Day two on the road - I should have taken the interstate

The Day In Numbers

Liters of water consumed: 14

Helpful, bearded women: 1

Military weapons ranges discovered: 1
Penitentiaries passed: 2

Miles biked: ?

The stream that ran beneath me drowned out all other noises, and it wasn't until the sun breached the top of the canyon that I woke. I busied myself with my morning tasks, but all I could think of was the climb out of the canyon and the pass that lay just beyond it. After a big breakfast of warm cereal I reconfigured some of my luggage and hit the road.

I passed some engineers working on on the dam and joked with them about giving me a lift out of the canyon. Since the canyon wasn't actually on my route I had secretly made a deal with myself that, if someone offered to give me a lift back to the highway, I might gladly take it. Packed dirt from the season of tourists gave me a route up the hill, and the climb passed much more easily than I had dared hope for. I turned on to the highway and the climb over the pass came and went. As I cleared the top I let out a loud whoop and a grin spread from ear to ear.

Looking back at Anderson Ranch Reservoir

The descent went on for miles as I passed Devil's Dive, the site of numerous stagecoach robberies, and dropped into a valley with prairie on one side and a scorched hillside on the other. As the grade leveled out I reached Rattlesnake Station, the historic site of Mountain Home, Idaho. Here I stopped to look at my map and realized I had missed a turn. I had not noticed any paved turnoffs and, considering I had just descended over a thousand feet, I wasn't eager to go back and investigate.

I had been using Google's new bicycle mapping feature, and it was here that I discovered they don't exclude dirt roads. I picked a new route that would take me north as soon as possible and started off towards Mountain Home.

Wagon wheels outside a water stop. (This section of my route followed the Oregon Trail)

I skirted the north end of town and stopped to talk to several locals along the way. I was curious if there were paved route to Boise other than the interstate. Not entirely convinced by any of the directions I received, I stopped at a gas station to contact the sheriff's office. I asked if it were legal to bike on the interstate and I was put on indefinite hold. Google maps gave me a route which matched the route several the locals had suggested. I filled up on water, refueled, and headed out into the desert.

The scenery I enjoyed for the better(?) part of the day

The first road follow the interstate as it curved north towards Boise. To the to the east, the land between myself and the interstate has been ravished by wildfires, and to the west there was only desert as far as I could see. I was looking for Cinder Butte road which had been labeled as Main Butte road. I passed it and road 2 miles on until my road terminated for seemingly no reason. Doubling back, I found Cinder Butte road to be unpaved, but passable, so I took a drink of water and headed west. During the next 2 miles I was passed by two semi trucks labeled "water". Each roared past me as water literally sloshed out the top of their tanks. I pulled my bandanna over my face to avoid inhaling their dust through my already dry mouth. I saw a ranch in the distance and decided to finish my last water bottle. My current route took me straight to the entrance of the ranch which had two "no trespassing" signs posted on either side of the road. I was hot, tired, and thirsty and decided to pass on through the ranch rather than go around. Though, still very much in the desert, I was now surrounded by large irrigated fields. All I wanted was to refill my water bottles, while around me hundreds of gallons of water flew through the desert air. Acres and acres of alfalfa. Cow food. I came to the ranch home and it looked as inhospitable as the entrance to the land, so I reluctantly pressed on. Half mile down the road I saw asphalt, but when I approached the new paved road I saw that it was only pulverized volcanic cinders. Without a thought I continued with the hopes that Range Road would be paved. After a while of being on the cinder it occurred to me that it might not be the best thing for my tires. (During the first hundred miles of our drive to Idaho, my front tire was hanging in front of the exhaust pipe of Marcie's Mini. The rubber, already weakened by the heat of exhaust, had succumb to the cinders and the second layer of the tire was exposed.) I decided to walk the remaining mile to Range Road. As I longed for asphalt, Range Road came into view as the pulverized cinder turned to course gravel. I saw a large home down the road and continued to walk towards it thinking only of water. 15 minutes later I saw a humvee followed by three other large military vehicles roar down an intersecting road and on into the desert. I didn't have to get to the "house" before I thought of several reasons for the naming of "Range Road". Indeed, the large home with it's promise of water was not a house at all, but a military facility used for joint forces urban combat training. Range Road was named for the military weapons range I now found myself on. I briefly considered approaching the compound to search for water, but thought better of it after reading a sign with some combination of the words, "death, lasers, munitions, live, etc." I had started the day at the top of the world. After my first long climb I had been rewarded with a massive stretch of downhill. Not five hours later, I found myself at rock bottom considering a ten mile walk across the desert to the interstate. Luckily(!) a pick up approached and after a second thought I waved it down. The driver was an ex-Marine who currently leads a team of firefighters in a constant battle against brush fires started by explosive munitions (30-40 fires/day). I filled him in on my situation and without hesitation he told me to get in. As we drove down the road he explained that this was range 11 of 11. These ranges were used for all sorts of live-fire exercises. In fact that night there were to be rocket exercises. I told him how stupid I felt for ending up in the predicament I had. He assured me I just listened to the wrong advice and that Google maps had in fact pointed people in that direction before. The other day they had picked up a woman who had actually driven her SUV out onto the range. The man was happy to talk and I happy to listen as he drove me all 25 miles to pavement. (Throughout the ordeal, I had kept the interstate in sight and thought that I could have walked back to any number of ranches for water, but there's no doubt that this man saved my ass.)

I must have thanked the man twenty times before I got out of the truck. After attaching my packs to my bike, I rode to the nearest house and drank all the water I could stomach. The owner of the home was a man wearing cut off jeans that left very little to the imagination. He told me we were only about 12 miles from Boise. After 5 to 10 minutes of chitchat I thanked him and I eagerly hit the road. Half an hour later I found myself at the home of Dani and Troy who would prove to be the best hosts I could had hoped for. After a shower I joined them the table. Though eager to get to know my new friends, my exhaustion from the day hit me like a wave and I had to excuse myself for bed. I don't remember much from that evening other than feeling incredibly happy to be exactly where I was (most importantly, not in the desert...)