I woke up when alarm went off at 6.00 am. As you do, I reset it for 6.30 ‘pm’ and woke again at exactly 8.00. I must have needed that. The motel was fine but, as I’ve said, was a bit grubby for the first time. It had a big comfy bed which was spotless, but it smelt a bit funny. I’ve been in worse! A quick breaky of strawberry jam on bread, a Cliff Bar (oatmeal, raisin and walnuts) a cup of Joe and I was off.
I was in for a huge change – such a contrast. After a run around Anderson Dam (I stuffed up again and went on bitumen around the wrong side), I went from mountains and switchbacks to the vast south Idaho desert. This extends into Nevada and across to Oregon. While it had a light grass all over it, underneath was sand. For the first time, I was grateful for gravel. The roads were straight and rough with a lot of stone in places, but I was able to pick up the pace a bit.
I was seeing some funny creatures racing me as I went along. I now know what that were but, at the time, they looked like a cross between a donkey and a gazelle. Weird. They had short stocky body’s, were very fast, had a white patch on their rears, a short tail and were fawn in colour. The males had antlers and all of them were very frightened of me. Turns out they were antelope – not the picture I had of them in my mind.
After a gravelly run past wind farms and a burger lunch in Glens Ferry (this is often all you can get – grills and diners seem to offer little else, although they they are generally pretty good), I got fuel before ending up back on more bitumen. I had very straight dirt roads after this and felt quite isolated and alone. There were winds blowing and plenty of dust on my last day on the IDBDR.
I was about 80 miles out of Jarbidge when I stopped to take a photo. The bike made a funny backfire as I started off. I didn’t think much about it for about 2 minutes, until I accelerated in 4th gear and the bike just died. What the hell! I dropped it back a gear and, while the revs picked up, the power dropped significantly. Holy shit (excuse the French). I was a long way from anywhere and something was definitely wrong. I eased off on the throttle and the bike slowly picked up speed. The road, while gravel, had smoothed out thank goodness and I was able to cruise along at about 90 km per hour. As the Clover – Three Creek Rd rose, the revs died and the speed dropped. Luckily though, the route was gentle, I was generally heading downhill and the rises were modest. My mind was racing and initial thoughts were bad fuel and the fuel filter, which I’d been advised to change before I left. The ‘gasoline’ in the US is cheap and very, very poor. Generally 87 octane and full of ethanol with the best I’d had being 91. A lot of the fuel stops on the BDR were 1 pump towns and they looked as dodgy as hell. I came to the conclusion that I was going to be able to keep moving, but I was far from comfortable and was a bit on edge. It was 30 miles down to the Three Creek Highway which was bitumen. If I could get there, I’d be a lot happier. I hit the highway with the bike still struggling and headed west for the last little run into Jarbidge. I eased right off as I was going downhill and winding through canyon county and, before long, the bike was running normally again. Hmmmmm. Fuel filter, fuel pump …….. not sure.
While I kind of limped into Jarbidge, I did ride into town with a huge feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment. I’d made it – 2,276 km (4,957 for the trip to date), mostly off road and far, far away from home. I rode through town and, once again, was transported back in time. Seriously. Dirt roads, timber, old buildings and a feeling of America’s past. I pulled up at the Outside Inn (highly recommended in the BDR notes on the map), to be welcomed very enthusiastically by Michelle. It was too early for dinner and only 3 hours since lunch, so I had a slice of apple pie with salted caramel ice cream. Both were home made and they were the best I’d ever eaten. Michelle had guaranteed they would be and insisted that I come for breakfast the next morning to try her corned hash. Sounded good to me! By this time I was getting used to people wearing firearms while they ate and when one of the locals came into the bar brandishing a new stock for a rifle that had just arrived, I enthusiastically joined everyone to watch him assemble it on the counter.
I spent the afternoon wandering around and checking the town out. There was lots to see and plenty of people to talk to. I was invited to join a couple of impromptu parties that we’re going on, soon becoming known simply as Aussie. They were all booze hounds, these Yanks like to drink, and everyone was just a touch crazy, in a really good way. I was fitting in well. What a wonderful interesting place.
There was a period of mutual admiration relating to high powered machines with a group of buggy hunters. Their rigs seated 4 and were set up well. They go anywhere, with the only negative being that there’s a lot of dust kicked up by the front wheels. Goggles and masks are essential. They were camped 40 miles into the mountains for a couple of weeks and had come in to town for a bit of a feed. Everyone, including the 2 kids, had sidearms. They were very enthusiastic about my map of the BDR and reckoned they’d do it next year. I got some great roads from them to the west and down around Death Valley.
Laura behind the bar that evening was great value. She couldn’t do enough to make me feel welcome and introduced me to everyone. I spent a bit of time talking to Michael. He and his father had won 2 elk ‘tags’ in the lottery (the only way you can hunt) and were up for a couple of weeks scouting the terrain and roads in preparation for the season. So much time, effort and cost was involved. Michael was obsessed with it all and could talk about nothing else. He was very worried about not getting his elk – 2 tags, 2 elk and 500 kg to 600 kg of meat. They do say that the ‘fun’ stops with the shooting, as it all has to be carried out, often from remote and difficult county.
Ron an 81 year old local had a 1931 model A Ford that he used to drive people around town in. Every 2 or 3 minutes he’d chuckle to himself and say ‘what the hell do you need 150 horses for in a 2 wheeled veHicle’ There was a LOT of emphasis on the H. He flew a fighter in Korea that didn’t have the horsepower of my bike and the old Ford only had 40.
Mike and Maree had come up for the weekend in their ‘side by side’. These are also buggys (often Polaris’) but just seat 2 people. They had some great story’s to tell, especially the time when they ran out of fuel way up in the hills. They been driving on the the sunny side of the mountains where the snow ‘should’ have been melted, but got turned around so often that gas become an issue. The first night waiting it out was fun, everyone just got drunk, but it had got a bit more serious after the 2nd. A couple of the party walked out (took 9 hours) and everything turned out fine. Lessons were learned though!
If you’re alone in the backcountry, you’re not. So many nights I’d just wanted a quiet one to myself but, before I knew it, I was in the thick of things. Ron was a classic example – it was a real honour that he invited me for a ride in his taxi at about 11.00 that evening. He doesn’t do that for everyone apparently, he has to like you. As he was backing it out of it’s special spot where he could keep an eye on it from the bar, he muttered, ‘dang it, wish I could see’. The streets were deserted and he barely got above 15 miles an hour – safe as a house!
It was a rowdy, awesome night but, finally, Laura behind the bar had had enough of a couple of ‘out of towners’. Her exact words were ‘This ain’t Vegas, so git, you somes a bitches and don’t let the door hit ya vaginas on the way out’.
I hope tomorrow goes OK. The power issue was actually quite a worry and I had 60 miles of desert to get through before I was back on the pavement. I could take the risk, or take a run out the back way (10 miles to the pavement) and up to Boise. I’ll think on it and make the call in the morning.
