Read the intro first!
and then
read
part 1!
We pulled over to the shoulder at the top of a hill. I don't
remember how I got behind Stefan, as I ride in front of him. I
put my helmet down behind my bike, the official signal of "Hey,
we're broken down and need help", and official signal that has
NEVER worked for us. The shoulder was way more narrow than what
should be on an interstate, and the gravel on the side was thick
and had a nasty descent down into the brush. There was no shade
at all.
Stefan's bike would try and try to turn over and start, but it
wouldn't. And he didn't want to run the battery down.
We
were in trouble.
Cars were whizzing by on the Interstate at top speed - no one
was getting over into the passing lane or slowing down, so that
we would be safer. Is that not a law in Nevada?! I rushed down
the gravel on the side of the road to the brush and called
Progressive Insurance, spending probably 10 minutes just
navigating through endless "for this, press 1" menus. I finally
got a human and I was telling her, "You have to yell! We're on
the side of a highway! I can't hear you otherwise!" I hate to
say it... but her accent was so thick, I was having to say over
and over, "I don't understand you - you have to say that again!"
It was over 95 degrees, the speeding traffic was terrifying, NO
ONE was stopping, not the interstate-loving Harley riders, not
the two police officers going by, no one, and it was SO LOUD. I
was scared.
The Progressive rep said she would start contacting tow
companies to take us to such and such tire center and I all but
screamed "NO!!! Tire centers do NOT help motorcyclists! They are
ONLY for cars and trucks. You have to take us to a motorcycle
shop! And you have to make sure the tow company knows that they
are rescuing a MOTORCYCLE, not a CAR." Yes, I've been through
this before with Progressive, back in 2018, also in Nevada.
You
can read about it here (look for Day Four). She said
something about the industry standard being 90 minutes to two
hours for a tow. I was not looking forward to waiting that
long.
Stefan was trying to figure out what was wrong with his
motorcycle, hoping he could fix it, and as he held the bike a
bit off the kickstand, a truck went roaring by without getting
one lane over and over went his motorcycle. He had undone a gas
line and gas was spewing everywhere. No one stopped - and they
all had to have seen that distressful situation, with a
motorcycle laying on his side and two people rushing around. I
ran over and we got the bike back up with a great deal of
effort. I started standing several feet back on the road, behind
the bikes, where cars coming up the hill could see me better,
and I began making the obvious signs with my heands for "slow
down" and "get over." Surprisingly, it worked with about 90
percent of traffic. It rarely worked with RVs - so screw all
ya'll. And some truck drivers and pickup trucks really didn't
care and refused. But it really did make a difference in keeping
most traffic from buzzing just a few inches away from where
Stefan was trying to figure out what was wrong with the bike. A
dear colleague of mine lost her husband that way - he was killed
as he helped someone on the side of a road with a flat tire.
It's all I could think about.
We dug out our hats so we had something to protect us from the
glaring, unforgiving sun. We drank our dwindling supply of
water. An hour had passed since I called Progressive. 90 minutes
passed. It was getting close to the two hour mark. I had had
enough. I called the phone number I had asked the representative
to give to me, so that I would go straight to a human if I had
to call. It dumped me right back into the "for this, press 1"
menus. Now I was FURIOUS.
I'll cut this story short: Progressive NEVER helped us. The
representative said that no one in their network was available
to tow us, that every person she called said no. But, you know,
she'd keep trying! I never cursed, I never insulted, but I did
yell over the traffic noises "WHAT AM I PAYING YOU FOR IF YOU
CAN'T HELP US?!" and "WHO IS GOING TO PAY FOR OUR FUNERALS IF WE
ARE KILLED OUT HERE?" Etc. She suggested that I could start
calling tow companies and pay out of pocket if I found someone
and then submit a claim and maybe, perhaps, Progressive might
reimburse me. I hung up the phone.
Stefan decided that we could limp the 15 miles to Elko, on the
shoulder, if he could reroute his fuel line - we wouldn't be
able to go over 15 MPH, it might not work, his gas tank would
have to be full, and even if it did work for a while, it might
not the whole way. But at least if we got to Elko, we'd be off
the highway and way safer. As we were talking about our plans
and filling his tank with spare fuel, a man in a car FINALLY
pulled over - an elderly gentleman, wearing a Harley hat. He
asked how he could help, we told him we really needed fuel. He
didn't have any, but he did say that there was a Motel 6 with
reasonable rates in Elko and we should shoot for that. So we
did.
And remarkably, unbelievably, we made it. But those 15 MPH
limping on the side of the road scared me to my core.
After checking in, we discussed options. The part that failed
was the fuel pump, and the kind for the vintage Honda Africa
Twin aren't made anymore. There was a friend and fellow rider
who might have a spare and could send such to us from Oregon.
The sun was setting. Stefan looked a bit at his bike, and some
Latino immigrants also staying at the hotel, with a van full of
tools, offered to help him with the bike right then and there
(so typical of our interactions with Latino immigrants!). But
Stefan decided to wait until morning, and daylight, to work on
the bike.
So, instead, we unpacked, showered, did some laundry in the sink
and hung it up to dry, and walked across the street to a pizza
place, the Pizza Barn. We were NOT expecting much - but it was
TERRIFIC. Really delicious pizza! There were lots of kids
running around - apparently it's a popular stop after kids'
sports events - but they were all so polite ("Excuse me!" "I'm
sorry!"). I commented on it and Stefan said, "Mormons." Yup,
he's right - huge Mormon population in Elko. After our fill of
pizza and beer, we walked over to the nearby grocery for
supplies for the rest of the trip - feeling optimistic that
somehow, the bike would work.
