I stopped driving Saturday afternoon around 4:00 and set up my tent at Three Islands State Park, on the banks of the Snake River in Glenns Ferry, Idaho. There were rain clouds over the mountains, but I was betting that, just like the night before, they wouldn’t generate actual rain on the plain. I took a walk along the Oregon Trail and tried to imagine the pioneers at this very spot forging the Snake. Apparently it was a dangerous crossing and many didn’t make it. Some gave up and traveled a lot of extra miles south to find a safer crossing. They used the islands as stepping stones, but the last crossing proved to be the most dangerous. Glenn's ferry didn't come to be until many years later.
Looking at the expansive rugged landscape, I tried to imagine a three month trek in the early 1800’s in a small ox drawn covered 2’X4’X10’ wagon. The settlers traveled from Valley Forge, Pennsylvania to Oregon, a distance I can cover in one week in an air conditioned car with a cell phone at my side and MacDonald’s with restrooms and hamburgers conveniently located every so many miles. It amazes me how much has changed in a relatively short period of time.
I lost the rain bet. Big time! I didn’t even get to light the campfire. It helped that the park had a nice shelter house where I could read a few pages of Blue Highways, but for the most part I was sequestered in my car with the book and a flashlight, wondering if my little tent would leak. I slept in the car that night with a big pillow and my sleeping bag. It was OK, but I wouldn’t want to make a habit of it.
On the following quiet Sunday morning I decided to exit the interstate and take a side trip to “The City of Rocks” in the southern Idaho desert. With a half a tank of gas I followed a wooden rustic sign that pointed me down a remote gravel road. Fifteen solitary and friendless miles and one hour later, there was another sign that pointed me down another dirt road with muddy ruts and various potholes filled with water that hid their true depth. I debated on whether or not it was wise to go further, what with my dwindling gas supply, gray skies and the desolate looking hills. But I’d already come this far and the sign said “2” (2 miles?) to the “city.” Have I mentioned my love of rocks and how they call to me? I went further. I didn’t see another car, person, or building. This was one of those tines when tandem travel sure beats solo. I was just a little worried. Seeing two lone male campers in the middle of nowhere did not help ease my trepidation.
I eventually stumbled into the City of Rocks. A misty rain added an eerie feeling. The city consisted of huge jutting monoliths that one could interpret to be elephants, buildings, arches or monsters. I think I saw an enormous sea turtle sitting atop a plateau. My gas was at a questionable level. I thought of turning back, but as I drove on I discovered more campers, families with children, and people on dirt bikes. Whew! I pushed on and found my way out of the park. It seemed that I entered through the back door of the preserve, the hard way, the long way, the one rarely used! Finding my way back to Interstate 84 was only a little easier. My map wasn’t much help. The roads didn’t seem to lead where the map indicated. My GPS wasn’t working. A two lane concrete road suddenly turned into a one lane blacktop with a lot of potholes and it just didn't seem that this was the right road. But it was, eventually meeting up with the interstate. I always wondered about those interstate exits in the middle of nowhere, that seemed to have no reason to be there. I am glad that this one was. I paid $3.68 at the only gas station for 80 miles. I saw, but probably also missed, a lot of breathtaking scenery while I was navigating the ruts and potholes. Personally, I don't think the "City" was worth the hours it took to get in and out (much like driving into Phoenix or Houston.)
I arrived in Ogden after a long drive down a boring rainy interstate. The skies were gray once again. I opted for a cheap motel instead of the tent, still lying damp in the back seat of my car.
I have called ahead to reserve a room at a bed and breakfast in Salt Lake City. Their web site said something about being pampered. I’m ready.
Looking at the expansive rugged landscape, I tried to imagine a three month trek in the early 1800’s in a small ox drawn covered 2’X4’X10’ wagon. The settlers traveled from Valley Forge, Pennsylvania to Oregon, a distance I can cover in one week in an air conditioned car with a cell phone at my side and MacDonald’s with restrooms and hamburgers conveniently located every so many miles. It amazes me how much has changed in a relatively short period of time.
I lost the rain bet. Big time! I didn’t even get to light the campfire. It helped that the park had a nice shelter house where I could read a few pages of Blue Highways, but for the most part I was sequestered in my car with the book and a flashlight, wondering if my little tent would leak. I slept in the car that night with a big pillow and my sleeping bag. It was OK, but I wouldn’t want to make a habit of it.
On the following quiet Sunday morning I decided to exit the interstate and take a side trip to “The City of Rocks” in the southern Idaho desert. With a half a tank of gas I followed a wooden rustic sign that pointed me down a remote gravel road. Fifteen solitary and friendless miles and one hour later, there was another sign that pointed me down another dirt road with muddy ruts and various potholes filled with water that hid their true depth. I debated on whether or not it was wise to go further, what with my dwindling gas supply, gray skies and the desolate looking hills. But I’d already come this far and the sign said “2” (2 miles?) to the “city.” Have I mentioned my love of rocks and how they call to me? I went further. I didn’t see another car, person, or building. This was one of those tines when tandem travel sure beats solo. I was just a little worried. Seeing two lone male campers in the middle of nowhere did not help ease my trepidation.
I eventually stumbled into the City of Rocks. A misty rain added an eerie feeling. The city consisted of huge jutting monoliths that one could interpret to be elephants, buildings, arches or monsters. I think I saw an enormous sea turtle sitting atop a plateau. My gas was at a questionable level. I thought of turning back, but as I drove on I discovered more campers, families with children, and people on dirt bikes. Whew! I pushed on and found my way out of the park. It seemed that I entered through the back door of the preserve, the hard way, the long way, the one rarely used! Finding my way back to Interstate 84 was only a little easier. My map wasn’t much help. The roads didn’t seem to lead where the map indicated. My GPS wasn’t working. A two lane concrete road suddenly turned into a one lane blacktop with a lot of potholes and it just didn't seem that this was the right road. But it was, eventually meeting up with the interstate. I always wondered about those interstate exits in the middle of nowhere, that seemed to have no reason to be there. I am glad that this one was. I paid $3.68 at the only gas station for 80 miles. I saw, but probably also missed, a lot of breathtaking scenery while I was navigating the ruts and potholes. Personally, I don't think the "City" was worth the hours it took to get in and out (much like driving into Phoenix or Houston.)
I arrived in Ogden after a long drive down a boring rainy interstate. The skies were gray once again. I opted for a cheap motel instead of the tent, still lying damp in the back seat of my car.
I have called ahead to reserve a room at a bed and breakfast in Salt Lake City. Their web site said something about being pampered. I’m ready.
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