The drive from Powell Campground to Whitebird was about the most scenic stretch I’ve seen yet. First of all, it descends 70 miles along the Lochsa, Clearwater and Salmon Rivers.

Can you see why thoughts of multi-day rafting trips came to mind?

It didn’t even start to level out until about mile 50. After Kooskia it started rising and falling again, through drier, rumpled landscapes. Went through the Nez Perce Reservation and dropped down near the White Bird Battlefield, site of a skirmish between Nez Perce and U.S. cavalry that began a disastrous war for the tribe.

And then it rose again, through beautiful high farmland.

I found a spot at an RV camp right on the Salmon River in Whitebird. Russ arrived a couple of hours later, and we hit the Wildside Steakhouse and Saloon, for the best loaded baked potatoes we’d ever had (this IS idaho, after all). Wandering around camp the next day, I found the flowers that I’d seen carpeting hillsides all around the area: a species of vetch, it’s often planted as a cover crop to restore soils, and it has spread widely.

Salmon River beside our camp.

Monday the Fourth of July threatened rain, so we stayed an extra day and spent the holiday here. I was apprehensive about spending the Fourth at an RV park, but it turned out that most of the people at the park were avoiding loud fireworks displays, not looking to create them, and we met another couple close to our ages who were biking the Trans America, but from west to east. As I finish this blog, Russ is happily sharing his last two beers with the husband and chattering away about bike esoterica. Happy Boy!

My next stop will be on the Oregon border—the last state on our westbound journey.

Finally made it to Hamilton, MT and a warm welcome from Jeff’s friend Mark Engbrecht and his partner LaDonna Felton. Hamilton sits between the Bitterroot and Sapphire ranges, and is the greenest place I’ve seen since Missouri (maple trees!).

I got there none too soon—coming down from Chief Joseph Pass, I heard my brakes scraping. Made the first appointment I could get for the local brake repair shop, and, as I expected, both front brakes needed replacing. LaDonna and I quickly felt like old friends, as she joined me for some needed shopping. 

Then Russ’s iPhone started having problems. Knowing we would be in wilderness areas through Idaho and eastern Oregon, he decided it was time to replace it. I’ll let him describe the nightmare we went through at the Missoula AT&T store, but suffice it to say that’s the first time he’s ever been denied a new iPhone because his MA license came up invalid. 

Once that was straightened out, we headed into Missoula while his new phone was loading up to stop at a local bike shop (to pick up gear and some bike gooodies)

and to visit the headquarters of Adventure Cycling Association, the organization that created the Trans-America Route that Russ is riding (and many others: they have bike routes for every region of the US, and for every level of biking ability. They even have supported tours.). They gave us a full tour of the building, with its many bicycles both modern and antique, and Russ got his ice cream (the real reason we stopped by). He even got his picture taken for their ‘wall of fame’. We saw Theo Gabriel’s picture, too! He and some friends are riding the same route as Russ, but in reverse. Two Ashfielders, riding across the Unted States at the same time. We must have crossed paths somewhere near Breckinridge, CO, but missed seeing him. 

After that, we stopped at Five on Black for about the most delicious lunch I’ve ever had. They serve Brazilian Rice Bowls, which I’d never heard of, but which sounded good, so we went on the recommendation of our salesman at the bike shop. Kind of works like Chipotle’s: you choose your base, meat, sauces and sides to create your own combination. I chose rice and greens as a base, with roasted chicken in a spicy coconut sauce, and coconut roasted sweet potatoes on the side, topped with tomato vinaigrette and cilantro. YUM!!!!

Back at AT&T, there was more bad news: almost none of Russ’s apps had downloaded. At that point, he started to panick because he needs the riding apps for his maps, bike maintenance records, etc. It was a perfect storm of the kind of stresses his TBI brain can’t handle. The bored, dismissive salesperson was no help, either mumbling instructions that neither of us heard clearly, or manipulating the phone so quickly that we couldn’t follow. I finally dragged Russ and the phone out of there with a promise to return tomorrow if things were not fixed by then (they let him keep his old phone, just in case).  Back at Mark’s house, the download still seemed to be frozen. It was Mark who finally asked if we’d tried turning it off and rebooting it. You would think the guy at AT&T might have suggested that, but I guess he couldn’t be bothered. 