I spent the rest of the night and the next morning on Duolingo.
I was dangerously close to losing my streak, which was well over
500 days. I hadn't built up enough of those gem things to miss
more than two days - and I had missed two days. So I powered
through a bunch of Spanish and German lessons and got myself
back up to a point were I could miss two days. I had forgotten
to practice every time we had wi-fi - if I had, I wouldn't be in
that predicament. And I know having a streak doesn't mean
anything to anyone but me... but after the first time I had a
one year streak, I took a break for what I thought would just be
a week, and it took over a month to finally get motivated to get
back on. I know this isn't enough to speak the language, but
it's all I have going on right now, and it's better than
nothing.
Stefan looked at his fuel pump,
took
some things apart,
cleaned
some things, and couldn't see anything wrong. So he put
the bike all back together the way it was supposed to be, and
unbelievably, the bike started up! I was stunned.
To celebrate the working bike, I announced we would go somewhere
for breakfast. We both rode to breakfast, just in case his bike
failed again. We ended up in the real downtown of Elko, at a
place called Dreez, and holy hanna, what a meal! I had
the
Half & Half: a poached egg served on top of an English
muffin, grilled Canadian bacon smothered in chipotle hollandaise
sauce and topped with diced tomatoes, and another poached egg, a
"country style benny", atop a biscuit and a sausage patty all
smothered in sausage gravy, alongside chile infused hash browns.
IT WAS RIDICULOUSLY GOOD. Thank you, Google Reviewers, for
raving about this place!
Downtown Elko is surprisingly charming. It has a lot of historic
houses and buildings. I wouldn't have minded staying a day and
just walking around and exploring - and then having dinner at
the Star Hotel, which features "Basque Dining." We were so
disappointed to never have a chance to have Basque food in this
entire trip.
After stopping by a couple of shops, trying to find a small
brush Stefan could use to clean some of his motorcycle parts, I
got badly overheated. We went to the grocery store across the
street for supplies and, no kidding, I went into the vast beer
cooler and pretended to look at beer, when in fact, I was trying
to bring my temperature down. I did find this
Kentucky
Coffee with whiskey and vanilla. I didn't buy any though.
Instead, I bought and drank a cold coke.
We packed up and headed to the second destination I had picked
for this trip: the Ruby Mountains. Why had I picked it? Because
the area showed up on Google maps while I was looking at
Jarbidge on a map and I thought, hey, let's go there! It looked
like there were trees and campsites - seemed like a good place
to go. We went back to the hotel, packed up, and we headed out
of town, with not at all far to go.
I'm just going to cut right to it: the Ruby Mountains are
EXTRAORDINARY. I almost started crying when we made the turnoff
and
headed
into that glacier-carved paradise glowing in amazing
shades of gold and green from the trees and white from the
rocks. And
every
valley that turned off the road was glowing. It was
gorgeous. It was more beautiful than I ever dreamed it could be.
They call the area the “Swiss Alps of Nevada." I couldn't
believe we were there! It's just yet another example of how
Nevada is such an under-rated motorcycle and camping
destination. I knew this very likely would be the highlight of
the trip, in terms of beauty.
It was a Saturday, so I was scared the campground would be full.
We chose Thomas Canyon Campground, and
got
probably the very best spot in the entire place, far from
the entrance but near the bathrooms (vaulted toilets). It wasn't
full, but it was early and I was pretty sure the place would
fill up (it did by nightfall). I rode back to the entrance of
the campground so I could pay the fee, and I was glad to see
this
sign of welcoming and inclusion. I think they should add
to it though, asking people to please be respectful of staff and
each other.
Since it was so early, and since I had overheated, we unpacked,
set up the tent, changed out of our biker clothes, and
I
took a bit of a nap under a tree. At this higher
elevation, I felt so much better.
As I lay there,
looking
up at the golden leaves and blue sky, I thought about how
lucky I am: to have the resources to do this, to have Stefan in
my life... give me a beautiful place to camp, good weather and a
nearby vaulted toilet and I'm pretty much all set. It feeds my
soul.
I also glanced over at my boots and realized
the
soles were coming apart. DAMN IT! I've had these Irish
Setter steel toed work boots since I bought my KLR in 2011. They
have been awesome boots, giving me the height I need for the
bike but also comfortable enough for short hikes. I have to have
boots that add to my height, and these are the ONLY boots I've
found that do that but that I can still walk in. Unfortunately,
they cannot be resoled - boots are made now in a way that does
not allow their soles to be replaced. Welp, they'd have to hold
on until the end of the trip - a frightening thought, as
Stefan's hiking boots started off this way when we were in
Guatemala and deteriorated by the end of the trip, held together
by duct tape and prayers.
Stefan put up
our
travel banner for the first time - it's a drawing I made
of me and Stefan and our motorcycles, with our flags of
nationality and our web addresses. I had this made a couple of
years ago. I wanted something much smaller, but couldn't find
anywhere to get that done. I wanted something to encourage
people to visit our web sites and to make it clear - we're long
distance motorcycle travelers! This was the only time we
displayed it though - not sure why. I always forget that we even
have it. A couple of people stopped when they saw it and we got
to have some nice chats.
We put on our light weight hiking pants and the rest of our
motorcycle gear to head up the road - the Lamoille Canyon Scenic
Byway - to its end. It was a gorgeous ride, with Stefan stopping
over and over for photos. The glaciers did
a
magnificent job of carving out this area. Every turn
presented a new,
golden
view. The
Fall
colors were amazing. We could have spent all day taking
photos.
