically controlled windshield height. I had considered it a Mickey-Mouse feature. But actually, it was nice to feel the wind for a while, and then not.
My friends at BMW made an interesting design choice. You don't get a fuel gauge. You get the number of miles left till empty. That took getting used to. Because, as you can imagine, the fuel number goes both down, and up. The statisticians and signal processors among you can imagine what's happening. They must be doing a windowed average over consumption. Good idea in some ways, misleading in others. What if riding conditions change onwards ahead?
Give just 5mph forward motion, and its ears, and Physics, perk up. At 20mph it wants to be on its wheels. At 80mph, wind from a truck, or crosswinds that have me holding on don't have an impact. The bike doesn't even shiver. It's like a patient, elderly horse on which two generations of children learned to ride, and stand up while being longued.
All that to say: the most difficult moments are at near-zero. I have to be massively careful then. When it falls, it doesn't hurt me. I just step aside. And crash bars keep harm from the body. But despite a shaming video that shows a slender woman right a Harley, because she has the technique, I need someone. And really, that takes the machismo out of the moment.
Remember I used to enthuse about toilet paper roll endings being decorated as if the last piece was an arrow head?
That's nothing to what they do here: they make a rosetta.