Russ was relieved that we would not have to stay another day and drive into the busy city of Missoula (another thing he hates), and I was relieved not to have Russ in one of his meltdowns. 

The next day I stopped at the local home and ranch store (western version of home and garden) to get my propane tank topped off, not knowing it was ½ price day.  While I waited in line, I struck up a conversation with the guy ahead of me about the Jan. 6 investigations (fools rush in). He was of the Democrats are destroying America camp. Somehow, the discussion turned quickly to religion, and that was when I found out that I am not a Christian, and am most definitely going to hell, because I don’t believe that the Bible is the inerrant word of God, written by God. Who knew?  Later, some guy driving by in a pickup truck yelled “Go home!” First blatantly negative interaction I’ve had (mind you, I’ve gotten some stink eye for my “End Gun Violence” shirt.) The very nice man who topped off my propane apologized for the a$$hole in the truck, and said people are getting grumpy about the growth in population in Montana (darn newcomers!). Whatever. 

Back into beautiful Idaho! Green and cool, and smelling of cedar! Sure am glad I got those brakes fixed, because there were some gnarly switchbacks coming down from Lolo Pass.

I’m at the Powell Campground, part of Clearwater National Park, right on the Lochsa (pronounced Lock-saw). In the river canyon there is no cell service whatsoever, so I headed up to Lochsa Lodge, hoping they might have wifi, as Russ needed to know where I was. 

And that was the second nasty interaction of this whole trip. I sat at the bar, thinking I’d get a soda, log onto the internet, and be gone.  I actually thought the guy was kidding when he said the wifi was for guests of the lodge only. After that, things went rapidly downhill (he was serious, and not nice about it, either). I promptly walked outside, hailed the first passerby, and got the wifi password from her (yay for women of a certain age—we don’t take shit from anyone). Then I found out the password is printed on the bar menu. So what was all that nastiness for? Meh. 

Took the boys out for a short hike on part of the Lewis and Clark trail, and met two young men struggling to mountain bike the same narrow, overgrown, winding trail. I caught up with them where the trail crossed a steep rocky hill. They had given up at that point, acknowledging that it was beyond their abilities. Can’t blame them: I nearly pitched right down that hill myself. 

On the second day at Powell I headed off to hike a trail my neighbors in camp recommended: about a mile and a half, up to some hot springs (“There might be nude people,” they warned me.). I doubt the dogs or I will be offended. Russ should catch up today: I’ll leave a note on the camper for him, as I’m taking the car. 

Didn’t find the trail. I found a dirt road, and took that. Parked the Subaru about a mile in, and walked from there, up a dirt road in perfect condition along narrow creeks tumbling down the mountains, under giant old cedar trees. The forest primeval. Clearly, people had camped here; I found several old fire rings. Back at camp, I checked my maps: it was a forest road, open to anyone, and it went on for miles. 

Russ arrived right after I’d gotten back from my hike. Met a nice couple near my campsite; she was from Westfield, Mass. originally. Later, she gave me a copy of a recent Smithsonian Magazine with an article about Bob Leverett, who had discovered old-growth forests in the Berkshires. Russ and I enjoyed that. I wish I could have stayed longer; it was so peaceful, and the hiking opportunities were endless. I ‘m already thinking of a multi-day rafting trip in the area. But time and through cyclists wait for no one, so it’s off to Whitebird, ID.

On the way to Harriman, I spotted a sign for Bannack Ghost Town. On a whim, I stopped—and found one of the more fascinating historic sites along our trip. Bannack was a gold boom town in the second half of the 1800s, but declined soon after 1920 and was virtually abandoned by mid-century, although a few residents remained until the 1970s. The remaining buildings have been preserved, and parts of some buildings restored, but most are as they were left.

You could explore any building that was unlocked, although I stepped back hastily off more than one sagging floor. In quite a few cases, there were fragments of old wallpapers dating back to the late 1800s. I love old cemeteries, so of course we had to hike up the hill to the original cemetery, where you could see the whole town laid out below you. And they provided you with an illustrated guidebook, giving the history of the buildings that still exist, along with a general history of the town and surrounding areas.

Then it was time to head to Hamilton.

