End of the Road

As all good things must come to an end, we had to leave the dry heat of Moab after a handful of days. And because our time was limited, we were forced to return on much the same path we'd arrived. We drove and drove and when we couldn't bear to drive any more, we found ourselves, as we did last year, in Twin Falls, Idaho.

Now, given my original impression last year of Twin Falls, I can't say I had a huge desire to return. I have no doubt it's a perfectly nice place to live, and people who live there have affirmed that fact, but it's not somewhere I need to repeatedly spend vacation time. Nonetheless, we duplicated our visit there in every way, staying again at the same lackluster hotel and eating dinner at the same over-air conditioned Chili's that, like everywhere else in Twin Falls, maddeningly lacks any outdoor seating. The next morning I ran the same route I covered a year ago and noted that the while the walking trail along the canyon hasn't been extended, the number of stores littering that space has increased. What a pity.

We did pay a visit, this time around, to the Shoshone Falls that lend the city its name. The Niagara of the West is actually higher than Niagara Falls itself.

Road trips, for my boys, carry with them the much-anticipated opportunity to eat at chain restaurants, like other "normal" children. This is the one time when I cave and pay, albeit reluctantly, to dine at establishments that offer over-sized menus replete with color photographs ~ apparently reading is too burdensome for some patrons ~ and portions that underscore why Americans keeping getting bigger.

I try mightily to avoid these places, each of which is essentially interchangeable with the next. Sadly, should my offspring pen autobiographies, they'll likely devote entire chapters to having eaten twice at Chili's in Twin Falls, so exciting an event was it for them. And to double their joy, the very next day we lunched yet again at another chain that we came upon while once more biking the greenbelt in Boise. The irony of a place called Joe's Crab Shack in this particular region wasn't lost on me; suffice it to say there ain't no crabs in the Boise River. But my boys don't care. And sitting outside on a lovely, hot day while drinking an icy beer, I decided not to care either.

The juxtaposition of this playground and these gravestones in Pendleton, Oregon was striking to me. It's not a full-fledged cemetery, this green space, which makes the arrangement all the stranger. Within the span of one week, well over a hundred years ago, three young siblings died and were laid to rest here. Makes one rather somber, listening to your own rambunctious children while sitting beside another child's resting place.

Pendleton is one of those towns that, from a distance, looks utterly idyllic. It lies nestled amidst the rolling hils and wheat fields, a treed oasis. Upon closer examination, the ideal begins to falter. It has some surprisingly nice homes ~ or in some cases, homes that could be surprisingly nice ~ and the downtown offers such potential. But having spent well over an hour running back and forth in Pendleton, I think I can safely say it isn't what one wants it to be, or what it could be. It does have the Great Pacific Wine & Coffee Company going for it, and that's definitely something.

I always enjoy the surprisingly-situated Maryhill Museum of Art...

...with its array of memorabilia from Queen Marie of Romania...

...its international chess sets...

...and its lovely grounds and outdoor sculpture garden.

But rolling down the Columbia, this time around, meant heading west. Back to the cool climes of home. Back to long pants and fleece. Back to work. And to reality.

I wasn't ready. I'd only just started. I wanted to point the car east and, to the strains of Willie, be On the Road Again. I wanted to once more come upon surprises ~ even if the surprise was the sameness ~ around the next bend. Something there is about the open highway and no particular place to go...

Canyonlands

Canyonlands National Park has three distinct areas, one of which, the Island in the Sky mesa, is an easy drive from Moab. As close as it is to Arches, the terrain here has its own identity. You can get a good feel for Island in the Sky and enjoy some fantastic, short hikes even if your visit is confined to one day ~ or even part of one day. Both parks, by the way, were far from crowded. Canyonlands in particular was relatively empty. Aside from a brief encounter with one tour bus group, we nearly had the place to ourselves.
I'm surprised I look so relaxed, given that there's a sheer drop behind us.
I could have spent hours at Mesa Arch, watching this thunderstorm move in. The sun shining on the rock, with the darkening sky and flashes of lightning in behind it was nothing short of awesome.
Rafe noticed this sedum and wanted to capture it in a picture. I think he did a nice job!
After watching numerous Japanese tourists hiking to Delicate Arch with umbrellas in hand, I adopted the idea for fair-skinned Luke.
Upheaval Dome, three miles wide, may be the result of an impact crater. We'll never know.
It's a small world...these Swiss German tourists are from a village just a few miles beyond Hans's home town.

