After far too much time away from riding, today I took to the open road! How was it? Well, to be honest, it was yet again wonderful!

I left the Salt Lake City area around 8:30am and took the interstates north and a bit east. Thankfully, that didn’t last too long.

However, I took I-84 east through a mountain pass where the winds, blowing against me, slowed me down to 50mph. Why the wind was blowing west, I have no idea. But it was really strong. Weirdly, it was the only wind I encountered all day.

After I cleared the interstate, I found my way to Utah Route 167. It was a pretty little road and I could see snow-capped mountains around me. This was strange since yesterday it was well into the 90’s. I thought that the snow would have melted by now. It was in the mid 70’s as I rode by.

I rode by Huntsville and then north on Utah Route 39. This road is usually closed in winter, but since it’s really freaking close to summer, it was open. No snow for me!

Route 39 is one of those roads that you pretty much have to ride to experience it yourself. There’s nothing really special about it other than it’s a fun road with a lot of curves and hills, few cars and amazing views.

As I climbed into the mountains, I started to see patches of snow on either side of me. And then I saw about a three foot drift to my left. I rode a bit farther and saw a drift well over five feet high. This wasn’t a pile of snow laid there by a snow plow. This was simply five feet of pure white evil (well, sort of dirty gray evil).

I discovered that I was at 9,000 feet. Pretty impressive. This is the highest altitude I’ve ever ridden in.

That was the peak of the mountains and on the way down, about 15 miles later, I was in what looked like Nevada or New Mexico. Sharp reddish rocks jutted out of the mountains as the road twisted down to Woodruff, the last town in Utah.

Next stop was Wyoming. But just for a bit. However, in Wyoming, I was following both the Oregon Trail and a Union Pacific Line. Could this get any more geekier?

Along the way, I saw an older alignment… with an old steel bridge! Yes, it got geekier. I practically geeked out. The bridge had a wooden floor! I couldn’t find an easy access to it, so I rode on.

That was it for Wyoming, but not for long. US 30 curves left, heads west and slides into Idaho in a weird sort of way. The railroad drips south and the road heads a bit north. I don’t think this was the original alignment of 30 (or the Oregon Trail). This was a newer road.

And hello there, Idaho! I’ve never been to Idaho before. Ever. It’s one of the few states that has not be blessed with my presence. But here we are, together at last!

Idaho was a pretty cool state. Maybe it’s just this corner of it, but whatever, Idaho was great.

First off, it’s pretty. That’s always a plus. Secondly, about five miles into it, Route 30 takes a weird northerly bend. Along the road you can see an earlier road. I thought it was simply an earlier alignment of Route 30. Oh no, it was not.

The road was the McAuley Cutoff. And, like most cutoffs, there’s a fun story behind it. You can read about it here. That’s just cool. Seriously, read it. This is why I love riding through places like this.

US 30 took me into Montpelier, ID. Montpelier was a Oregon Trail town and, like many Route 66 towns, they’re proud of their place in history. There is even a government-run museum in the town.

I stopped at it and was pretty curious as to how they’d set it up. The building itself was divided into several museums and the forestry service. It was pretty confusing.

To make matters wackier, the people who worked there were dressed as cowboys. Even the women. Some had old Colt revolvers. They all talked like they were from Texas. And then they sang a song about a cowpoke.

I wish I were making this up. But it’s true. The head cowboy offered me a tour. I declined. Honestly, how can I trust these people? Ok, if they wanted to do a first person impression of a settler traveling the Oregon Trail, fine. First person impressionists are extremely knowledgeable and fun. But these were just normal folk (or government employees) dressed as fake Texas cowboys standing in a museum that was built in the 1970’s. And they wanted me to pay for this? Come on, now.

I was hoping, as I left Montpelier, that I would also be leaving the hokey cowboy barf behind me. Sadly, that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

The road, now US 89 (again, if you’re paying attention), swung me back into Wyoming. This road was certainly beautiful. Along with the hokeyness, I thought I left the Oregon Trail behind. But no. There was a leg of it called the Lander Cutoff. The cutoff was made to shorten the distance of the Oregon Trail, but this cutoff was much rougher than the original. However, the Lander alignment had food and water, a big plus when trying not to die on your way to California.

