Ok, sorry for the whine-fest earlier today, but hey, it was REALLY freaking cold! It’s miserable to try to sleep in the cold. Geesh!

The shower was hot though, and that nearly makes up for it. Nearly. But what did actually make up for it was meeting four motorcyclists from Colorado Springs while I was typing my whine-fest. They were doing a six-day run to Yellowstone. It was nice to talk to some folks who also ride. And it was nice to be treated as an equal. Though, one fellow said several times that I was a “crazy man.” I guess I can see where he’s coming from a little bit. It probably seems a bit crazy to do this on a little scooter when I could do it on a larger cycle. But there’s just something about a Vespa…

I waited around for it to warm up, leaving the KOA around 9am. I decided to ride to Jackson to see what all the hubbub was about.

I have to say, I really don’t get it. My description in my rant yesterday basically covers it. It’s all that and basically not much else. I rode around a few blocks hoping to see something that would interest me.

Nothing really did. I guess I just don’t care so much. I bet things are really expensive here too.

One thing that really excited me was a Chinese place called Ocean City. Why it was actually called that, I have no idea. But to me, this place is Ocean City without the ocean.

The ride from Jackson to Teton Summit was pretty amazing. Before reaching the base of the mountain, I was afforded the view of the lower Tetons. Thank you. Tetons is French for Breasts. Sigh. Anyway, I catch a glimpse and they look great.

Just after Wilson, the road climbs higher and higher through several switchbacks and suddenly I’m on the snowy top! I dismounted and took a picture of Jackson from way far away. I was also asked to take a picture of a group of French tourists. I wonder if they got a kick out of Great Tetons. Hm.

Even though the border of Idaho and Wyoming is a straight line and based on absolutely nothing geographical, as soon as I got to the bottom of the mountain, Idaho appeared! Presto! And there I was in Idaho.

I have to admit that I wasn’t really stoked about riding through Idaho. I mean, it’s Idaho. Thanks to my mom, I knew that there was a huge spud on a flat bed truck in front of a drive-in theater near Driggs.

Driggs was a little out of my way, but I didn’t care. I figured that Idaho was going to suck, at least something should be fun, right?

So I saw the spud and it was indeed a bunch of fun! I’m glad someone in Idaho thinks they’re funny.

And I was ready to be bored by Idaho. Bring it on!

Between Driggs and Victor was the valley called Pierre’s Hole. This is where a battle took place between fur trappers and a tribe of natives. As the tribe’s chief extended a peace pipe to the traders, he was shot dead. Oops! Hilarity ensued.

You can read about it here.

I rode back to Victor and took Idaho Route 31 south to Swan Lake where I picked up US 26 again, but heading west this time, instead of east. As expected, there wasn’t much going on.

I did, however, stumble upon a really great view of a canyon, but in order to really see it, I had to enter an oddly closed down rest area to do it. I’m not really sure why the rest area was closed, but it was a nice view.

The next town was Idaho Falls. Glory be.

I kind of forgot that I used to love riding through towns. As I was about ready to pass it by, I thought of it and turned towards the downtown.

This place was beat. Nobody was out, nothing was open. It was sort of like an old town in Jersey or something.

I took some pictures and stumbled upon Happy.

Happy is a Chinese place and it really did live up to its name. The woman who ran it was pretty happy and the food, Ma Po Tofu, was vegan and delicious. It was actually spicy! That never happens! I was pretty excited.

On the way out, an older lady who was sitting by the window looking at my scooter asked me, “Are you the one who’s traveling on the scooter?” I said that I was and she smiled.

“I’m 70 something, but I used to have one of those when I was 15. We’d zip around North Hollywood and raise some hell.”

She told me that she grew up on North Hollywood and had an old Vespa. I guess you could ride them at any age then. It was great talking to her. I could tell that she wanted to be zipping around on a scooter again. She wasn’t sad and seemed to be pretty content where she was, but who wouldn’t want to zip around on a scooter? Especially since a happy chunk of her childhood was spent “zipping around North Hollywood” on a Vespa.

I hope at 70 that I’m still zipping around.

So, ok. Idaho was boring, but not bad. I met a great gal, had some amazing food and the broken down town of Idaho Falls was actually depressing in a good way. I guess I can say that since I don’t live there.

Speaking of Idaho Falls, where are the falls? Well, I accidentally found them while hooking up with US 20.

They’re certainly not Niagara, but they’re pretty and if I lived here, I’d be happy the falls were here too.

Route 26 took a weird detour to Blackfoot while Route 20 went straight west. I took US 20 and i’m glad that I did.

This is where I found Hell’s Half Acre. Now, there are many Hell’s Half Acres. Ohio, Tennessee, Fort Worth, Texas all have them. There’s even a Hal’s Half Acre across the river from Duncannon.¹ But this Hell’s Half Acre is the youngest of the Basaltic Lava Fields in the Snake River Plain.