Mom & Rafe, photo by Kai.

He's cute. Very cute.

Big bro and little bros.

I ran & biked along a canyon next to the Colorado River. Sadly, I didn't have my camera on hand for the rainbow at sunrise. Still a great memory, though.

Arches

Arches National Park is relatively small, but the landscape is larger than life. It's other-worldly, and nothing short of incredible. Apparently, the French think so, too. Yep, the French. Who knew?! Germans, Australians, Japanese ~ you'll encounter them by the droves, all over the world. The French? Not so much. And rarely in the United States. Turns out they're all in southern Utah. They disregard park signage (conveniently in French) and wear shoes that couldn't be less appropriate and make frequent reference to John Wayne, whose movies, along with Bonanza reruns, are probably aired more often in Europe than they are on this side of the pond.
Wolfe Ranch ~ hard to imagine someone intentionally settling here to ranch, given the conditions.
We wisely waited until the hottest part of the 100+ degree day to hike up to Delicate Arch. I assured the boys it was only a 3 mile trek round-trip, neglecting to consider that 3 miles in this temperature and terrain is equivalent to approximately 33 miles on our home turf . At least we followed recommendations and took multiple gallons of water. (We, er, thought about it, anyway...) But we got there and took the requisite pictures and it was well worth the trek.
Incidentally, Moab has a nice, new rec facility with indoor and outdoor pools. Pretty remarkable for a town of less than 5,000.
We loved the Canyonlands Inn and took full advantage of the pool.
It was fascinating to see where new arches are forming, and where previous arches likely existed. Evidence of the ever-changing landscape. Landscape Arch is breathtaking, but one wonders how much longer it will offer this view. A number of years ago, a piece of it broke off while people were standing directly below. Ouch.

Southward

One benefit of road-tripping is discovering that places I wouldn't necessarily consider a destination are, in fact, quite worth my time. Case in point, Boise. Along with Walla Walla, Boise is one of those towns that I assumed was kinda sorta...well, let's just say, not worth a stopover. But as with so many towns, actually getting off the freeway and into the heart of the city offers a new perspective. Like Missoula, our last summer's discovery, a river runs through Boise, and a river can make all the difference.

A greenbelt runs up and down the aptly-named Boise River and we thoroughly enjoyed biking and running miles along the path. We spent a bit of time downtown after hours, where crowds enjoyed the warm, summer night. Boise has the feel of a big city in a small town. Plenty to do but not overwhelming. And it's warm. And dry. And, very important point here, they have an excellent natural foods co-op. Aside from missing the open water, I'd be quite comfortable living in Boise. Yes, there's the usual strip mall sprawl, but the core is great. And housing prices are laughably low. (Of course, when one lives along the Puget Sound corridor, one feels that way about real estate just about anywhere else.)

I took this picture in honor of a dyed-in-the-wool Bronco fan and Boise resident (whom I neglected to contact while in town). I've decided to be a fan now, too, and may have to encourage one of my boys to attend there so I have an excuse to hang out in Boise. My high school colors were blue & orange and this blue turf is way cool. As an added bonus, BSU tuition is cheap.
Boise was nice & warm, but not warm enough. In order to make up for being cold 99% of the year, I needed to feel heat permeating my core. So we pushed southward, toward Moab, Utah. Unfortunately, getting there demands that one go through the seemingly endless sprawl along the I-15 corridor. There are basically two seasons in this area: winter and construction. I defy anyone to prove otherwise.

Two other noteworthy aspects to this region: First, more billboards exist in the Salt Lake corridor than in the entire rest of the world put together. Second, Utah in general has apparently decided to opt out of that whole rest stop concept. If you're not adept at "holding it", don't drive in Utah without an empty bottle on board, if you kwim.

I'm somewhat familiar with Salt Lake City itself and I like it well enough, so we stopped to meander and have a bite of dinner. I'd forgotten, though, that downtown SLC after hours is akin to a movie set wherein aliens have abducted all the inhabitants. That is to say, it's not a real happenin' place. The combination of w-i-i-i-ide empty streets and empty office buildings can be eerie, and particularly on the heels of lively Boise, the heart of SLC left us rather non-plussed. It's not meant for meandering. Like Joseph Smith's followers in search of the promised land, however, we pushed forth in search of food. Something. Anything. Asking locals about restaurants in the area resulted in quizzical looks as if we were speaking a foreign language. At long last we stumbled upon a pizza place. And just across the street ~ shockingly ~ were fellow humans. A number of them, in fact. Gathered to hear an outdoor concert. My heart soared, as we were treated to a free performance of the Utah Symphony while satiating our appetites. What a delight! And a reminder that good things can happen at the most unexpected times, in the most unexpected places.

