Monday, August 10, 2009
56: Marzipan and Saint Joann
| Stoker's Log |
| Day Fifty-Six |
 |
| 8/9/09 |
| From Bliss, ID |
| To Hammett, ID |
| 33.3 miles |
| 10.1 avg mph |
We had an exceptionally slow morning. For perhaps the fifth time in our lives, Kyle slept in longer than I did. Even after we got up and moving, it took us forever to leave town. First we went over to the 24 hour cafe and convenience store that made us so happy last night: Ziggy's!
We finally left Bliss, and for a while we had a very pleasant ride in warm but not unbearable weather. We passed the time talking about college classes and taking in the views.
And then we got a flat tire.
We eventually made it into a small town with a small grocery store. I was overly excited to discover a bag of Marzipan, a name I only knew from Homestarrunner.com.
They also had a fun wagon wheel bench outside.
I sat down on the bench and eagerly bit into my first round of marzipan...and nearly gagged. It was a crumbly, sugary mess that was completely unappealing, especially after my breakfast. I threw the bag away -- after trying one more round, which was just as bad -- and we continued on.
We rode a few more miles past the highway and abundant sagebrush until we got another flat tire. We fixed it and rode on, until it happened again. And again. And again. We had four flats in less than four miles, caused by a combination of crappy Walmart patch kits and these little buggers:
Already out of tubes, at this point we were patching patches, which was doing us no good, and eventually we ran out of them too and had to give up. By this point the sun was blazing, so we wheeled the bike back to the only shade for miles: an underpass beneath the highway. The closest we could get to seating was the uncomfortably slanted wall, which was coated with bird shit. Kyle decided to see if there was anything up the road while I made dozens of fruitless calls. AAA has bike service in Idaho, but refused to pick us up because my membership was from out of state. None of the local taxi services had vehicles large enough to carry our bike, and neither did any of the rental companies. The mobile bike shop I called wanted to help but was too far away. My best lead of the afternoon was a bike shop one town over whose owner was willing to pick us up...after closing up the store at 6:00. It was currently just past 3:00.
Kyle wandered back through the haze. There was nothing of note close by, and no way that we could walk much further: the road was so hot that the tar had started to stick to his shoes. I climbed up a small hill to see if anything was visible down the highway, but it looked equally barren. We had no choice but to wait, cuddling awkwardly on the dirty concrete.
There was no way to get comfortable, and no way to escape the heat. Kyle tried to sleep. I read our book and wondered how long it would be before I'd have to clamber over the railing and go to the bathroom in the ditch. Every once in a while a vehicle passed us, but none of them even slowed down and few were large enough to be helpful anyway.
One of the cars that passed by was a beautiful old black BMW. And then, to our surprise, it turned around and the driver asked if we needed help. We thanked her for stopping and explained the situation but we weren't really sure how she could help with that car. But she said she lived less than a mile away and offered to let us wait for the bike shop people at her house instead of beneath the overpass. "I mean come on; you're sitting in shit." We couldn't really say no to that argument. We hadn't seen a house anywhere near by, but we followed her down a side road, wheeling the bike along, and ended up at a house completely hidden by trees. We set up a bike repair spot on the shady back porch, and I can't tell you how happy we were to have cold drinks, air conditioning, and a bathroom.
Our saviour, Joann, did much more than give us a shady spot where we could wait. Since she was already heading into Mountain Home to grocery shop, she took us along and dropped us off at the bike shop so that we could buy new tubes and tires. When she picked us up, she convinced us to stay the night instead of riding on. (We didn't take much convincing.) She also insisted on helping us play tourist, which we certainly don't get to do enough on this trip.
She showed us the scenery, from the winding river to the beautiful buttes.
Then she drove us to the famous Bruneau sand dunes. At almost 500 feet, they are the tallest single-structured sand dune in North America, and they also shift around throughout the year depending on the winds.
We watched a few kids attempting to body surf down the hills, and then cavorted around a bit ourselves.
Our next stop was a large organic farm owned by Joann's friend. Even though he wasn't around, Joann insisted that he wouldn't mind if we took some fruit out of the cooler truck, so we helped ourselves to cantaloupes and a watermelon.
Joann was raised by farmers and chefs, and it showed when she whipped up an absolutely amazing dinner for us. The drinks and conversation flowed for hours; Joann is pretty amazing, and not just because she saved us today. She's an outspoken, experienced, intelligent, and liberal woman making a great life for herself in the middle of conservative rural Idaho, and you better believe she has good stories.
Perhaps even more amazing is Joann's mother, who visited from her home just down the road. When she was a young teenager in Germany, she survived the Dresden bombings and walked alone for days to reunite with her family. She's still snappy and full of life now despite her health problems, and we even got her to climb onto our German bicycle.
Things finally wound down and we went to bed in Joann's lovely guest room, relaxed, happy, and most of all grateful. Today was probably the best evening of the entire trip, especially after our horrendous morning. The views and potatoes in Idaho are nice enough, but now we have a real reason to visit Idaho again.
| posted at: 06:01 |
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