Guns, Rebels and Twisties
Patience is something you admire in the driver behind you and scorn in the one ahead. ~Mac McCleary
I crawled into my tent at 7pm last night and woke at 9am this morning. 14 hours. I must have been tired or something. The mountain air and total quiet was delightfully therapeutic. My bag of trash still hung in it's perch, unmolested. I could have stayed in my little camp for a week, but every time I looked at the Crow it was staring at me with a puzzled expression.
We didn't roll out till almost 10am, and started the day by riding the wrong way on Highway 75 for nearly an hour. The morning sun, the seductive curving road, and the thunder of our pipes reverberating through the cliffs had me mesmerized. When I finally turned around, I couldn't help but appreciate the opportunity to ride that road once again.
Today was a complete dream. The west side of Idaho is magic. Highway 55 flowed into Highway 95 and we dodged off the road repeatedly, taking scenic detours whenever we found them.
Alongside, whitewater rafters thrashed the mighty Payette river, some throwing up friendly waves of hello as we rumbled by. I forgot to eat. Tried to remember to drink water. Hundreds of motorcycles zipped past, headed south to points unknown, all throwing the Crow salutes which we gladly returned.
We only stopped for fuel. At one gas station, a little boy and girl of around 6 or 7 walked up and looked at the Crow. "Nice bike mister" the boy said. "I'm going to buy a motorcycle one day" the girl said. The Crow and I grinned and gave them each a fist bump. In Garden City, the cops were leading a ride of around 50 veterans.
We didn't roll out till almost 10am, and started the day by riding the wrong way on Highway 75 for nearly an hour. The morning sun, the seductive curving road, and the thunder of our pipes reverberating through the cliffs had me mesmerized. When I finally turned around, I couldn't help but appreciate the opportunity to ride that road once again.
Today was a complete dream. The west side of Idaho is magic. Highway 55 flowed into Highway 95 and we dodged off the road repeatedly, taking scenic detours whenever we found them.
Alongside, whitewater rafters thrashed the mighty Payette river, some throwing up friendly waves of hello as we rumbled by. I forgot to eat. Tried to remember to drink water. Hundreds of motorcycles zipped past, headed south to points unknown, all throwing the Crow salutes which we gladly returned.
We only stopped for fuel. At one gas station, a little boy and girl of around 6 or 7 walked up and looked at the Crow. "Nice bike mister" the boy said. "I'm going to buy a motorcycle one day" the girl said. The Crow and I grinned and gave them each a fist bump. In Garden City, the cops were leading a ride of around 50 veterans.
I stopped at a small gas station/diner in Lake Fork, where everyone was packing a sidearm. The flavor of the day was black automatic of the Glock variety. I felt right at home.
I kept telling myself I should take more pictures... but riding was so much fun I couldn't stop. At one point I rode through a Sunday rodeo, streets thronged with cowboy hats and girls spinning ropes atop majestic horses. I wished I had country music on my phone. Well, for a moment anyway.
A lot of pickups fly the Confederate flag proudly, I suspect in defiance over the current media demonization of their cultural identity. Even gas stations and shops seem to sell a ton of them, judging by the stock at hand. I can't imagine the suits at MSNBC changing attitudes around here any time soon. I spent a long time wondering what the future break up of the United States will look like, and if I'll see it in my lifetime. I have no doubt it will happen, but when and how bloody it will be is anyone's guess.
There were hundreds of RV's headed south to Boise, but the few headed north were a headache. On a curvy two-lane with a 60mph limit, an RV bumbling along at 50 is a death machine.
One old codger in a gargantuan brown four wheeled apartment with California plates was a particular menace. Car after car attempted to pass, hairy moments as dust flew from the shoulder. It's a testament to the endless good will of Idahoans that none of these Glock toting good ol' boys popped a round into a tire to encourage the behemoth to pull into a turnout.
Made it to Lewiston, and called it a night. After a bit of haggling and some cash under the table, a simple but adequate motel room was mine. I had intended on camping more this trip, but the raw miles on the exposed Crow make cheap motel rooms ever more appealing as the sun lowers in the sky and cities surround me. I'll get an early start and head into Washington ... somewhere...
I kept telling myself I should take more pictures... but riding was so much fun I couldn't stop. At one point I rode through a Sunday rodeo, streets thronged with cowboy hats and girls spinning ropes atop majestic horses. I wished I had country music on my phone. Well, for a moment anyway.
A lot of pickups fly the Confederate flag proudly, I suspect in defiance over the current media demonization of their cultural identity. Even gas stations and shops seem to sell a ton of them, judging by the stock at hand. I can't imagine the suits at MSNBC changing attitudes around here any time soon. I spent a long time wondering what the future break up of the United States will look like, and if I'll see it in my lifetime. I have no doubt it will happen, but when and how bloody it will be is anyone's guess.
There were hundreds of RV's headed south to Boise, but the few headed north were a headache. On a curvy two-lane with a 60mph limit, an RV bumbling along at 50 is a death machine.
One old codger in a gargantuan brown four wheeled apartment with California plates was a particular menace. Car after car attempted to pass, hairy moments as dust flew from the shoulder. It's a testament to the endless good will of Idahoans that none of these Glock toting good ol' boys popped a round into a tire to encourage the behemoth to pull into a turnout.
Made it to Lewiston, and called it a night. After a bit of haggling and some cash under the table, a simple but adequate motel room was mine. I had intended on camping more this trip, but the raw miles on the exposed Crow make cheap motel rooms ever more appealing as the sun lowers in the sky and cities surround me. I'll get an early start and head into Washington ... somewhere...