You may wonder why we don't have the usual photos of me riding
through all these beautiful scenarios, from Stefan's point of
view. Stefan's older camera, powered by double A batteries,
finally gave out for good. It's much easier to take photos from
it, since it's just turn on, point and shoot, and it's much
smaller than a smart phone. I'm not crazy about him taking
photos while he's riding - I would prefer he would buy a helmet
camera and take photos from that. But I admit to loving to see
the photos after a trip.
The byway ends in a parking lot, which has a trail head and
vaulted toilets. As we pulled in to the almost full parking lot,
I saw two guys on KTMs - and I rode over to them and parked next
to them. And then thought, damn, what am I doing, do I really
want to be insulted AGAIN by snobby ADV bikers? Luckily, they
were not at all snobby ADV bikers, they were friendly, happy to
see us and happy to chat. They had ridden up just for the day
from their campsite at Wild Horse, more than 80 miles away,
thinking that Thomas Canyon Campground would be full - and were
really disappointed to hear it wasn't and they hadn't brought
all their stuff. I was disappointed too, because they were the
antithesis of the other guys and it would be nice to have an
extended conversation. We talked about that we had been to
Jarbidge, and one of them asked which roads we took in and out.
I smiled sheepishly and said, "We did the easy road both ways -
I'm just not good enough for that other road." And the guy said,
"Oh, that road is AWFUL. I did it once and dropped my bike, like
15 times! I'm not kidding! It's NOT fun." Oh how I needed that
validation!
We said our goodbyes to the other riders, took more photos, and
headed back to the campground. We parked at our campsite, I got
my walking stick and we did a little hike around the entire
campground, touring both loops. It's a lovely place, and sites
were filling up. I love my walking stick SO much - it made
hiking on this trip so much easier than it would have been
otherwise.
I had wanted to take a dip in
a
beautiful pool of water in the river that ran through the
campground, so once we got back to our site, I changed into my
bathing suit and put my dress over it, and a towel around my
neck, and we walked back to it. But by then, it was overrun with
really annoying little kids - they were "
fishing"
but were, in fact, just torturing fish and delighting in
watching them die after they caught them. It was not something I
wanted to witness.
We walked back to our campsite and explored a bit behind us,
finding that a brand of the river was running there too. It was
damned up with rocks in certain spots, so
I
carefully removed enough rocks to break up the dams, both
to allow fish to move more freely and to break up some of the
small pools that were getting stagnant.
Not sure when it happened, but
Stefan
took this photo of me. It's my very favorite photo from
the trip.
Sunset was amazing. The starry sky was amazing. The very loud
party nearby with pulsating music broke up well before 9, and I
kept my cool while the campers next to us yelled insults at
their dog and sniped at each other. We sat out at the picnic
table after our supper and saw several meteors, some of them
with VERY long tails, one that turned green and blue as it burnt
away in the atmosphere.
It was cold in the night, but not freezing. We loved it. It was
one of the most magical times on this entire trip. And now, our
trip was half done. We had done so much in just a week out, as
usual - what would the next week bring?
I was so, so happy camping. I love camping. And I love these
places where we camped. But there was something really bothering
me: how much I was having to get up in the night to pee. Sorry
to get graphic, but I think it's something you need to know if
you are going to camp. Now, we have to get a campsite within a
reasonable walking distance to a pit toilet. I am not going to
pee all around a campsite - that's just beyond disgusting for
the environment. But it means we have to get to campsites early,
and I absolutely have to have my headlamp somewhere I can find
in the dark as I lay in my sleeping bag. At home, I get up once
or twice. Camping, I get up four to six times. And I'm old and
fat - it's hard getting up and down off the ground.
We had the option of going further South - the Ruby Mountain
Wilderness had enough to tour for a full second day, and lots of
camping. But we were both so tired of the heat. The heat was
wiping me out. We packed up and went back to Elko for breakfast
and weather reports. There was a coffee shop near our hotel from
two nights previous, so we went there. We looked at weather
forecasts for where we were, for further South and further
North, both the daytime and at night. I wanted a place that
wouldn't be over 95 in the day but wouldn't be below freezing at
night. And that's not at all easy in this part of the world, at
this time of year. I remembered that there were two state parks
quite close to Bruneau, and that area is so beautiful, so I
suggested we go back there, and stay somewhere we never had
before.
We left Elko and
eventually got on to state road 225, headed North. Before we got
to Wild Horse Lake, I saw a sign for a road to the right - "To
Jarbidge." I looked it up later and it's the road that the owner
of the Outdoor Inn tried to convince us to take, and probably
the one that the guys we met the day before said he dropped his
bike on 15 times.
I wasn't at all impressed with the area leading up to Wild Horse
Lake, nor the area around the lake: no trees, no shade, just a
big ugly man-made lake, and it looked like it was receding, that
it didn't have as much water as it had been designed to have.
But when we got passed the lake and into the canyon craved by
the river that fed the lake - WOW. The image at right will give
you an idea of how much fun the road was, at least for a while.
Nothing like a twisty road through a canyon!
That's the thing about riding in this area. You think that it's
all just boring, rolling hills. But, as I noted in part one,
there's actually hidden, deep, twisty canyons here and there -
those are why the immigrants/colonizers coming in on covered
wagons from the East had such a hard time getting into the West.
At one point on our trip, I saw a gravel road that looked like
it was leading into a canyon and we decided to take it and check
things out. Alas, the road turned off right at the canyon
entrance and veered off in another direction.
We
stopped and took a break anyway and I hiked in on a cow
path for a bit, just to
see
how far into the canyon I could go.
