Into Idaho
When I hear something about Idaho, I sometimes think about comedian George Carlin’s routine about states and their mottos. He compares New Hampshire’s “Live Free or Die” to Idaho’s much less consequential, yet proud, “Famous Potatoes.” On Saturday I finally arrived here.
I had breakfast in town at Wild Bill’s Restaurant. They supposedly open at seven, but the place was already half full when I arrived at five after. These people looked like true westerners. When I walked in I was getting a few of the “You aren’t from around here” stares. The waitress was friendly and after having a western omlette I went up to the register to pay. After a minute nobody showed up. A local came up behind me and said, “Hell, just go back there and get ’em. That’s what I do.” Then he walked back into the kitchen and quickly came back with an employee. Everyone knows everyone and they were joking around.
Today was going to have a big climb (another one). The first 18 miles was easy riding where I then refueled in a nice chair out front of a convenience store/ bait and tackle place. The area is called Hell’s Canyon, and despite the name it’s supposed to have a lot of nice areas to explore.
A mile after leaving the store I took a right on 71, which began with an incredibly steep climb. Then it went back down to the river which I followed along for another ten miles. It was hot and hazy. Everything seemed dry and brown, so not overly enjoyable riding. Eventually I arrived at a bridge where on my side was Oregon and on the other, Idaho.
It felt good to finally reach a state line, but immediately after taking a few photos of the sign (there was no “welcome” sign, just “Idaho State Line”) I had another big climb.
Bridge furthest in the background was the border crossing
It was really getting hot and the riding was tough. I hadn’t even gotten to the biggest climb of the day yet either.
I reached one more store where I stopped for a Gatorade. A few of the locals were hanging out. One of them was reenacting a phone conversation he had the night before with a friend. “You don’t sound good, what’s wrong?” “Well, I’ve got a crazy mother-in-law, a psycho wife and an autistic kid who’s not happy right now.”
After leaving, the true climb began, which I thought would take a couple of hours. Luckily, it had cooled off just a bit and there were shade spots to pull over and rest at.
After reaching the top it was eighteen miles of mostly downhill into the town of Cambridge. I had dinner at a place with a sign that just said “Restaurant.” It was good and they seemed to specialize in desserts, which I didn’t have.
Up the road is a place called Mundo Hot Springs. It’s off the route a few miles, but sounded interesting. I had entered the mountain time zone so I was an hour later arriving than I thought I would be. Riding off the main road into Mundo it’s very quiet and scenic.
There is camping here, but there is also a building which they refer to as a hostel. I thought maybe some other cyclists might be staying here, but not this night. The whole place is like a little home and only cost $20 to have it to myself. A great deal.
The owner, Sophie, and the girl working there were fantastic. Desserts must be big around here and they asked if I wanted peach cobbler with ice cream and whipped cream. After turning it down up the road earlier it was hard to say no to this offer.
The attraction, of course, is the hot spring which fills the pool they have. It was quite welcome after over a week of long miles on the road. 62 miles ridden on this day and 559 since leaving the Pacific.