0715 - Cruising the Salmon River Canyon - Rejuvenation? Or Last Hurrah?

July 15, 2022

0715 - Cruising the Salmon River Canyon

Another fairly short, easy day

THE DISTINCTIVE GUITAR RIFF from "Inna Gadda Da Vida" drifted faintly from the kitchen into the dining area of Kate's Cattleman's, a homey breakfast and lunch place just next to the Riggins Motel. It was followed later by other anthems of the 1960s, and went well with my hostess' mien.

Kate, a laughing, gentle-spoken woman with an oddly high, twittery voice is warm and welcoming. She's evidently an institution in these parts, and of course greets all her local customers by name. She also helps out of town return guests remember what they usually have.

There's a family group of eight here for an annual rafting trip. They came to Kate's on their first trip and make a point of returning each year. They banter easily with Kate, who shares her ambitions with them. There's also another couple, dressed in western work wear, who have taken a seat on the other side of the restaurant's entryway. They're the ones who need reminding of what they usually order.

Kate says she's thinking about selling the place and traveling to Moldova to work on a project involving adoption of orphans. Quite a thing. But in the meantime, she produces a large tub of bing cherries and a box of ziplock bags. "I picked these from my tree this week. I've already frozen a few gallons, so please help yourselves."

Fresh home grown cherries. These will help get me to White Bird.

It's still early (before 0700) but I'm already beginning to stress about getting going, because it's going to be another hot, hot day. Still, it's nice to relax as I wait for my breakfast to appear.

That's homemade raspberry jam on the side. Oooh la la!

Overnight I got an email from Dan, a friend of a friend. He's riding east with Ian. Dan's trip got off to a tough start: after flying to Portland he contracted COVID and had to wait until he was clear before he could start riding. Ian went on ahead, and Dan rented a car and caught up later.

They're now in Council, and riding longer days than me, so they'll probably catch me today or tomorrow. It's a short one for me: 30 miles or so from Riggins to White Bird. Even though I'll make it easily before midday ("noon" is a harder concept today because I'm starting in the Mountain time zone but almost immediately crossing back into the Pacific time zone, thereby setting my clocks back by an hour) I'll stop there because the next 12 to 14 miles are the big hill I've been hearing so much about: the "White Bird grade", as it's called in these parts. So, I'll leave that to be tomorrow's project.

Pacific time on one side, Mountain time on the other.

Somewhere along the line I happen on another roadside espresso / smoothie place. Like the one outside Riggins, it's a small portable building that can be moved from place to place, or taken off the road and stored in the off season. What the heck: I can always do with a fruit smoothie, and I'm in no hurry today. I am surprised, when I roll up to the window to order, to find that the young woman working it is the very same as she who made my smoothie yesterday afternoon.

Same friendly smile, same upbeat demeanor. Same young woman as yesterday.

Like yesterday, today's ride isn't a test of stamina and will; it's an easy glide along the Salmon River, following it downstream. I see rafters (perhaps my breakfast companions, though I'll never know) at one point, and many fishermen and other recreation-seeking outdoorspeople at the various Bureau of Land Management access points that dot the river's turns and bends.

Salmon River scenery. I don't know where Idaho grows all its potatoes but I don't think it's around here.

Arriving at the point where the TransAm diverts from "new" US 95 to Old US 95, I find this truck parked and idling, evidently waiting for something. It's clearly an older model (turns out to be a Kenworth "A" model, built in 1973). I'm not sure why but curiosity overcomes me so I stop and ask the driver how many miles it's done. He checks the odometer: "A million six" is the answer. That's a LOT of miles.

Todd and his brother own this rig and three others of similar vintage. "I love those older models" he tells me.

We chat for a bit ("Going up the hill?", Todd asks) and on learning that I am we talk about whether it's better to try today or wait for tomorrow. It's already nearly 80 degrees and headed for 95 or more, and I'll be on the climb for probably five hours. So, we agree that a pause in White Bird for the afternoon and a really early start tomorrow make more sense.

A roadside history sign explains that the area was subjected to hydraulic mining- basically blasting the hillsides with high-pressure water- for many years.

Evidence of the impact such extraction techniques leave behind.

Old US 95 is as pleasant as new US 95 is busy. I'll be happy to take the old highway tomorrow rather than the new one.

Cruising easily on Old US 95, a couple miles before entering White Bird.

Arriving in White Bird proper, I start scouting for a place to stay. The White Bird Motel is full up, no luck there. The manager, a stout woman who is neither especially welcoming nor overtly hostile, is wearing a tee shirt emblazoned "American Anarchist." I have no idea whether to take it seriously, or just write it off as being "just something to wear".

There's supposedly a town park, or perhaps it's the grounds of the now-closed elementary school, where cycle tourists are allowed to camp, but what I could find didn't look promising. There was a sign in the school window that seemed to indicate a room inside could be rented for $25 but again, that didn't appeal.

This very tidy little park might have been the place, but it seemed disrespectful to camp in a place that honors White Bird's veterans.

This bench hints at a poigniant, tragic event in the recent past. All the more reason not to sleep here.

White Bird's population is currently 91 souls; they've certainly contributed their fair share and then some to the nation's armed services over the years.

One wonders whether there is any male in White Bird, and now also any female, who hasn't served at some point.

Freedom has a cost. It's as well to be reminded of that from time to time.

While I'm pondering my options outside the Post Office, a couple drives up to get their mail. The woman, who admits to being 75, asks if I'm going "up the hill" and says she did it "and I was probably older than you are now". On being told that I am, she counsels me to wait until tomorrow morning when it's cool. Also, she says, "There's cougars in the area. Our neighbors called us to say they had seen one in our driveway the other day." Great. I'd been concerned about bears, now I have cougars. When do I get to meet the tigers, too?

Working my way back along the route I followed into town, I try my luck at the Salmon River Resort and RV Park. No luck: the whole shebang has been rented out by some organization or another. "But try the Swiftwater RV Park, down the hill less than a mile from here", I'm told.

The Swiftwater does indeed have a spot for me. I claim a nicely-shaded corner of the yard behind the laundry room, showers, and common restrooms and make it my own for the afternoon and evening. Evidently there's another cyclist expected, but I know not when or whether they'll actually arrive.

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Consecutive days without tire problems: 3

Today's ride: 33 miles (53 km)
Total: 502 miles (808 km)

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Dana PalmerGood luck going up the hill tomorrow!
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1 year ago

Keith AdamsTo Dana PalmerThanks! There's a good chance Dan and Ian will catch me, if they haven't already gone past me.
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1 year ago

George HallI stayed at the White Bird hotel in 2015. They were a cash-only business! Fortunately, I had enough cash with me - but that was a surprise.
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1 year ago