Before we got to the Duck Valley Reservation, I saw a sign at a
gravel road going to the right, and there was a sign that said
"to Jarbidge." It was National Forest Road 016 to Jarbidge, yet
another back road to the town. It connects with the road we came
into the town on, just South of Murphy Hot Springs. Not sure how
difficult it is - I'm sure it's an *ss kicker.
We pressed onward, and before the Nevada border, we were on the
Duck Valley Reservation, made up of Shoshone and Paiute Tribes.
There is a grocery store and gas station on the Nevada side,
thank goodness, and a soon-to-be open Ace Hardware. The grocery
was shockingly light on fresh produce, but I was able to buy two
apples - our healthy food of choice for the road. There's a
small cafe next door with mostly fried food (no fry bread,
however), but they did have some ready made salads that actually
looked pretty good, so I had that. There's NO other gas options
in this area - we had extra gas, and could have made it to the
next station, very far away, but we both needed a break from
riding as well. It was really hot outside, but tolerable in the
shade.
Even if you don't need anything, if you are in this area, on
this road, please stop here and buy something: the Duck Valley
Reservation really needs this grocery store and gas station, and
your patronage can help it be sustainable.
A local elder stopped for a chat with us as we were preparing to
leave. He said he'd
had a Harley but sold it because, for two years, millions of
flightless insects known as Mormon crickets had invaded the area
and made it impossible to ride - the roads were too slick with
their dead bodies. We had heard a similar story from the
waitress in Jarbidge as well. YUCK. I'm so glad to have missed
that.
From Wikipedia: The Shoshone-Paiute Tribe of Duck Valley is one
of five federally recognized tribes in Idaho, each of which have
reservations. The others are the Coeur d'Alene, Kootenai Tribe
of Idaho, Nez Perce, and Shoshone-Bannock. It is one of several
federally recognized tribes in Nevada. President Rutherford B.
Hayes established the Duck Valley Western Shoshone Reservation
in 1877. It was also used for Northern Paiute people. Local
settlers and some politicians tried to force the tribal members
off the valuable Duck Valley lands in 1884, suggesting they
should join their Western Shoshone kinsmen at the reservation at
Fort Hall, Idaho. The bands' chiefs successfully resisted these
efforts to be displaced from their lands. Meanwhile, the
Northern Paiute band joined with another branch of Shoshone in
the Bannock War of 1878 - you will see a few historical signs
marking this war if you travel on our route. Survivors were sent
to a prisoner-of-war camp in Yakima County, Washington. Upon
their release, the Northern Paiute returned to the Duck Valley.
President Grover Cleveland expanded the reservation to
accommodate the Paiute. President William Howard Taft expanded
the reservation to its current size in 1910. It was unusual to
have two federal government actions to enlarge the reservation
after it was established; most federal actions have been taken
to reduce the size of reservations.
At the border, Nevada's state road 225 becomes Idaho state road
51. It was a rather boring ride from the grocery, and the heat
was getting to me. We stopped again at Bruneau, at the Bruneau
One Stop, for a rest, a cool off and a pee break. Then we headed
in the direction of the Three Island Crossing State Park, not
too far from Bruneau State Park. We were trying to avoid having
to get onto the Interstate, so we took a frontage road and
series of side roads - and ended up hopelessly lost on a really
difficult gravel road that didn't actually go to the state park.
Let's face it: GPS devices aren't super reliable, because they
show roads that aren't really roads, they show roads being
connected that aren't, they imply there are bridges over a river
that aren't there, or don't tell you there's a bridge there when
there is, and on and on.
We backtracked, got onto the Interstate for just a bit, and
finally found our way to the little town of Glenn's Ferry, and
then the state park. It's a beautiful state park with
terrific views, wonderful hiking, and an outstanding
museum about the Oregon Trail. We chose the upper campground -
it has better views of the Snake River. Had we known the
Y
Knot winery was right next door, and that they had live
music and dinner on Friday and Saturday nights, I might have
pushed that we go - it has its own trail from the campground.
After setting up
our
campsite and
plugging
in our devices (all campsites have electrical hookups),
and even though night was falling, we decided to take a hike
through the park, down to the day use area and then back up. It
was beautiful! I would really like to go back and hike in the
day time and enjoy the winery.
Back at the campsite, the wind started to pick up. And then it
got CRAZY windy, so windy that I was afraid it would tear the
tent apart. Wind can make so many travel experiences absolutely
miserable. Getting up in the night to use the bathroom was a
challenge: the moment I unzipped the rain fly, the loose side
would start flapping madly, and I struggle to get up off the
ground quickly, so the sound was loud and the flapping fabric
kind of scared me a little - I was afraid it would hit me and
afraid it would rip off. And I had to get up in the night six
damn times. Plus, I was having horrific nightmares, none of
which I remember now, but when I have a lot of nightmares, I'm
exhausted the next day.
The next day, the wind had, thankfully, calmed down
significantly, and we had gone to bed early enough, and slept
late enough, that I felt rested. I suggested we ride into the
little town of Glenn Ferry and have breakfast. The only place
open was the Lobby Bakery, right next to the Historic Opera
Theater. They didn't have any breakfast other than a few baked
goods, but it was nice to just sit and enjoy the coffee and
wi-fi and talk with the woman who came in wearing Star Wars
sweat pants.
While sitting at the cafe, enjoying my coffee and whatever I was
eating, I read that Kris Kristofferson died. And I felt like I
would never stop crying. I could not speak. A million images and
songs washed over me. I have no idea how to put into words how
much this guy was present in my life, all my life, from music to
movies to TV interviews and performances to stories friends told
me that interviewed him.