The last day in Henry’s Lake, I headed 25 miles south to Harriman State Park Wildlife Sanctuary (without the dogs, who are only allowed in the parking lots). I took a trail along the Henry’s Fork River for a bit, then decided to be brave and do the 5-mile loop around Silver Lake, with its many waterfowl and beautiful marshy meadows.

It was the perfect day for a hike: sunny, but with a cool breeze, and the loop turned out to be mostly gentle hills or flat. I was rewarded with sightings of Western Tanagers, Pine Siskins, many ducks and pelicans, and a small flock of Wilson’s Phalaropes.

Back at Henry’s Lake, my evening vigils to see wildlife finally paid off, as I saw two young moose cows fairly close by, in the meadows below camp. The small ponds and meadows with their willow thickets are a haven for lots of birds and animals, including moose, mule and white-tail deer, pronghorns, foxes, muskrats, beavers and otters, ducks, pelicans, and sandhill cranes. Early on the last morning before I left, I heard an eerie call, and realized it was the cranes calling as they left to feed for the day.

One last shot from Henry’s Lake—I could not resist. People actually ask them if they pull their rig with that car!

Then it was off to meet Russ in Dillon, MT. The way north into Montana was an angler’s paradise, and catering to fishermen was clearly big business in the area.

I stopped for lunch in Virginia City, and ended up touring a lot of the restored buildings, with their recreations of businesses of the mid to late 1800s. Most businesses were dog friendly, so the boys had a nice outing (travel days can be very confining for them) and they got to stay with me on the outside dining deck of a local pub while I had a burger and fries (shared with them, of course)

Ran into Russ, chatting with two other bicyclists, just 15 miles from my campground in Dillon. By then, the wind was howling, and it took Russ a long time to make that last 15 miles. He is mighty tired of headwinds. I remind him that he gets tailwinds all the way home, but he is not appeased.

I gotta say, Montana has the best clouds!

So, then Friday…

I was so sad and angry over the Supreme Court’s overturning of Roe v. Wade that I’m afraid I was quite unbearable to Russ (he agrees with me, but the issue doesn’t hit him personally). I finally took off with Moe to find the nearest trail, preferably a strenuous one, leaving Scooby to nap and Russ to fret over his own shit. It was a good diversion. I never cease to be amazed at the profusion of wildflowers on these dry hills.

Sorry I couldn’t identify these all—my eyes are sore from pouring through field guides.

And the views were great. I spent some time sitting at the summit, gazing at the mountains—always good to soothe my soul.

Friday, I headed back to Jackson, WY, west into Idaho, and then north to Henrys Lake State Park, not too far south of West Yellowstone, where we would have exited Yellowstone, had we taken our original route. Russ, taking his sister’s advice, only went as far as Jackson the first day.

And just as well, because immediately west of Jackson, you climb Teton Pass: very steep on the eastern side, with abrupt switchbacks descending the western slope. Once again, the Subaru made it, though there were a few tense moments, with the road climbing over 10% grade in spots. Then it was into the broad valleys between the mountain ranges of eastern Idaho.

On the way, I turned off the main road to see Upper Mesa Falls. The scenic side road winds through a thickly forested area with multiple campgrounds. A short, steep gravel road led me down to the impressive falls, and a welcome chance for the dogs to stretch their legs.

On the main roads, the wind really hits you, now from the side rather than head-on. Every passing big rig felt like it would blow the camper right over. Fortunately, Henrys Lake was not too far from Mesa Falls, and it is well worth the drive. It sits in a bowl, completely surrounded by mountains. The mountain passes do funnel the winds across the lake, however, so boaters need to watch out, especially in the afternoons, for high winds.

It was obvious from Russ’s slower pace that two nights would not be enough time for him to catch up to me, so I extended my stay for another three days, and he did get here Monday afternoon. In the meantime, I did quite a bit of birdwatching on the small ponds immediately below the campground, and I got to do some kayaking Sunday morning (you can reserve a kayak for free!). Finally, I had an excuse for carrying my paddle and life vest (but not my kayak) across the country.

Sunday afternoon turned cooler and blustery, with passing showers. By Monday morning, the temperature had dropped into the thirties, and although the sun comes and goes, it hasn’t gotten above 42, with a wind chill of 37, all day. Tomorrow is not supposed to be much better.