I rode into the field on a little dirt road. Most of the lava is sort of hard to see. It’s covered by sage grass and random trees. But it’s there. And it’s a pretty huge lava field. 4,000 - 5,000 years ago, the earth cracked open and lava spewed forth over 125 square acres… so a bit more than a half acre. There wasn’t a volcano here, just a vent. I didn’t have time to walk to the vent.

Also, the temperature kept climbing it was in the 90’s now. Crazy.

This lava field and others are part of the Great Rift Zone.

Because there was a whole lot of lava in this area, there weren’t many towns. And because there weren’t many towns, wouldn’t this make an excellent place to build the world’s first nuclear power plant? It sure would be!

You can even tour it if you’re feeling spunky enough. I wasn’t, so rode on.

Right before Butte City, Routes 20 and 26 rejoined. Idaho wasn’t looking too bad now that I was actually experiencing it. I was seeing a lot and learning a bunch of fun stuff.

But I figured that would be it. Acro, where I stopped for gas, surprised me. They had the top part of a submarine in their park and one of the coolest things I’ve seen on the trip thus far.

Behold: Arco Number Hill.

What would all these numbers stand for? Well it’s tradition in Arco, since 1920, for the graduating senior class to paint their graduating year on the side of the mountain. I’ve never seen such a thing before. Sure, many towns will paint the first letter of the town name on the side of the closest eminence, but for each class, every year to paint their graduating year… well, I’m impressed. Go Idaho!

As I was riding US 20, I kept seeing signs for Craters of the Moon. I knew it was some park or something, probably nothing to see from the highway, no time to see more and no desire to pay $10 to quickly ride through it to see some hole in the ground or something.

Again, Idaho proves how much it rules.

Just after Arco, I started to see more lava. Ok, Idaho used to be a bit hotter than it was now (nearing 100 degrees, by the way). But as I rode, the formations grew in size until, not too far from the road, they were basically small mountains.

I pulled over and took in the sea of blackened lava surrounding me. As late as 2,100 years ago, lava was erupting from the ground and out of mountains. This was one of the most amazing things I have ever seen in my entire life.

You can look at my pictures and read about it here, but, like so many things, it’s something to be experienced. It is huge, 714 acres. There’s a small park with a seven-mile trail. I didn’t do it. No time, really. But I promise you, I’m coming back to see this. Amazing.

So I went from basically dreading Idaho to having plans to return. Weird, isn’t it? I certainly wouldn’t want to live here, but this lava field thing is pretty cool in my book.

A bit farther down the road and it’s lush and green, like nothing ever happened.

For pretty much the entire day, I was following an alignment of the Oregon Trail. Specifically Lander Road, at first and then Goodale’s Cutoff through the lava fields. Why he chose this route, I’m not really sure. Looking at a map, it doesn’t seem to save that much time.

And finally, I arrive in Mountain Home. It’s a small town that used to be called Rattlesnake. That was when it was 10 miles northish of here on the Oregon Trail. When the Trail died out and Union Pacific laid their line through, Rattlesnake, now called Mountain Home because Rattlesnake is a dumb name for a town, moved 10 miles and went from being an Oregon Trail stop to being a Union Pacific stop.

It’s also a stop for me! I checked the weather and all seems clear. So I’m getting a campsite and enjoying not freezing to death.

Here are my pics.

Miles today: 329
Miles total:  6,729

PS- as I started to write this, the wind picked up and a dust storm overtook the campground. This is out of nowhere and pretty well sucks.

PPS - In other news, I’m the new owner of this. However, I sadly missed out on this.

1. I saw a sign reading “Hal’s Half Acre” on Route 147 once. It was more than likely put there by Hal. [↩]

Can you think of a better way to spend the first night of summer? How about in a teepee in Wyoming where it’s so unbelievably cold that it completely hinders even the concept of sleeping? And how about when you wake up, there’s frost on the ground. You know… that mythical first frost of summer. Ahhh!

That’s pretty much my night. Except that there were obviously moments of sleep. I had dreams such as:

-The dream about a gas heater… warm blue flames.
-The dream about buying thermals at Kmart.
-The dream about hanging out with Cole in warm California.
-The dream about an electric heater.

I’m sure there were more. So I slept at least four times last night.

The scooter was also covered in frost. Right now, it’s 39 degrees. I’ve ridden in colder, but would really rather not. The sun is out and warm (thank god the sun isn’t cold). The temps will rise quickly in the sunny spots.

There are cows bellowing in the background.

Tonight, they’re calling for the possibility of severe thunderstorms with dangerous lightening (as opposed to that safe, cuddly lightening) and microbursts. My tent won’t hold up to that. The fiberglass poles are held together with duct tape. If I find a Gander Mountain type store, I’ll be hitting it to buy aluminum poles. If not, and if the weather goes bad, I’m heading for a motel. I don’t want another night like Gallup. No thanks.

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!