Farewell to Idaho

I'm in Idaho Falls, about to get back on the road after arriving here early yesterday evening. I set out from Boise last Monday morning, but not before visiting what is surely the town's most famous landmark, the infamous Larry Craig bathroom at the airport (sadly, I think it is generally frowned upon to take pictures in public restrooms). Given the barren nature of Idaho's terrain, there were literally zero surface roads headed eastward out of town, so I got the pleasure of doing a blazing 35 miles (blazing both in speed and heat) down the interstate before getting to Mountain Home where Highway 20/26 headed up into the mountains, away from all things even remotely resembling civilization. I followed the highway through Craters of the Moon National Park, an ancient lava flow that seeped from the ground and created all sorts of bizarre shapes and tubes and caves and whatnot, and that somehow people travelling the Oregon Trail managed to get through (I still don't understand that). After that was Arco, the "free world's" first city to be powered by atomic energy. How's that for a claim to fame? It'll have to do, because there ain't much more to be said about it.

An abandoned barn that afforded a dry place to sleep

About two miles out of Arco, my rear tire promptly blew out on me, the culmination of days of struggling with leaks and flats. I had known for a while that my tire wouldn't last too long, so I had ordered a spare, which was waiting for me in Idaho Falls, an unfortunate 66 miles down the road. Fortunately, I was able to catch a ride with a passing caravan of jalopies filled to the brim with salvage and scrap headed for Blackfoot. The woman I rode with, Helen, told me about travelling the country for four years on bicycle with her husband, until she had too many kids to continue, so they traded in their bikes for a covered wagon, pulled by her eight daughters and two boys. They only took me as far as a highway junction (Blackfoot is not quite in the same direction as Idaho Falls), but the very first car that passed me picked me right up and took me the rest of the way, to the very door of the bike shop I needed. I decided that, with all the weight I'm carrying, I'd switch to a slightly wider tire in the back, and that way I still get to keep my spare if anything else goes wrong.

Idaho Falls is a cute little town. I found a nice wine and beer shop, and had a couple of drinks while listening to a local jazz duo running through the classics. I slept in the park downtown, overlooking the falls, and had an amazingly restful night of sleep until (of course) the sprinklers turned on in the middle of the night. I visited a music shop this morning, where the owner, Dave, took me on a tour of his collection of odd instruments, including an incredible combination valve/slide bass trombone that he built himself.

Coolest trombone ever, with coolest trombone-making guy ever

As soon as I got up into the mountains past Mountain Home, the weather pattern changed dramatically. It's hot in the morning and day, til afternoon, when the thunder and rainclouds start rolling in, often with lots of wind. I've gotten rained on a couple of times, and have had to pitch my tarp the last couple of nights, but I'll take a high of 73 and some raindrops over the record-setting heat in Seattle any day.

Everybody I've talked to has taken great pleasure in telling me how much of a doozy the Teton Pass is that I'm about to go over. I look forward to telling you myself soon!

The first of many legs

Miles completed: 569
Longest day: 113 miles
Number of flat tires: 3
Minimum number of distinct species of bugs that have bitten me: 5

I arrived in Boise today, having just crossed into Idaho sometime yesterday evening. Eastern Oregon was amazing, there's really no other way to put it. Except for some vague memories of road trips as a child, I've never been further east than Bend, and I've always envisioned it as a dry and desolate place. Well, no surprise here, it's exactly that, but my mind had failed to imagine the beauty and splendor that goes with such a climate. The native biota all exhibit a simultaneous mix of fragility and resilience, which is surely the result of adapting to such a harsh environment. With my reliance on sunscreen and water from gas stations, it's quite clear to me that I embody the fragility more than resilience.

The teeming waters of Badger Creek

I took highway 58 out of Eugene, and after crossing Willamette Pass, detoured to the Cascade Lakes Scenic Byway, which meanders by a dozen lakelets surrounding Mt Bachelor and the Sisters on its way to Bend. From Bend to Boise, I've pretty much stayed on Highway 26, detouring as I saw fit. It's stunning how quickly the climate can change from mountaintop to mountaintop, from dense, derby forest to semi-arid lodgepoles groves, to super-arid hills of sage brush, with not a tree in sight. About 20,000 square miles (I'm not making that number up) of eastern Oregon is currently recognized as one of the most well-preserved and abundant archeological sites in the world, and it's not hard to see why; the rugged landscape sports layer upon layer of exposed stratification, to be read like an open book for those who speak the language (I am certainly not one of these studied few). The John Day fossil beds exemplify this treasure trove, and absolutely should not be missed if you ever have the chance to see them.