Eventually, I pulled myself together. Mostly. Every time we go
on a motorcycle trip, someone I LOVE, someone I cherish from the
movies or from art or something, dies, and I end up crying in a
restaurant and making everyone uncomfortable.
I would love to have had a look inside at the Historic Opera
Theater next door to the cafe - I love historic theaters, and
dream of funding them when I win the lottery. We went up to a
grocery store and gas station, across the street, I saw the
Equine
Gnathological Training Institute. Having no idea what
Gnathological
meant, I took a photo of the sign so I could look it up later:
gnathology
is the study of the masticatory system.
Masticatory or
mastication
is the process by which food is crushed and ground by the teeth.
The more you know...
We bought some supplies from the grocery and Stefan took the
opportunity to
add
some oil to both bikes. I wondered when we would need to
take a break for Stefan to tighten the chains of the bikes on
this trip but, surprisingly, we never needed to do that.
We headed back to the campground and the front booth had a staff
person in it. I told him we had camped there the night before,
in spot such-and-such, and we were back to pack up and leave.
And he said "Oh, YOU'RE the people in spot such-and-such." We
later realized that not only was the campground fully booked for
oncoming night, but we were supposed to have checked out
earlier. Oops! We loaded up and headed down to the Oregon Trail
museum.
I am not at all into Oregon Trail lore. The museums and displays
I've seen, plus the lessons from back in my school days, are
inaccurate and attribute super human qualities to people who
were, in fact, not heroes and, very often, harmed and displaced
the natives of the areas where they wanted to "settle". Most
travelers on the Oregon Trail were middle class or already
successful people - they thought they could be even more
successful if they sold everything and went West. I really don't
like the mythic portrayals. But, hey, it's a history museum, I'm
here, let's check it out. I'm so glad we did! It's not at all
like those other museums or the lessons from my childhood: it
provides
a
much more accurate depiction, and one that talks about the
migration from the native's point of view, and
dispels
several myths. There's also a lot about the current
residents. Loved the
wagon
outside, loved
the
view of the actual settlers crossing, loved
the
items on display inside, loved
hearing
and reading the words of current residents.
We had to get back on the Interstate again and ride almost to
Boise, where we would exit and head North. On the way, we
decided to exit at Mountain Home. Stefan told me in our
communications system to pick a place to eat, and I really
didn't want a chain restaurant or a convenience store. So I
headed into Mountain Home and
found
a food pod. And we got to have very decent burritos from a
very nice lady who called me "sweetheart." Travelers, remember
that, in the USA, if you will pass the fast food places right
next to the highway and go closer to the center of the town, you
will very likely find a food cart, a food pod or a
locally-founded restaurant that will have MUCH better food and
be an all-around much better experience.
We intended to stay in Idaho for the next few days, and we were
intending to camp that night along Arrowneck Reservoir. We had
to stay on the Interstate for a while and just before we got
into Boise, we got to exit the highway and head up state road 21
into the mountains. We passed a very affluent neighborhood and
then one that almost got eaten up by a fire. The area was rural
but a lot of very chic people were about, jogging. We passed
Lucky Peak State Park and then climbed up quite a bit and, at
last, turned off the road for the road along Arrowneck
Reservoir. But instead of a beautiful lake, it was a really
unattractive canyon with a lower than normal water level, which
left the ugly steps of erosion exposed in the canyon. Nothing
scenic about it. And then we got to the campground - and it was
closed. So we decided to turn around and go back the way we
came, to the state park. And so we did. And, surprise, there was
no campground. We had no cell service so we didn't know if there
were more campgrounds on 21, so we road back towards Boise and
into a very upscale neighborhood, where we had phone service. We
started looking at Google Maps. There looked to be plenty of
national forest campsites farther north, past the turnoff for
the reservoir, but would they be open?
We took our chances and back up we went. We ended up at
Grayback
Gulch Campground. It was wonderful! It's up in the hills,
well away from the road, has a water pump (with a
very
interesting system for pumping), plenty of clean, well
stocked
vaulted
toilets that looked like little cabins, and camp sites
that are quite far apart. We walked around the campsite, both
for exercise and so that Stefan could scrounge firewood from the
empty campsites' fire rings. We ended up having a lovely
conversation with some other campers and ended up with a lovely
and much-needed warming fire for the evening. And, once again, a
gorgeous night sky full of stars. It was cold in the night - but
still not freezing. I was glad we came on the night we did -
our
campsite was reserved for the nights before that one and the
nights after.
There were four other campsites occupied, two with RVs and two
with tents, and one of the tent sites had a couple we are sure
were homeless. I hoped they were well equipped for the colder
nights. I hope they are headed South and have a designation in
mind.
We made breakfast and headed out - and I quickly realized the
mistake we'd made: I so wish we'd known that
Idaho
City, just a few miles up the road, is a historic town
with many of its beautiful original houses and buildings still
standing, and a couple of places for coffee and breakfast. But
we didn't until we got there. DAMN! I love historic towns so
much, and this town would have been several dozen photos and
probably a great story. We did ride through it, but we pressed
on without stopping. We should have stopped.
State road 21 is also known as the Ponderosa Pine Scenic Route.
It is indeed, scenic. BEAUTIFUL. If you can take it, by all
means, take it! I love those moments on a motorcycle trip when
we are on a beautiful, twisty, forested road, and there's little
other traffic, and the weather is clear and beautiful, and my
motorcycle is humming along beautifully. There's nothing better.
I cherish it every time. And I was cherishing it this time.