Not that it matters much, because Moe is now sick with the same cough that Scooby has (I guess it is kennel cough), and Scooby doesn’t seem better after 4 days of antibiotics. Walking them has turned into a gauntlet of a) concern or b) stink eye from my fellow campers. At least twice, I’ve called out ”I took them to a vet!” in response to judgemental looks. I was feeling overwhelmed early this morning, listening to hacking and gagging in stereo from the dogs. Thank goodness my sister was home when I called in tears. She calmed me down, and we even managed to joke about it before I got back to finding a vet. Tuesday will be another long drive to another vet, this time in St. Anthony, ID. I’m just grateful to find someone who will see them right away.

More impressive scenery heading toward the Grand Teton range. Love those painted hills!

That’s the Tetons! Nope.

THAT’S the Tetons!

You know Annie Lamont’s book Help, Thanks, Wow? About the basic forms of prayer? Well, Grand Teton National Park was one long prayer of “Wow!” (And “Thanks!”). 

I must have a thousand pictures of these mountains. After awhile, you think “Enough with the mountains, already!” But they make me catch my breath every time I see them, the way they rise straight up from the flat land. And the RV park in Colter Bay was just so nice—it felt like Mount Gretna, under the pine trees. It even had pink flamingos! (My family and friends who have seen Mount Gretna will get this.)

More than anything else, the fact that Russ agreed to ride IN A CAR from Saratoga to Grand Teton National Park told me how sick he was. Even at Grand Teton Park, he had no energy. He finally talked to his sister Debby, a nurse practitioner, about his nagging covid symptoms. She is perhaps the only person he will listen to about medical advice (can’t blame him there—I immediately call my brother ‘Doctor Jeff’ with any medical concerns). She advised him to take it easy until his energy came back. He will take shorter days (30-40 miles), resting whenever necessary, especially when climbing. 

Unfortunately, on the way here, Scooby developed a frequent, racking cough, so one of my two days at Colter Bay was mostly spent driving to Jackson to have him seen by a veterinarian. He diagnosed kennel cough, even though Scooby had this cough before we left (very infrequently), and Moe shows no symptoms. I lucked out—their receptionist was a recent transplant from Mass., and she immediately took me under her wing (“Gotta take care of my home girl.”) She made sure I got an appointment that day, and made sure I had my $20 off coupon when I got there.  It wasn’t until I left, with antibiotics and cough suppressants, that I realized I had paid nothing for the vet visit—only the medicines. Looking out for your home girl, indeed!

I did get time for a hike on one of the many trails around Colter Bay that afternoon. Dogs are not allowed, due to bear activity, so I went without my trail buddies. Got my first look at a Western Tanager (those impossibly gaudy birds), and saw pink-sided juncos, the Rocky Mountain version of our slate-colored juncos. While I was sitting, watching a beaver swim lazily about in a small lake, a fellow bird watcher told me to look out for a sandhill crane on the other side of the lake. As I came around a tall beaver lodge, there it was; I hadn’t seen it before I nearly walked into it. I tried to drop quickly out of sight, but it flew away, leaving me with just one startled glimpse of that iconic bird.

Leaving Walden, I felt like I was getting Russ’s cold.  Great, I thought. By the time I arrived at Saratoga Lake on Friday, I was well and truly sick: headache, congestion, sore throat, the whole package. When Russ arrived the next day, I sent him into town to get groceries: I was in no condition to get up, much less drive. He stayed overnight and took off the next morning for Rawlins, WY. 

Two days later, I felt a bit better, and left for an RV park 8 miles southeast of Lander, WY. Russ planned to stop but not to stay, as he would need to go all the way in to Lander in order to make the very long stretch to Dubois the next day.  

So much for well laid plans. That day, I lost my sense of smell—one of the symptoms of Covid. I’d brought a home test kit with me—it came out positive. 

Notify Russ, notify the camp host (the only person I’d been in close contact with in the last few days), call my brother Jeff, the doctor. Russ changed HIS travel plans, I got banned from using the showers or laundry at the RV park, and my brother told me not to panic unless I started getting short of breath.

Too bored to sit in my camper, I drove to nearby Sinks Canyon State Park, viewed the Popo-Agie River sink, and walked (slowly) around the nature trail. A beautiful area.