We spent that night in Provo. What can I say about Provo other than, "Run away!". If you like to shop, Provo's your kinda place. It's not ours. Moab beckoned.

Keepin' it real in Riggins.

The first thing I noticed, upon returning from a morning run, was the fact that five out of six of these guys were wearing green ~ thereby adhering to the directive on Rafe's shirt. But in keeping with the oblivion so common to males, they hadn't even realized it themselves. (Once I pointed it out to them, Jan promptly went and changed clothing.)

Note, by the way, the über-extended bike rack, altered by our handy-dandy dairy technician. Seven bikes get strapped on here in a rather unwieldy fashion, thereby further increasing the fuel inefficiency of the Carbon Footprint Enhancer.

When I was a child, family road trips typically involved reaching a given Destination. The journey was a means to an end and that entailed mapping a route and putting in some serious daily mileage. Which, in turn, required rising bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to hit the road.

Well, perhaps we weren't all bright-eyed. Or bushy-tailed. But when a former Army drill sergeant pulls off the bed covers, claps his hands heartily, and sing-songs, "It's time to get up! It's time to get up! It's time to get up in the morning!", you follow orders with minimal complaint. And then, years later as an adult, you rebel by engaging in the ultimate road trip taboo: Sticking around town until afternoon. In my case, you still rise-n-shine early ~ leaving the rest of the family contentedly asleep ~ and take a run or a bike ride. You explore your surroundings, either yearning to live there or praising God you don't. You get to know a place, just a bit, before moving on.

Such was the case on the first full day of our road trip. I enjoyed a long, early-morning bike ride while the guys slept. They breakfasted on the hotel so-called food while I found good coffee & pastries elsewhere. And then they spent two hours horsing around in the pool while I did nothing in particular. Finally, when check-out time arrived, we acknowledged that we weren't going to simply stay put in Walla Walla, but still spent some time biking before settling in for a drive.

Now, given that our kinda-maybe-sorta next stop was Boise ~ 260 miles away via the shortest route ~ and given that it was already mid-afternoon, one would think we'd take that shortest route. But no. Of course not. That would be too obvious.

Several hours later, it was clear that north-central Idaho offers a whole heckuvva lot more scenic beauty than it does places to rest one's weary head. So, keep driving. Hope for...something...anything.

And that's where Riggins comes in. The first thing we noticed about Riggins is that it was packed. It's a rinky-dink place in the middle of nowhere, yet cars were lining both sides of the highway (the only street in town). The town didn't look like it offered a whole heckuvva lot, but it sure was a hot spot, as evidenced by the various "No Vacancy" signs that greeted us upon our arrival. Clearly, this po-dunk place wasn't our destiny.

But wait! Did our eyes deceive us? A Best Western ~ and a really lovely Best Western, at that ~here of all places? With a room available? Hallelujah!

And so began our love affair with Riggins. Is it beautiful? Well, no, not really. But that's made up for by the natural surroundings, by the authenticity & friendliness of the people ~ people who genuinely want to be living there, who in some cases actually made sacrifices to be able to move there. As evidenced by the name of the river, people come there to fish. They drive in with ice chests strapped to their bumpers and load 'em up with salmon from runs that hit our Western Washington rivers more than half a year ago. Then they head back home. Or they buy beer, and drink complimentary beer, while soaking up the atmosphere of motels that are rilly, rilly cheap and still offer complimentary beer & homemade cookies. But some of them do stay at the nice Best Western Salmon River Lodge, which is why a letter at the front desk kindly asks guests not to clean fish in the bathtubs.

We don't know how good the fish actually taste, because despite being surrounded by people fishing, on the shores of a river teeming with fish, there was no fresh fish to be had in town. The one regrettable thing about Riggins is that aside from the unusually-good breakfast at the Best Western, the food situation leaves, ah, something to be desired. I never knew there were restaurants that "proudly serve pre-packaged food" along with "only the best corn-fed beef". But there are. And they're in Riggins.

The other big attraction in Riggins is river rafting. Since we weren't equipped to go salmon fishing, and couldn't so much as eat any salmon, we had to at least partake of the rafting. And so we did. It's not New York. It's not L.A. It's...Riggins! Keepin' it real.