We stop in a small cowboy town called Dubois for provisions. This is the laundromat, the best part of our stop, which included discovering that our salad SIP had tipped over in the back of the camper en route, leading not only to soil and salad greens everywhere, but also to one of those classic couple of hours where two tired people who shouldn't be in a truck together are (what, you thought we were a perfect couple?).
The Tetons loom, the mood cools.
Suddenly, we realize it's Saturday night on a gorgeous September weekend. Where to camp? Jenny Lake Lodge is a not-exactly-roughing-it alternative. We take the last cabin avialable. With this view from the parking lot, why not.
Oddly to us, the lodge is not actually on Jenny Lake. Nor does one stay in a lodge--but rather in small cabins. Where's my water view? (Also, bring the snark, Pippi: the people who populate this place look like commercials for upscale outdoor wear.)
Still, when the charming bellhop Russ brings us freshly made huckleberry lemonade, we understand why people rave about the place. Russ sees me doctoring our lemonade with Absolut and dubs it a Russ Collins. I promptly forget to tip the most genuine person on the premises but rectify that the following day.
In a parking lot filled with BMW and Lexus, they probably don't see a lot of this: Art guides the extension cord through the underbrush from our camper via the bathroom window into an outlet so the camper charges up while we sleep.
Those easy chairs look comfy. Art's happy and I too. Tomorrow: a 5-mile hike around Jenny Lake.
Yes. We did think you were the perfect couple. As it happens a certain spouse in Nuevo Mexico is spitting nails at me (ME! The perfect husband).
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