We were in Boise National Forest, and now on a part of the road
we were on years before. We got to Lowman and turned off onto
Banks Lowman Road, and before we got to Banks, we went North on
State Road 55. We passed some national forest campgrounds, but
they were all closed - which confused me. Most national forest
campgrounds don't close until the middle of October, and some
not until the first weekend in November. There was a lot of road
construction going on - was that why? Or was it the nearby
forest fires? I was so glad Grayback Gulch Campground hadn't
been closed!
We stopped for lunch at
Cougar
Mountain Lodge in Smith's Ferry. It's both a restaurant,
hotel, convenience store and a bit of a museum. The owner
generously let us go look in the closed back dining room, which
had
antique
cabinets filled with antique medicine from the turn of the
century and some tables with
decorations
to make them kinda sorta feel like covered wagons. Stefan
took
close
up picture of the cabinets so we could read the labels
later and maybe look up some things to see what they are. The
whole place is for sale. You have to really like yourself to
work somewhere like that.
We continued on and almost immediately the forests started
thinning out and we were in cowboy country again - less trees,
lots of ranches. And the closer we got to McCall, Idaho, the
nicer the houses were getting. Once we got to the city, we knew
we were in a place like Lake Chelan, Washington, or Sun Valley,
Idaho or even Jackson Hole, Wyoming. We were headed to Ponderosa
State Park.
We followed the signs to the park and pulled in and were shocked
that only the RV loops were open. We pulled into an open loop
and it took a while to find a site - there were no sites near
the bathrooms, and many of the sites were "double" sites, where
two RVs could park together. Stefan started to unpack and
setup
and I walked over to the pay station. And I couldn't believe
what I was seeing. We're tent campers, but they expected us to
pay more than $80 for the night? I refused. I paid the
out-of-state tent price for staying in a different loop - which
was still $48!!! Added outrage: no hot water in the bathrooms
(thankfully, there was warmish water in the showers, which were
not extra) and there was some really loud gathering going on in
a nearby group camping loop with music pounding until 9 p.m. We
also never got a visit from a camp host. This is the most
over-rated, over-priced state park I have ever been to. Do NOT
recommend.
Stefan said that, in his shower, there was a spider about half
the size of a wolf spider. I cannot imagine finding that -
especially after I had undressed.
The bright spot was that there was a guy in an RV with a TON of
firewood, and when Stefan went over to ask where he bought it,
the guy just gave him a bundle, for free. So we had a very nice
fire that night, one we needed - it was very cold at night,
though still not below freezing. Stefan brought one of my
panniers near the fire, so I could sit close to it and be warm.
The woman next to us had a dog, and I was missing Lucinda SO
MUCH, so when her dog came bounding over, I was SO happy.
The next day, I figured, hey, we're in a posh city, let's go
find a great place for breakfast. We found it quickly - the
Fogglifter Cafe. I had my usual biscuits and gravy, because IT'S
WHAT I DO. I wish I had asked what music they were playing - it
was awesome. And the wi-fi was decent, so I got my Duolingo
lesson in. After breakfast, we drove along the water, passing
gorgeous homes and tidy logging-themed architecture and I kept
saying "Ooh la la." I'm sure Stefan was getting sick of it. But
the wealth on display... shew!
We would be leaving Idaho that day. We decided to go down US 95
to Cambridge, and though we've done it at least twice before,
once in each direction, and go on 71 through Hell's Canyon and
above
the lake. We hadn't done this road in a few years, and
Stefan hates repeat trips, but I like them if I've had a few
years since the last time I was there, and I had. And this ride
was so worth it - an absolutely gorgeous drive in perfect
weather. And what a difference experience makes - while my heart
was beating fast as we rode far above the canyon, I wasn't
terrified the way I was years before. I anticipated some really
sharp, challenging curves and was surprised that none were as
difficult as I remembered.
It was too early to stop to camp at Copperfield Campground, as
we have a couple of times before over the years, so we pushed
on. We took National Forest Road 490 to the
Hell's
Canyon Overlook. I remembered the road from the national
forest road to the overlook as being absolutely terrifying back
in 2018 when I first rode it. I remember the turns being endless
and the incline being difficult. Stefan said that I was
completely freaked out for all of 490 back in 2018, not just
this route to the overlook. I went back and
read
my travelogue from that time and, indeed, I had found the
road super difficult. This time?
I
loved it. I enjoyed it. It was fun! It's so amazing what
experience can do.
We
lingered at the overlook for quite a while - the weather
was perfect, and we had it all to ourselves. But, at last, we
pressed on, and just as we were leaving, people were pulling in,
so I was very happy with our timing. We continued down 490 and
there were, once again,
cows
on the road. In the USA, when you see open range signs,
take them seriously! And you may go through a dozen such areas
and never see a cow - but don't assume that's how it will be
every time. And note that, if you hit a cow, not only will you
probably total your motorcycle, you have to pay for the
cow!
We headed down the road and into the town of Joseph, stopping at
the grocery for supplies and firewood, and then on to Hurricane
Creek Campground, where we camped back in 2022 and had loved so
much.
We
camped in the same spot we had two years before, because
it's
near
the bathroom and it's not tree-covered, unlike the others
- we were hoping we'd get sun on our campsite in the morning.
After putting up our tent, we walked back to the entrance to
pay, and then onward to the campsites I hadn't seen last time we
were there - Stefan had explored them the first time we were
there, just as we arrived, said it was sandy and dangerous to
ride, so we headed to the right instead after getting into the
campground. Indeed, the road in that other direction is still
quite sandy. We were surprised as we walked through that part of
the campground to see a tent set up - we had assumed we would be
alone in the campsite. Later, as we sat at our picnic table, we
met the couple camping there - they were taking a walk through
the campsite. And then still later, a guy drove by on his way to
his campsite, and he stopped for a second to ask about the
bikes.