Just me, my bike and the Painted Hills

I have already been blown away by the generosity of people. In just a week's travel, I've stayed with two separate households of people, managed to find three showers (all much-needed), and have met a dozen wonderful people in between. A man flagged me down by the side of the road as I was passing his mailbox with the words, "You can stay at our place! We're not ax murderers!" Walt and his wife Pat stuffed me full of pot stickers, beer and homemade kim chi before letting me relax in their hot tub, and even built a fire. By the end of the evening, it would've been okay with me if they turned out to be ax murderers after all.

There've also been several other cyclists headed in the other direction, which I often end up camping with at night. I met a fellow from Scotland named Andrew, a self-described bionic wanderer, determined to ride his bike and trailer across Canada in the middle of winter, powered by skateboard decks, wire and duct tape. I laugh easily at the idea, but after spending an evening with him, I can't help but feel that he'll actually figure out a way to pull it off. Look out, Eugene and Seattle, I think he's headed your way first; I'm not sure either town is big enough to contain him.

Enough for now, I need to start thinking about finding a place to stay for the night. Tomorrow I start the stretch across Idaho, and then into the Tetons and Yosemite. I have pictures that I'll put up here when I can, but I need to find an actual computer for that, and sadly, every library in the world seems to be closed on Sundays.

Aptly named Picture Valley, leading into John Day

Oh yeah. Yes, it's been about a million degrees every single day. I think I sunburned my eyeballs; one of the downsides to dumpstering sunglasses is, hella dank pieces of bling that they may be, I have no idea If they have any UV protection. Thank you random hardware store for providing me with a new $4 pair that are about one third as cool as my previous ones.

It begins...

Hippypotami

Dammitall, I wasn't planning on adding anything to this blag until I left on my trip, but inasmuch as it pertains to the wonderful world of bicycle-powered absurdities, I feel I have a duty to keep my audience informed of all such happenings and encounters and oddities. Friends, I want you to meet Mary Jane the Hippypotamus:

I encountered her at the Oregon Country Fair this year, and (no offense, Colin, seriously) she leaves the Minstrel Cycle in the dust (see previous post). Mary Jane is powered by four recumbent cycles buried deep within her bowels, with one person steering via a steering wheel, while another controls the movement of the eyes, eyelids and mouth. Every inch of her is fully customized, and her body is made of hammered aluminum. She is lightweight and quite easy to move with four people, and as if this weren't enough, get this: like all self-respecting hippopotami, she is semi-aquatic.

I'm hoping to get on the road by this Saturday at the latest; just a few loose ends to tie up in preparation for my trip (e.g., I accidentally set my shoes on fire at the Fair, and I think I'll be needing a new pair to last through the summer). Soon!

Last Day of Life in Seattle

Dammitall, I wasn't planning on starting this blag until I started my bike trip, but my last celebratory day in Seattle was so wonderfully filled with music and bicycle-filled shenanigans, I couldn't not at least include some pictures.

The day started off with marching in the Seattle Pride Parade with Rainbow City Marching Band. The social context of this could not have been better, Michael Jackson having died just a few days before; we've been playing an epic version of Thriller all season, and the crowds went positively ape-shit when they heard us coming. We even had a dance routine worked out in the middle of the song.

From there it was off to the Wild Rose, where Yellow Hat Band was playing for the sex toys drag race that Hazard Factory was hosting. They were running about an hour behind schedule, so we headed over to Cal Anderson park for an impromptu set in the sun. We took off our shoes and played in the middle of the wading pool near the fountain, and were soon joined by a gaggle of gyrating, splash-dancing onlookers, who, I am so proud to say, unabashedly broke through their Seattle-freeze exteriors to shake their booties with reckless abandon.

After the Wild Rose show (meh), I rode home with some friends to confront Ye Olde Minstrel Cycle, what will surely be proven to be the most genius contraption ever built in the history of contraptions, and ultimately, the whole point of this post. The Minstrel Cycle, commissioned by my roommate Webster, was built by our friend Colin (www.haulincolin.com). He took a 1962 Jeep chassis and hooked up eight bicycles to it to turn it into a pedal-powered parade float of mayhem. (It made its first public appearance earlier in the day as the Madison Market Co-op entry in Pride.) It is controlled with a steering wheel by a driver standing on a giant platform overlooking the pedalers, and has an equally giant lever of a brake (of admittedly dubious stopping power) located at the helm.

Nine of us piled on (including an innocent bystander who jumped on as we set out) and took a tour of the neighborhood, in a glorious cacophony of grinding gears, bicycle bells, laughter and shouts.

Colin, well done, sir. My yellow hat goes off to you. I haven't had such fun since going human bowling with a giant gerbil ball and a stack of 60-gallon oil drums.