Connecticut to California – Day 9 – August 20, 2000

It is Sunday morning and Divine Worship resumes at 7:30 a.m.  I am following the Nez Perce Trail and the Clearwater River out of Lewiston, Idaho.  Leaving Clearwater, I pick up Lapwai Creek thru a canyon to the Camas Prairie.  In the shadow of the narrow-walled canyon along the creek bed the temperature drops ten degrees – then returns again when I ride around a long sweeping corner into the sunshine again – a wooden trestle stands as a monument to the difficulty in bringing the railroad to the Camas Prairie in the early 1900’s.

I found “amber waves of grain” this morning.  This golden landscape is garnished with white houses along side of red barns surrounded by green trees – and the entire canvas is framed by mountains. I begin my descent into White Bird Canyon – shrouded in smoke.  To my left the hills are black and I can see several areas that are still burning.  I can smell the death and at once recognize the glorious rebirth which is only months away.

I look down into the canyon and know that blood has been spilled in anger in this place.  I hear voices in the wind - voices of brothers so blinded by their fear that they couldn’t feel their brotherhood.

Salmon River Canyon is spectacular but the smoke is stifling.  Riggins must be the rafting capitol of the river, because the road is lined with motor homes and yuppies walk the streets.  I stop to say “hello” to a German Shepherd in the back of a dirty pickup truck – and he assures me that he really does live here – a “townie” so to speak.

Just outside of town, I pull off and climb down the riverbank for a picture.  I let the sound of the water wash over me – when I look at my watch – I’ve been here an hour.  Warmed by your sun and washed by your river, I am at peace – Idaho – cradled in your arms.

Rolling out of town, I thought I saw a sign for Hell’s Canyon National Recreation Area – but that can’t be – the Cross Bronx Expressway is Hell’s Canyon – for sure – and it is over 3,000 miles away.”

At New Meadow – “Center of the Idaho Heartland”, I turn south on Route 55 – the Payette Scenic Byway.  I pull off the road under a tree on the outskirts of Cascade – right across the street from J & J Machinery.  For sure, it is J & J themselves outside loading two tractors on a flatbed trailer – oblivious to the stream of RVs and too-clean Audi’s streaming endlessly south on 55.  The weekenders are going home from the lake resort at McCall – and these two working guys – well, they are just working.

Leaving Cascade, I pass through the land of Herefords and horses until 55 begins to parallel the North Fork of the Payette River.  This is some serious white water and the drive through the canyon is awesome – except for the traffic.  I pull off to take a picture and it is like having a tight racecar going into the fourth turn at Daytona – you move up out of the groove and you get freighttrained by the entire field.  It takes me 10 minutes to get back into traffic.

Just before Horseshoe Bend I turn off on 52 and am suddenly in heaven.  Not another vehicle turns off onto this lovely stretch of highway.  I pull over for a cup of coffee and I am treated to 10 minutes of blissful silence – it seems Idaho has some private treasures in store for me.

Just past the Black Canyon Dam spillway, I meet another Valkyrie Interstate rider coming toward me – we recognize each other’s bikes and wave enthusiastically.  What a pleasant surprise!

I cross the Payette River again in Emmet, but there are no tourists here.  The water is quiet and a couple of local guys are just standing on the sandbar fishing.  I think I prefer the quiet water – if you know what I mean.

As I approach I-84 on 52 then 72 then 30, I am treated to fields of corn, grain, alfalfa – Herefords, Angus, Appaloosa – mules, goats, and llamas – a fitting benediction for my Idaho worship.  Thank you, Idaho for clear skies once again – and just around the next bend is Oregon.

I’m racking up miles on I-84 now – enroute to the Oregon Coast Highway, tomorrow.  Approaching Pendleton there are many signs warning of a 6% grade for 6 miles.  The truckers have taken the signs seriously and are inching down the mountain.  I am grateful – it brings to mind an old Harry Chapin song – “30,000 Pounds of Bananas.”

I am reminded that Harry was taken from us in a motorcycle accident.  I can remember you sitting at a table giving autographs for hours after your concerts – the only condition was a contribution for world hunger.  You understood brotherhood – and you helped me understand it too – and I still miss you, Harry.

The bike trip meter says 450.2 the Garmin III+ trip meter says 463.2 and I say Goodnight from Pendleton, Oregon.

Connecticut Yankee in Yosemite Valley- the Trek
PAGES
Index 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22