I love this campground so much. I don't know why. I just think
it's
beautiful.
Perfect. I dream of having an estate and having such a
campground on my estate, where I can welcome motorcycle
travelers and car campers.
The Joseph grocery store firewood bundles had been QUITE
generous, and Stefan broke them up into smaller, easier-to-burn
pieces. He also scrounged more firewood from other campsites. So
we
had plenty of firewood. After supper and once he got the
fire going, Stefan took one of my panniers off my bike and sat
it right next to the wonderful campfire he had created. It was
SO COLD away from the fire, but next to the fire, I was fine. So
happy.
We decided to put our food bag and toiletries in our panniers or
the pit toilet, remembering that last time we were there, there
was a report of a bear enjoying
the
river running through the campground. Once again, we had a
beautiful night sky but OH MY GOD IT WAS COLD.
The next day, we emerged from the tent to see frost all over the
grass, the picnic table and
our
motorcycle seats. It was the first night we'd camped below
freezing since 2011 in Yellowstone. That night years before was
why I bought my insulating sleep sack to put into my sleeping
bag for extra cold nights. And I am so glad I had that sleep
sack because I would have DIED at Hurricane Creek Campground.
Frost came off the tent in pieces as we packed up. My fingers
stopped working. We wish we could know exactly how cold it got
that night.
But I still love that campground.
We went back to Joseph to have some breakfast and hot coffee and
warm up. The only place that seemed to be open was Tackroom Sip
Shop. Do not recommend: the coffee was meh, the staff was
unfriendly, they don't have wi-fi and they don't have a public
bathroom! Never again.
And then we found out the public library, right across the
street, wasn't open that day. ARGH! So we looked up the public
library in nearby Enterprise, which WAS open, and headed there.
Enterprise is laid out like a town back east, with
its
city hall in the center - I've found very few towns out
here laid out like that. And the library was a treat: it's still
in the original
104-year-old
Carnegie Library building. I love Carnegie library
buildings - the library in my hometown is also housed in such.
And just like always, it was calm, comfortable and welcoming -
and had great wi-fi. And it turned out that the couple we had
met at Hurricane Creek Campground were friends of one of the
librarians - she had recommended the campsite to them. We
merrily looked up weather reports and campgrounds, and I
listened to a French tourist who was at the library asking
questions of the librarians as he sat at a computer work station
- I think he was doing the same thing.
While in the bathroom of the library, I saw
a
poster advising women who are experiencing violence in their
relationships on how to get help. I know this is a really
unpopular opinion, but I do like sex-segregated bathrooms, and
this is one of the reasons why: it's a moment for a woman to get
away from someone who is harming her, or wants to, and there's
often info there that could help. We need this safe space (but
transgendered women, IMO, should be absolutely welcomed here
too).
We were on state road 204 from Elgin, headed toward Pendleton.
At one point, I needed a break and just took a random left, with
no signs indicating there was anything in that direction other
than something called Weston. It's quite a sad little town. We
stopped at Suzi's Handy Mart for something cold to drink. Suzi
is LONG gone.
Later, I found out Weston has a fascinating history per its
connection with novelist Nard Jones (1904–1972), who lived in
the city with his parents between 1919 and 1927, and whose first
novel Oregon Detour was set in an Oregon town of 600 inhabitants
called "Creston". When his novel was published in 1930, many of
the residents of Weston were convinced that his characters were
based on local inhabitants, and considered the work a slander
against the town. According to Wikipedia, "While the legend that
Jones was sued and ran out of town for his book is not true,
members of the town made an effort to locally suppress access to
the book: copies of the novel were stolen from the local
library; after the novel became the subject for a high school
student's book report, his English teacher removed the book from
both the reading list and the high school library. According to
George Venn, local literary historian, even in the 1980s,
"trying to figure out or trying to remember who the 'real
people' in the novel is still a local pastime."
There's also a historic house that residents of Weston are
trying to restore: the Isham Saling House, built in 1880. Isham
Saling was the leading merchant in Weston once upon a time and a
farmer. His house was the most pretentious house in town, an
Oregon example of the Italian Villa style and known back in the
day to contain fine furniture. The house is listed on the
National Register of Historic Places (there's a sign out in
front of it, that I saw as we came into the town) and was
transferred in April 2024 to the Weston Area Development
Association. Initial restoration efforts have focused on
repairing the house’s exterior to protect its interior from
weather damage.
You
can donate to help restore the house here. Weston needs a
place like this to draw visitors!
I don't remember where we originally intended to go that night,
but back out on state road 11, as we approached Pendleton,
Stefan said via the motorcycle communications system, "Why don't
we get a hotel in Pendleton and warm up from last night and walk
around? We've never really been here." And it immediately felt
absolutely right. So we booked a room at Americas Best Value
Inn, took showers, did some laundry in the sink, changed clothes
and started walking downtown.
It was a really enjoyable evening strolling through downtown
Pendleton. The
historic
buildings are fascinating. They have bronze statues here
and there of local historical figures - my favorite was of
Stella
Darby, the madam of the Cozy Rooms bordello from 1928 to
1967. Her bronze statue stands outside its former entrance door.
There were lots of stores selling Western wear - hats, boots,
clothes and more. We chose to stop in the Hamley & Co.
Western Store, which is a Pendleton legend. Super nice staff and
beautiful things for sale - things far out of our price range.
The
chandeliers alone are worth a visit. There's a big bench
that staff swears President Teddy Roosevelt sat on - so, of
course I did too.
I totally see
the
appeal of Western wear, from boots to hats and everything
in between. I love how it looks.
