I looked up the the Lord above and said 'hey man, thanks.' Some times I feel so good I gotta scream. ~ Tragically Hip

I left Utah behind and crossed into Idaho at 8 am, the Hip blasting in my earbuds, heading north to a little town called Malad. I turned west on Highway 38, and suddenly the morning came alive.

Traffic dropped to virtually nothing, and the Crow and I threaded through gentle hills, glowing green in the way only untold miles of sage can color a landscape.

After 45 minutes of mellowing out, I branched north on 37, where magic awaited. For the next 45 miles, nothing but solitude, glorious scenery, and my favourite signs. I barely saw another vehicle.

After an hour of totally immersive riding I found myself in the confusing little hamlet of Rupert. I u-turned over and over, trying to locate Highway 24, and eventually gave up, surrendering to a little restaurant called Stacey's Chatterbox. After a few eggs and coffee I again assaulted the labyrinth, ending up dejected in front of a hospital. Needing a bathroom break, I walked in the front door.

Nobody there. Yet, an immaculate welcome entryway. Studded leather couches, ornate vases, and elaborate paintings framed the walls. I called out a few loud 'hellos' and began wandering the halls expecting security at any moment. It felt like a movie where nothing good was about to happen. I was wrong.

Turning a corner, a beautifully appointed restroom appeared. I happily commenced my business.

After washing up and dabbing my whiskers with a hand towel from the machine on the wall, I wandered back through the curiously empty halls, peering into empty rooms. The automatic door whooshed me out into the sunlight.

Eventually I did find the highway and rode north, along the bizarre west side of Crater Of The Moon. It's some sort of massive lava bed. Looks like when the highway guys tear up asphalt and pile it along the road, but this is natural and truly weird. I forcibly pushed visions of flying into it and being cut to bacon thin slices out of my fertile imagination.

Eventually I entered the Salmon Challis National Park at Sun Valley and everything changed. Rushing rivers, pine laden hillsides, craggy cliffs and gentle meadows. Sun Valley isa tourist mecca, with bicycles and coffee shops lining the many shops along the roadside.

The going was slow. Upscale vehicles jockeyed for turning rights at light after light, but soon the dogged tourist-trudge was replaced by an incredible climb up the mountains.

A perfect, freshly paved highway twisted through the hills. I completely lost myself in the road. Hours flew by.

Before I knew it, the sun was low and it was time to hunt for a campsite. I stopped at a log cabin grocery store and bought a few cans of vittles. 20 minutes later I grabbed a site near a river.

Settling down to a dinner of canned delectibles, I found I had lost my camp spoon. I quickly whittled one out of a pine branch. And some folks wonder why I love knives...

I put the empties in a bag 50 feet from my tent, 10 feet up an annoyingly sticky pine tree. The cans should jangle if a bear has a hankering for stewed tomato. What then, I have no idea...

Tomorrow I carry on through one of my favourite places in the world: The great State of Idaho.