This was a pretty neat spot. Idaho, unfortunately, doesn’t really mark where the trail is (or was). They have many historical markers about it, most saying that it was near by or along side of US 89. But if there is evidence of the road itself, I didn’t see it and it went unmarked.

And that somehow lead to the hoke. From here on out, the closer that I got to Jackson, WY, the cheesier it got. And it wasn’t the good cheese like what is offered on Route 66. This was just sad.

Everything revolved around cowboys and settlers. Ok, fine, I don’t have a real problem with that. But why do it in a “if you have WAY too much money and time, blow it here on cowboy crap made in China!” It’s sort of like the Shore. Except instead of the ocean, we have the settlers.

You can spend some time and money on a dude ranch where you can hang out with real fake cowboys! You can grab a Miller Lite at a real fake saloon! You can go on real fake covered wagons where real fake settlers will tell you real fake stories about what it was like to live way back in the good ol’ days where one in 17 settlers died en route to what they were told was a better life.

I hate places like this. Why can’t we just have kitsch? Why do we insist upon cheapening (and then overpricing) such important and tragic events? In 100 years, we’ll have a 9/11 rollercoaster, I promise you.

Ok, sorry for ranting.

At least the mountains and the Snake River were beautiful. It was Friday, so everybody and their insane grandma were on the road. After a long stretch through a valley, US 26 joined US 89 and I rolled east towards the unfortunately named town of “Hoback.” Yick!

Slipping north, about ten miles from Jackson, I saw a KOA. I thought it was weird since my stop for the night, a KOA on the other side of Jackson, wasn’t all that far away. I rode on.

To get to my KOA, I didn’t have to enter Jackson. I’m actually still debating whether I should even go there. What if it brings me to uncontrollable fits of ranting? We’ll see. Anyway, I didn’t have to go into it. It was five miles down the road and another two miles north on Moose Wilson Road (one of the coolest road names ever).

I rode up Moose Wilson and back down. No KOA. I called Sarah for directions. After several long minutes of trying to connect to an incredibly crappy dial up connection, she told me that the KOA was 12 miles south of Jackson. Yes, the KOA I passed nearly 20 miles ago was my KOA. Guess who was not thrilled? This one.

I rode the 20 miles back to the KOA. While there, they informed me that they didn’t really have anything… and something about a party last night and they’ll get back to me. I was to have a seat “over there.”

I sat “over there” for about 20 minutes. They were swamped. Three people were working the counter and none of them had even a second to take a breather.

So I left.

There wasn’t much that I could do except hop on the scooter and head back to Hoback, where I fueled up and called Sarah so that she could check on motels in Jackson.

She checked on a few, but they were either booked or $100 a night. No thanks. I had her check on ones nearly an hour away. Nothing. Same story. It’s the weekend in touristland. I was screwed.

What did I do? Well, I resigned myself to riding until I found something. Anything. And as I found myself in front of that same KOA, I pulled in and crossed my fingers.

They were still swamped and people were not happy. I’m not one to get upset, so I waited my turn and asked if they had anything for the night. The lady behind the counter apologized for before and checked.

There were some spots by the river, “but they might be flooded.” And I’d have to park my scooter and walk a pretty long way. I wasn’t jumping for joy. At least I tried.

“We do have a couple of Teepees open.”

Huh?

I asked what she meant. And, like she had said, she meant teepees. For some reason, this KOA has three teepees. One was being used, but I was welcome to stay in either of the others. She sent me down to pick one out.

Upon further inspection, I discovered that these were canvas teepees with a plank wood floor next to the river all by their lonesome. I thought for exactly one second before running back to the office to tell the woman “I’ll take the teepee!” in a very delighted voice.

I forked over my 36 bucks and unloaded my gear inside a real fake teepee! Look at me! I’m an Indian!

Ranting again, sorry. I do really like the teepee. It’s much roomier than my tent and it’s cheaper than a motel. I think this is the coolest place I’ve stayed so far. Maybe. Well, it’s the weirdest place I’ve stayed so far.

Tomorrow I’ll check out Jackson (probably).

Miles today: 334
Miles total: 6,400

Here are my pics.

Oh, PS! I nearly forgot to tell you… I am now the proud owner of THIS!!
Pretend you’re not sick with envy!