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Amazing. I've been confined to Tobacco Road for the past three days, and I haven't gone ballistic once. Yet, it's still been balls-to-the-wall action. Self-afflicted, and heavens inflicted. Just like seven years ago, another howling two-day gale of icy sedative brought the frenzy to a halt (good allegory to Dubyuh's steamrolling the UN). As I'd written back at xmastime, I love when there's a hush on the landscape. Two days, two whole days, it was as if a new bypass had opened, and we'd suddenly been put off of the beaten path. After excavating the cars and the drive (like I was digging in the Great Pyramid) , I decided to march off to the country store, about a mile away, to restore my vices (smokes all gone). Walking along the barren highway in the same Swiss Army jodphurs I'd been wearing for the past 48 hours, the peace was interrupted by just a few stray vehicles brave (or stupid) enough to go somewhere. And then the skies turned ashy grey, once again. I don't think the quiet has done so well for Miss Jane... dish-breaking, snippy responses, planted on the couch all day. I can't let myself go there... when I vegetate, it's usually because Depression has got me by the throat. I'm not giving in to that bastard. Instead, this has been a busy time. Lots of cooking on my own initiative, finally getting another batch of wickedly brown/opaque ale bubbling away (yesterday's from-scratch project... using snow instead of chlorinated tap water), and a thorough reworking of this journal... thanks to the inspiration and immense talents of Jen--another reminder that this daily rambling is so much more than that, when people without faces to each other connect. A nice, unexpected vacation, this... to be extended, tomorrow. ..................................................................... Hostel Environment Day Twenty-One: White Bird to Syringa A formidable sight, White Bird Hill, lit by morning sun... switchbacks etched on its face, visible from the campground. Strange, to see your path laid out before you like a gauntlet in asphalt... eight miles of road in one seemlingly compact package. Though there was the simple matter of a monster climb up the side of a vertical wall (no subtlety or cunning surprises like the east).
A slow, determined, head-down approach to the altitude brought me to the summit, two hours later. Turning back, the panorama attempted to steal what little air I could get back in my lungs. Grangeville was the last big town we'd see until crossing over into Montana... there, after ravishing the packs for lunch in Dvorak Park, we drew alongside the Clearwater River (the settlement of Kooskia, the Native name for the same). Never was a feature so aptly named... from the high banks, you could barely where detect the river surface was, and where the bottom lay, some twenty feet under... huge salmon navigating among the sunken boulders. Caribbean clear.
This road, first traveled by hunting parties. Then Lewis and Clark. Not long after, by the First People, exiled. Beauty and bittersweet. We'd achieved some proficiency at our pedalling over the past weeks... not Tour de France prospects, surely, but growing confident after enduring some awesome changes in terrain. That's why, when we caught up with Dudley on a rare occasion, we decided to "drop the hammer" on him. In the middle of a conversation with Herr Leader, we slammed our gears in an impressive ploy at dusting him with our getaway... like idiots, since the grizzled one immediately knew that we'd dropped too low a gear for escape. Confident, not smart. The Clearwater joined with the Lochsa River close to our destination for the day, Syringa (that's Sigh-Ring-Ga... there should be pronunciation guides out there). If possible, even more astounding than before... and ever more wild. Very reminiscent of the McKenzie, without the dense green cloak. Hints of geothermal activity... the earth never sleeps, this close to the Rockies. Two more days 'til civilization, off we went in search of pie, beer (I know, questionable combination), and jukebox. Finding Ronstadt there, as well as the unofficial trip theme, Blondie's "One Way Or Another," which we would drop a quarter on several more times before the last mile. Momentous miles, today. |
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