Per the staff recommendations, we headed over to the
Rainbow
Cafe, a historic bar and restaurant. As soon as we walked
in, I was happy -
it
looks like a Jayne Favorite Place. Stefan and I
shared the legendary fried chicken - and it was pretty damn
good, but too much for just one person, even me (and ya'll know
how I love me some fried chicken). Even better was the beer:
they had a huckleberry wheat from Prodigal Son brewing (local
brewery) on tap, and we'd never had it before - but we've had
plenty now! We even
played
a couple of rounds of pool. It was yet another glorious
experience. I felt so spoiled. And I think Stefan is so happy
that he found a woman who loves dive bars and dive restaurants.
We headed over to the Prodigal Son tap room, which was not too
far away, to get some beer for the road, and walked back to the
hotel full of love for Pendleton.
The
night felt magical. We walked over and had
a
look at the river at sunset. What a lovely night.
In the daytime, I did see the downside of Pendleton, the many
homeless people and addicted people walking on the streets. No,
it's not "Portland creep" - just like everywhere else in Oregon
that's not Portland, these people aren't from Portland. It's
such a common sight for me now, everywhere, I can usually tell
if the person is on meth or opioids (heroin). And all the
addicts strike me as so young.
Anyway...
The next morning, we enjoyed the surprisingly generous breakfast
in the lobby of the hotel. I sat as far away as I could from the
three ladies, all strangers to each other, witnessing for
Christ, and was relieved when two young guys sat near me and I
realized they were on an epic cross country road trip. So Stefan
and I stared giving them tips of places to see and they were in
AWE of all our travels and how we have a commitment to travel. I
rarely impress The Youngs, so that was fun.
We packed up and headed out of town, realized we'd left the beer
we bought the night before and went back for it - and added
bonus, found that Stefan had left a charging cord as well, so,
wahoo!
We headed out on 395, then the Heppner Highway, riding roads
we'd been on earlier in the year for a long weekend to the John
Day area. But it just doesn't get old - the roads are amazing.
We stopped for lunch at the Drive-In in Condon, a classic little
burger place we've eaten at probably half a dozen times. Great
milkshakes - though we didn't have one this time. I can't
remember what our plan was for that night - we intended to camp
somewhere. But as we got ready to leave, a downpour started. We
stood there, feeling defeated. Camping in the rain is the worst.
So we decided to stay in a hotel for our last night out. Which
is so disappointing in so many ways... We should have stayed at
the historic Hotel Condon, right downtown, but we decided to
save $60 and go to
the
Condon Motel, on the edge of town. On reflection, it was a
dumb way to save $60, especially since $60 really isn't a huge
amount of money for us and we'd camped at least four times on
this trip for free. Instead of a historic hotel and a restaurant
or two around and some walking around in the evening if the rain
stopped, we were in a boring hotel with nothing to see out of
the window, let alone walk to. Stefan ended up riding back to
town to a grocery to get some microwavable suppers, and we
watched Colbert, Kimmel and Seth Meyers on my phone.
We woke up to frost all over the fields. I was glad we hadn't
camped. We rode out toward the Gorge, on a road we'd been on
just a few months before, but it was so beautiful, and so much
more clear than we were there last time. The landscape is
hypnotic and the roads have a lot of surprises - do not assume
everything is straight. Very often, you get to the top of the
hill and there is a sudden, sharp curve, or series of curves,
and often, sharp curves don't have any signs warning you they
are coming. At one point on the ride, we could see Mt.
Jefferson, Mt. Hood, Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Adams and Mt. Rainer
all on the horizon. It's really hard to get a photo of it
though. There is a viewpoint
with
a dial on the ground to show you which mountain is
which.
We continued on through Wasco. We didn't stop there - we haven't
in a while. It's a little historic town I really love for some
reason. We should stop there sometime, stay in the downtown bed
and breakfast and visit the White River Falls and Celestial
Falls.
Our plan was to get to Biggs Junction, gas up and get on
Interstate 84 through the Gorge, which I was dreading. Biggs
Junction really isn't a town, it's just gas stations and some
fast food places. Pro tip: there is a larger, cheaper, brand new
gas station behind of McDonald's - it was just opening when we
were there. McDonald's and its associated gas station is a sh*t
show - absolute chaos. Don't bother!
I hate interstates, but I REALLY hate I 84: the traffic is
usually horrific, everyone is going WAY over the speed limit,
and the wind is dangerous. I'm always worried and stressed when
we have to take it, no matter what vehicle we're using. On our
last motorcycle trip, we'd ridden all of historic 30 one can do,
mostly to avoid as much of I 84 as possible, and there really
wasn't a reason to do it again. Plus, I was ready to be home.
So, off we went. And for the first time ever in all my time
living in Oregon, there was no wind and little traffic and
perfect weather. For the FIRST time since moving here in 2009, I
finally got to enjoy the beautiful scenery of the Columbia
Gorge. Seriously, I never have before. It was a clear day and
the views were spectacular! It was my first enjoyable time on I
84 ever.
It was a wonderful way to end the trip. We stopped at a
convenience store for a quick pee and snack in Gresham, just off
the highway, dealt with a bit of a backup in downtown (some huge
police-escorted funeral procession), but were home before 2,
doing what we could to convince Lucinda the dog that we really
did love her and begging her forgiveness.
We
were home.
See
our
photos from the trip here.
Addendum: I was not going to do a travelogue for this trip. I
was just going to say pretty much just what is on the intro
page. But Stefan very sincerely asked me to take notes and do a
travelogue for this trip. And I am so glad he did - it's always
wonderful to revisit the trip, both a few weeks afterward, and
even years later.
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