Sunday, August 09, 2009
55: Lacking Karma and Desperately Seeking Bliss
| Stoker's Log |
| Day Fifty-Five |
 |
| 8/8/09 |
| From Burley, ID |
| To Bliss, ID |
| 82.9 miles |
| 11.6 avg mph |
We decided on yet another route change this morning based on a positive motel review and the hope that Bliss, Idaho would live up to its name. While he waited for me to get ready, Kyle decided to live large, eating a second breakfast and getting in some over-sized reading.
We spent much of the morning riding in the open under a blazing sun. We alternated between the frontage roads and the Interstate -- cyclists can ride it in Idaho and Wyoming because the traffic is light and there are very few alternatives. A few hours into our ride we got on an off ramp in search of bathrooms and food. We saw a dead cat, which seemed strange since we were in the middle of nowhere, and also rode by a woman standing outside of her car looking confused. Both were explained in a few minutes when we made our way to a Mexican mini-mart. It was home to at least one resident cat, who looked me over suspiciously.
The bathrooms were confusing and just this side of sanitary, but I was highly entertained by their graffiti ( "When I was in Oregon I wish I'd fucked John") and signage ("BUY before drinking. You know who you are!").
When I got outside I saw the woman from the off-ramp, who was attempting to change what was now a very flat tire. We offered help, which it turns out she desperately needed: she didn't know much about the truck, which was her husband's, and she had two fidgety kids in the back. Kyle worked his magic -- a slow and labor-intensive kind of magic -- to find the jack points, lift the truck, and get most of the bolts off. When the last one got stuck, he borrowed better tools from a guy who had pulled in to deal with his son's diarrhea; this parking lot seemed to be the pit stop for major travel issues.
Finally Kyle got the spare on and we sent the thankful but shy woman on her way and got on the road ourselves. We were back in farm country, which was picturesque but extremely buggy.
After miles and miles and miles of open fields and blaring sunlight we were relieved to arrive at Anderson Camp and take a rest inside their lunch room. Continuing my strange food combinations, I ordered a salad and tater tots. While we waited, we discovered that Mexican Coca-cola, which is made with a different kind of sugar, is DELICIOUS and lacks the normal Coke aftertaste, and that books by Ben Goode are really, really bad.
The title may be funny, but I assure you that the book is not. We've seen tons of Ben Goode titles in diners and rest stops along the way, but we never had occassion or time to read them until today. I'm now incredibly angry that this Ben Goode guy/conglomerate is making so much money. I think I need another Mexican Coke to cool down.
We had hoped that helping the stranded mother with her truck would award us tire karma, but we had no such luck. We were on the highway about a quarter mile before our exit when our front tire flatted, so we had to walk the bike up the off-ramp to a Wendy's to change it. Inside, I enjoyed my Frosticino and the surprising fact that the men's bathroom had a long line. We were in the town of Jerome, which of course made me think about Jude Law in a wheelchair and three men in a boat, to say nothing of the dog. (Anyone else?) We planned to visit the police station to make sure that Interstate riding was legal throughout the state, but the building was closed. Fortunately we spotted a sheriff at the gas station who was very friendly and cleared us to ride on the Interstate.
We rode through town towards the next exit, but Kyle noticed that the tires didn't feel right. We pulled over yet again to investigate and discovered that the other tire had gotten so worn out that it was lumpy. I could see the black clouds forming above Kyle's head as he slammed the tire to the ground and wondered aloud where the hell our tire karma had gone.
We used the GPS to find stores that sold bikes and parts and called around but no one had the exact size tire and tubes we needed, of course. Our best bet seemed to be Walmart, so we rode there, 3 miles out of our way. Kyle went inside to find something that would work while I guarded the bike outside. An older man who wandered over to see the bike claimed to be friends with the guy who invented the recumbent bicycle, which led to a discussion about his own windmill designs which have been patented but aren't selling even though they're vastly superior to the current models thanks to the engineering expertise he gained through years of working at Boeing before he got laid off, though he's hoping to get funding from a Native American friend who is currently involved in a water rights dispute. When he had finished this story he abruptly walked away without any small talk to close the conversation. You meet the most interesting people outside of Wal-Marts...
When Kyle finally emerged from the Wal-Mart he had a tire that wasn't quite the right size, but would work. We got back on the interstate since we had essentially ridden back to our original exit. Kyle was still incredibly frustrated, I was starting to feel sick, and we were both depressed by the realization that we would be getting to the hotel well after dark, yet again. It was not a pleasant ride.
Our moods started to improve when we got going at a steady 18-20 mph clip, but darkened once again when the exit we expected after 11 miles didn't show up until almost 30. It was also getting dark and we were low on light power, so much so that when it got truly dark we had to dig out our tiny flashlight so I could hold it up to illuminate the road for our last 7 miles.
We made it into the town of Bliss without incident, thank goodness, and discovered that the recommended Amber Inn Motel was indeed an excellent find. The room was large and clean and had a window seat, and just next door was a 24 hour cafe. I forget what I ordered for my entree, but I remember inhaling delicious mashed potatoes and glass after glass of lemonade. When I stopped zoning and eating enough to really look around, I realized that every patron near us had some kind of handicap or disfigurement. It was rather surreal, and we still don't have much of an explanation for it. The waiters and waitresses were unscarred, but perhaps not for long: we couldn't help overhearing a loud backroom battle among the waitstaff, all of whom looked either rage-filled or lifeless when they emerged to serve and clear food.
We still consider the cafe one of our favorite dining places, though, because we never expected to get a warm, delicious dinner that late at night. It almost made up for our opposite experience in Dubois...almost. We walked back to the motel and sank into our comfortable bed, looking forward to going to sleep and waking up in Bliss.
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| posted at: 05:07 |
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