Fine in Idaho

By Idaho we are indeed well adjusted to this nomadic life. We’ve had some ups and downs on the road and in our bodies, and none are such a big deal any more. We know where everything goes in the packs and have evolved a routine for departures and breaks. We naturally put less attention on our comforts and more on the surprises in the landscape.

I’m reading a book that’s perfect for this stretch.  The obvious choice would have been something about Lewis and Clark. However, every roadside plaque tops up my knowledge about the Corps of Discovery (and leaves me wanting more about the native peoples who had already been living here for thousands of years, and who generously showed Lewis and Clark much of what they “discovered”). Instead, I’m reading Astoria, by Peter Stark. (Thanks, Anna.)  I never gave much thought to the Astors. Rich folk. However, the wealth began with John Jacob Astor, a butcher’s son from Germany. Emigrating to the US in 1783, he started out selling cakes from a cart in NYC. He went on to deal  in real estate and fur pelts. Once wealthy, he attempted to create a monopoly commercial empire in the Northwest. He even sent his son in law to Russia to negotiate a trade deal with the czar … seems unfortunately familiar.  In trying to establish the dominant fur trading emporium in what’s now Astoria at the mouth of the Columbia River, he sent a party by sea around Cape Horn, and a party overland on Lewis and Clark’s Route. The hardships endured by both parties are hard to fathom. When a little cold, wet, or tired myself, it’s even more impressive to read about the enormous difficulties of earlier travelers here. I’ll freely admit that our bike trip is very easy by contrast. We travel on smooth roads made from fossil ferns, we find food with a credit card, and we down Gatorade when we’re feeling the least bit taxed. So easy. One more thing: when our daughter Anna did her bike trip across the country, she camped every night, not bothering with a stove. We aren’t. Most mornings we have nice hot tea from  butane burner or a cafe, and many nights we have a shower and a bed. The biking can be strenuous after about 60 miles, but we have all day.

Yesterday from Walla Walla we were in pleasant temps with a tailwind.  We blew 66 miles to Pomeroy through this remarkable countryside.

Here’s how it looks with the natural rye grass intact. No wonder the Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce spend his life trying to get these lands back.

Lunch with tumbleweed.

Ten minutes from the end of the ride seems to be our trouble spot. Mark knows I like to look at wildlife, dead or alive. He stopped suddenly for a snake sunning in the road. Unfortunately I was right behind him.  I hit his bike and flew off mine. While I went down I had time to wonder whether I had run over the snake and what might break on me or my bike. Amazingly, all that happened was a bruise on my knee, a little road rash, and a twist in the bike rack. Embarrassingly, driving right behind me was the DOT worker I had just asked about the invasive thistle he was digging up. Behind him was the local cop. Both were solicitous, offering to call an ambulance. It must have looked bad. But it wasn’t; I’m just a little sore today. And I didn’t even run over the snake. This is another one from earlier who wasn’t so lucky.

Pomeroy had it’s heyday in the 1930s. The store windows were full of ancient Maytags, FDR–type wheelchairs, and sun faded board games.

Today we traveled up the Snake River til the junction with the Clearwater River at the Idaho border.  The rivers are overfull and powerful looking.
How I love state parks (and National Parks — and National Monuments, especially when someone is giving us one, Mainiacs!).  We are semi-camping in a little cabin right on the Snake River in Hell’s Canyon State Park. The power of the river shows in the great felled trees sliding by fast. I didn’t know that Hell’s Canyon is deeper than the Grand Canyon. Astor’s overland party got stuck there trying to find their way to the Columbia River via the Snake.  Bad idea, and bad to delay departure so that you end up trekking over the mountains in December. Here it’s a June afternoon with occasional sprinkles. Mark has just foraged for firewood to cook corn on the cob.

We start climbing the Bitterroots tomorrow.

PS June 1 was the day the US President decided to withdraw from international cooperation on climate change. This statue made of canoes in Lewiston, Idaho, seems appropriate.