Bliss

I’m in Bliss … Idaho.  Population 318.  Today had it’s blissful moments, sure, but it was also a pain in the ass.  For every wide open desert vista or unusual encounter, there was a slowly leaking tube (again!) or a spell on the interstate shoulder (one of only two I’ll need to endure during this trip.)  So it was a mixed bag.  But I’m here at the end of 96 miles feel and I feel strong and good.

I hadn’t originally planned to stop here in Bliss, but it was my stretch goal today, and I’m glad it worked out.  The original plan was to overnight at Glenns Ferry about 20 miles back on the Snake River.  But the fact that I’ve pushed on here makes a big difference in the coming days — it means that I can spend Tuesday night in Pocatello, Idaho (a town of some size and coolness) rather than American Falls (a town of neither.)  It also turns Wednesday into a very short, pleasant day of only about 38 miles, with a hot spring at the end.  After that, I’ll be taking Thursday off the road (some work, more hotspringing) and will hit Utah on Friday.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.  Today I rolled out of Boise to the southeast, staying off I84 for as long as possible.  After a certain point, however, choices narrowed to a rough dirt track and the wide shoulder of the interstate.  I endured the former for about 11 miles, and then it was back off at the “Boise Stage Stop” — a former hotel turned rest area and diner.  The place was strange — there was some kind of dingy 24 hour mini movie theater, presumably for long-haul truckers who needed to stay off the road for a mandated number of hours.  Sitting out front in the shade, I encountered my fist fellow-cyclist of this trip.  Mark pushed his piled-high bicycle into the vestibule.  According to him it was a cheap WallMart mountain bike that he’d modified.  It was stuffed front and back with stuff he’d collected from his travels all over the west.   Some of the stuff seemed plausibly useful, if a bit much:  a spare wheel, many water bottles, clothing.  The rest was a befuddlement:  three large poles, a milk crate, a sign reading “pedaling for Christ.”  A widower from Vancouver, Washington, Mark had taken to the road after losing his family somehow (I couldn’t make out how exactly.)  He spoke very rapidly, almost rapid-fire.  I did pick out that he was heading east (like me) though much slower I concluded, glancing again at his bike.  I wished him well, and I meant it, though I also left him feeling as though there were more to his story.

From there it was back to the small roads, straight and seemingly without end.  The desert flew by.  There was no wind.  I soon passed though Mountain Home, a military town, depressed and empty.  The only things open were a Taco John’s, the payday loans place and a grocery store.  A strange older fellow in a suit with a print tie of the words to the Lord’s Prayer asked if I worked at the Albertson’s we were standing in front of.  He told me (some in Spanish, some English)  that he’d moved here from Texas many years before and found the people of Mountain Home to be cold and unhelpful.  “They’ll just leave you at the side of the road.”  he said.  He next asked me which I thought was wider, the Snake or the Rio Grande.  “Lo siento,” I said, “yo no se.”

Wide or not, I pushed on towards the valley of the Snake.  The land was green again now, irrigated and full of corn, beets, hay and onions.  Nobody seemed to be around.  The few I saw looked as though they were heading toward church or away from it, or maybe to the church of televised football.  The fact was that I’d been lazy this morning and not rolled out of Boise until nearly 9:30 am.  If I wanted to reach Bliss before dusk I had to keep going.   At Glenns Ferry (a place where wagon trains used to cross the Snake on their way west) the shadows started to lengthen.  What’s more, my rear tube started to leak again.  Last time it was a thin filament of metal that had done the damage — possibly a radial fiber from a destroyed roadside tire.  I have yet to find out the source of the annoyance this time (I’ll get out the tire irons as soon as I’m done writing this) … but I’m in Bliss now, and fed too at a horrible gas station diner that I pray does not make me sick.  The motel room is okay though, and it only cost $38.   In the morning I resolve to get going early and make for Burley and points east.