Russ had just arrived when I returned, and we sat down to calculate our next steps. 

AND THEN THEY CLOSED YELLOWSTONE PARK. We would have reached Yellowstone this coming weekend, but now no one is allowed in, due to flood damage caused by heavy rains. More rain is expected, so there is no telling when the park will reopen. 

(On a brighter note, I can stop trying to find a campsite in Yellowstone over the weekend: a near impossible task.)

Before Russ could panic about the change, I called Adventure Cycling and got their alternate route, texted our tech-savvy friend CK, and asked him to send the new routes to Russ’s RideWithGps program. We will head south to Jackson, then west and north into Idaho to rejoin the route in the town of West Yellowstone. (Note to self: probably best not to try to find accommodations in West Yellowstone, since they’re evacuating everyone out of Yellowstone.)

I do have reservations Weds and Thurs in the town of Colter Bay, in Grand Teton National Park. As of today (Tuesday, June 14) they are still OK. Keep your fingers crossed.

Not that we haven’t met our share of unique people on this trip, but Walden, CO, just south of the Wyoming border, takes the cake.  It all started with my arrival at the Granite Corner RV Park, which turned out to have exactly three RV spots off a side street—not an amenity to be seen. The camp host showed me to my spot, then mentioned that the RV next to me was supposed to be gone by now: did I want that spot? Since there was a 30-foot RV in the way, I declined, and proceeded to set up. 

As soon as the host left, the RV’s owner appeared, weaving his way over to me for a chat. If the unsteady gait hasn’t clued me in, the glassy stare and the alcohol fumes would have confirmed his state of inebriation. Without Russ, I felt a bit uneasy, and excused myself as soon as possible.  I took my dogs out and was greeted by a pack of loose  dogs from across the street, all barking and running toward me.  I sternly ordered them to go home. The owners appeared, an older couple, both paramedics. They and the dogs were friendly. They were very familiar with the occupant of my neighboring RV, and reassured me that he was ‘harmless.’

When Russ arrived, the host Shelly and her husband, deputy sheriff Kenny, offered to let him put his bike in their garage. We accepted, and had a conversation with them about my neighbor. They also let me know that we’d probably meet another neighbor, Bruce, who never appears outdoors without a full face mask, dark glasses, and military-style hat.  He, too, was apparently ‘harmless.’

Sure enough, the next day, after we’d toured the Arapaho National Wildlife Refuge, ‘Bruce’ appeared. He quickly let me know that he:  a) could not tell me his full name, but that I could call him Colonel or Allen(?), b) was ‘required by law’ to carry the pistol at his hip, c) was ‘owned’ by the State Department, and d) that the satellite signals met over his house. (Apparently, that was a pretty tame introduction: he didn’t even tell me what a genius he was, or that he would tell me his mission, but then he’d have to kill me.)

Meanwhile, the owner of the RV park, who was apparently in Texas, kept calling, wanting to know every detail of my interaction with the owner of the delinquent RV, and pledging all manner of legal actions against him.  Since Kenny the deputy sheriff seemed unconcerned with the whole situation, I was dubious about her promises to have him removed. 

We went to dinner at a local wood-fired pizza place and now apparently we know half the people in town (one of the paramedics from across the street was there and introduced us). He was also there the next day when our inebriated neighbor called the ambulance to take him to the hospital for his back pain. 

And I nearly forgot the loose horse that appeared out of nowhere, trotted up the street, and turned into the barnyard of the paramedics’ house. Not their horse, apparently: the wife simply closed the gate and kept it in their pasture until the owner showed up, which happened soon after. The owner captured the horse, which was apparently enjoying its ‘field trip’, after some chasing around, and finally drove off into the sunset on her ATV with the horse in tow. 

(Not to ignore the Arapaho Wildlife Refuge: it was great, even if I did spend six hours searching for the moose that were supposed to be plentiful there and never saw any. There were lots of pronghorn antelope and waterfowl, and we had a great time watching the antics of the ground squirrels and prairie dogs.)

Tuesday morning I got a call from Russ—he’d made it to Hot Sulphur Springs, but wasn’t feeling well, and he sounded like he had a nasty cold. So I packed up and left Elliot Creek a day early to hold Russ hostage at his motel for an extra night and force-feed him liquids.

