Boise bound

The BDR highlights sure were right about suggesting you’ll enjoy some fun and hospitality with the locals at the Outdoor Inn at Jarbidge. I received a lot of cheery good mornings from the locals walking their dogs and getting on with their business as I parked outside the Inn the next morning. What wonderful people.

I walked in for breakfast and was welcomed like I’d lived there all my life. Lots of laughter and banter being tossed around. It smelt good and was warm and cosy. Awesome (my favourite word of this trip).

I’d left my celebratory ‘What the hell’s a Jarbidge’ sticker that Laura had given me for completing the BDR on the bar last night, so Michele gave me another which I put on the bike while breakfast was being cooked. And what a breakfast it was. Home made corned beef hash, freshly baked wheat bread, 2 eggs easy over ‘medium’ (finally got the full explanation of how to order – my whites will now be forever cooked properly) with a side of bacon (just a little bit wiggly at Michelle’s suggestion), potatoes, biscuits (an American staple that comes in various shapes and forms – like a scone this time) and a bottomless mug of coffee. Someone came around with home made ‘jelly’ – the service was spectacular. I simply couldn’t eat it all and one of them asked if she could ‘save my bacon’. She thought that was hilarious (a regular joke tornado) and made me a bacon sandwich for smoko plus a present of a jar of chokeberry jam. This whole tipping business really makes sense sometimes! Best breakfast I’ll ever have Michelle promised me. She wasn’t wrong.

Mike and Maree joined me and the place was close to full by 7.30. As I was leaving, a few people were saying ‘have a great trip sir’. This is the equivalent of ‘mate’, it takes a bit of getting used to though.

The temperature was supposed to drop to about 7 degrees celsius, with rain by Sunday and a little snow in different places – it was Saturday, so I thought I better get motoring. Looks like I’ve timed my run well. I loaded up with water, and fuel. As suggested earlier, I’d have 60 miles of desert this morning and then 160 odd of pavement to get to Boise. I’d thought a lot about about my power problem overnight. The bike wasn’t cutting out, just losing power when I’d crack the throttle. It poked along OK at 90 to 100 km per hour, only struggling on hills. I’d fuelled up with 87 last night and, as always, it was full of ethanol. It was the only option. Mechanically, this was all a bit outside my experience, although I’d been reading a lot of posts in the months leading up to this trip regarding people with fuel issues, mostly on the 690’s though. Maybe it’s not dirty fuel (I had a feeling the fuel filter would either be blocked up or not, meaning the bike would either run or it wouldn’t) – possibly it’s just a month of poor quality gas that’s finally made it’s effect felt? Doubtful. Another thought had entered my head – fuel pump? I bumped into another Mike on an 1190 R in town as I was leaving (he’d got in late and was doing some dirt and slab riding in the area for a few weeks) and discussed the issues. He said he’d seen it before on these bikes and it was definitely the fuel filter which would keep playing up, getting worse and worse until the bike wouldn’t start. Hmmmmmm. He seemed to know what he was talking about? What the hell, I’ll give it a go and take the desert option – the bike was now running OK and I didn’t want to finish this leg of the trip with a whimper. I was feeling confident of getting into Boise where I’d get some advice from Big Twins Motorcycles.

I was told the roads wouldn’t be marked (pretty unusual for what I’d seen so far) but to turn left 9 miles up the road on the Diamond A Ranch road. There would be a big green timber barrel with a diamond on it at the right spot. There wasn’t, but it had to be the right road. The morning was fresh, the sun was shining, the bike wasn’t missing a beat and the scenery was spectacular. I was getting into elevated desert and canyon country, different to anything I’d seen before and close to the best riding to date. It was pretty wild and desolate and I’ve never seen rock formations like them. I saw a wolf race across the road just in front of me – he was big and shaggy with a streaked grey, white and black coat. Awesome.

After getting through the hills and canyons, I was back into wide open vistas again. Fast desert roads where I could get a bit of a rally going. The bike was performing as per normal so, I just took advantage of the situation and rode hard. I’m glad I’ll be getting new tyres soon.

I was back on the pavement far too soon and had a big run on straight roads into Boise. I turned off where I could and found some secondary highways, but ended up on Interstate 84 for the last 20 miles into town. It had 3 lanes in each direction – that felt weird. The speed limit was 130 km per hour and there was lots of traffic, plenty of trucks and a pile of buffeting. Despite that, it was a bit of a buzz to be back in civilisation and there was lots to look at as I poked along.

Arriving in Boise, I went downtown where I found an ATM and passed a coffee shop that smelt really good. I got a flat white (they knew what that meant) – best coffee of the trip. They were interested to know that I owned a coffee shop and had lots of questions about Extraordinary Joe.

It was time to head out to the people I was staying with, Paris and Dean Howell. Paris was American and had lived next door to us 20 odd years ago in Theodore when I was a stock and station agent. We’d seen each other reasonably regularly over the years, particularly when we all lived in Toowoomba for a time, until she returned to the US about 8 years ago. Her girls were young teenagers when I last saw them, so it was going to be a blast seeing them ‘all growed up’. I rolled into their driveway a filthy, dirty apparition. I really did look a sight. Dean asked why I was wearing a bullet proof vest as I stripped of my riding jacket – he’s not a biker!

What a reunion – you know, people really don’t change.