Miles: 58
Elevation gain: 1st mountain climb of the Rockies
Temperature: high 92
Sitting with hot chocolate in a wooden stool at a kitchen table, the sounds of cereal being munched away droned out the awaiting city in the backdrop. The stash of quite spuratic book collections Hostels behold is always an intriguing mix of romance counterbalanced by self help. Without a pulsing urge to do more than sit read and write, Alan Alda's superlative memoir had quite the pickings of long lost words and orgasmic phrases.
But as afternoon hits brains gets frisky waiting like antsy kids to pedal onwards. This city is full of bustling life and noise. The brick walls swirled around and buses, lights, commotion were trivial noises in the background of a visual chaos. Boise is a historic town, revamped brick buildings line well groomed gridded streets with parallel cycling lanes. Bikes stack like lovers on all block corners and friendly strangers buy us melt in your mouth bagels. And there is something about these Blue Sky bagels, their glutenous softness that is metabolized like high fructious corn syrup. The variating mix of hipster, outdoorsy, tattooed, bicycle junkie, businessmen and housewives, makes a stew of a lovely town, minus the one comman thread - diversity lacks and everyone is white.
Curiosity had the power to engage us completely. People watching for hours, it sent us to a zone where time stopped and we floated through that intimate space between dots on the face of a watch. But Nature is an intoxicating, tantalizing puzzle, a pyrotechnic display. Sometimes like city traffic, thoughts get suck in a ruminant cycle on trips like these. Knowing that the answer lies in mountain views, the itch of pursuit north was too much to withstand. With some advice from the local bike shop, we planned a detour into Montana off main roads, to the pointy Rockies, scenic bliss, and Glacier National Park.
The last stop in town caused a teary eyed heartbreak. My new adopted mother, O'Reilly's mother, had sent us a childhood favorite, homemade Congo Bars straight out of the 375 degree oven, and to our dismantled disappointment, Boise Idaho post office put them on a truck back to New Hampshire along with a stack of letter from friends. 2 summers ago, leading a cross country bike trip and setting up general delivery drops at over 20 stops for 33 mothers to send their precious cargo state to state, never had I seen this devestation. Trying to keep reality in check, and my 29 year old self from having a complete meltdown over 5 days of excitment a package containing mom's Congo madness was not the end of the world, Ralph starred at me with his big oval eyes, and puffy pillow body. Italian roots kicked in and loaded with a splurge on a bottle of Sambuca, we hit the road escaping sadness in hopes to find some big trees and a river.
40 miles later, the whirlwind cycle of a spinning mind pedaled to sanity and we sat by a river in a woodsy valley, chatting up a local swimmer. Reheating cabbage and rice for dinner, he thrilled us with the offer to deliver fresh coffee upon sunrise to our nesting river beach and the day ended in happiness.
Field notes: Ustick rd turns into a bike land that interects with the greenbelt bike way along the river which goes straight into downtown Boise. State street, not great but gets you there to hwy 55N. Busy road is small shoulder. Sucked. Locals say early morning week days are a good time to travel this road. Not Friday at rush hour. Good camping along river.