The next day, Russ declared he was feeling a little better, though he was worried about his shortness of breath. There was some discussion with a fellow resident of the motel about the possibility of altitude sickness. Russ insisted on riding: I drove ahead to a nearby store and bought him Gatorade and oxygen (they sell little oxygen inhalers around here—I guess altitude sickness is pretty common at 9,000 feet). Thank goodness I haven’t been affected, other than a slight headache, but then I haven’t had to bicycle over the continental divide twice already!

In the meantime, I cancelled my plans to go ahead to Riverside, Wyoming, and luckily found a campsite in nearby Walden, Colorado.

On the way, I drove through the Willow Creek area of the Medicine Bow—Routt National Forest. This area was devastated by a wildfire that burned over 240,000 acres of northcentral Colorado and southcentral Wyoming in 2020, and the damage is clearly seen to this day. I had hoped to visit one of the campsites here, but all of them are closed.

Though my campsite is outrageously expensive and boasts no natural beauty whatsoever (except for the ever-present snow capped mountains in the distance), there is an upside: Walden is only 7 miles from the Arapaho National Wildlife Refuge. AND I’ve already seen two pronghorn antelopes! Tomorrow I’ll visit the refuge, which has several wildlife loops that can be driven or walked, and lots of viewing overlooks.

(Russ just texted me: he is moving slowly, but moving, and he made it over the continental divide at Willow Creek Pass. He will make it to Walden this evening.) I offered to meet him at Arapaho, eight miles before Walden, and ferry him the rest of the way. Hey, you can’t blame a girl for trying!

After two months of heading due west, we headed north from Cañon City, up along the continental divide, through Breckenridge and Silverthorne. My next destination was Elliot Creek Campground, in Heeney, CO. Russ should make it the same day, as he left before me.

The scenery, not surprisingly, was spectacular, and although I was sorry to leave Eastridge, I was excited for what looked like another great area for hiking. But first, my Subaru had to make it over Hoosier Pass (at 11,542 feet, the highest elevation on the Trans-American Bike Route)—which she did, like a champ!

Elliot Creek Campground, on the Green Mountain Reservoir, is delightful, even if snowmelt streams still run through several campsites (including mine). There was a small waterfall just behind my trailer, and a good view of the reservoir out front.

I got there early afternoon on Saturday the 4th, and Russ showed up soon after. Sunday we decided to check out the trail along the Blue River that flows below the reservoir dam—a hotspot for fly fishermen. The way down to the river turned out to be a nearly vertical drop, and even though I’d convinced Russ to get some better hiking shoes, he didn’t feel he could make it down that slope. BUT on the way there, we saw a young man radio-tracking something, and we stopped to chat with him. He was tracking bighorn sheep for the CO wildlife service, and while we were talking, he pointed out a young ewe standing just across the road! He also identified the groundhog-like creature I’d seen earlier as a marmot. Back at camp, we spotted a golden-mantled ground squirrel (a chipmunk without facial stripes), and the next day I saw a least chipmunk (striped face) and a pine squirrel (they’re called chickarees, which I think is adorable).

Russ headed out early the next day to avoid anticipated thundershowers, and I made another attempt to get to the river, this time accompanied by Moe (I didn’t think I could get myself up and down that steep slope holding Scooby, and he for sure was not going to make it on his own). So, leaving Scooby peacefully snoozing in the camper, Moe and I headed out. Despite my best efforts, I slid on the hill and ended up descending about halfway on my rear, a painful and undignified process. My hands were a bit scraped up, and my butt was sore, but thank goodness my shorts survived! So I dusted myself off and decided that, as long as I was already down, I might as well keep going.

And oh my God, was I ever glad! Even I could not take a bad picture of this river canyon (and believe me, I can take BAD pictures). It was simply stunning. Moe had his BEST. DAY. EVER. while I enjoyed the scenery and tried not to break anything.

He even went swimming! Nearly gave me another heart attack, as I thought he’d be swept downstream.

Of course, there were wildflowers in abundance:

No, I’m not a wildflower expert. That’s what Google is for!

Moe and I made it back to the car without mishap, to find a marmot sunning himself by my front fender. We sat some distance away and watched for a bit, then returned to camp just before a thunderstorm hit. I was exhausted, but thrilled with all I’d seen.