Idaho

17 April 2024

When I started putting this trip together, I heard the same two warnings from a few people that have turned out to be myths.

The first was about the country itself, literally the landscape. The assertion was that, in between the standout destinations, it would be mile after mile of blank emptiness. Days on end of riding in a straight line towards some distant horizon.

Although I like to think I have a touch of the solitary misanthrope in my psychology and relished such a prospect, I was a little concerned at this and knew no different. All I’d seen of the USA were the famous places and mainly cities at that.

But so far, that’s just not been the case, with Washington State, in particular, being a recurring surprise. Each day has replicated one epic European motorcycling destination or another. Sometimes, multiple regions in the same day.

Two days ago, I was hammering through the Black Forest before emerging into Bavarian hill country like that around the Romantischstraße. Yesterday, I was crossing the Auvergne into the Massif Central, before the gentle undulations of the Dordogne.

It’s oddly reminiscent of Vegas where Paris, Venice, New York and Ancient Rome are all within a mile of each other for maximum customer convenience and entertainment. This is the same insofar you can cover all European geographies and road styles in three days, albeit without the food…

Today, I’ve just ridden the Northumberland Borders, then jumped a hundred miles or so to Glen Coe. Route 12 between Walla Walla and Lewiston is just like Scotland, but with a reduced risk of motorcycle vandalism and a no-doubt saner approach to transgender issues.

It’s only 93 miles and took about the same in minutes to complete, even though I didn’t leave until 11:00, so it’s too early to check in to the motel. On the way into Lewiston, I see that various motels and other businesses are trading heavily on the association with Hell’s Canyon. There’s a Hells Canyon Diner, Motel and Veterinary Surgeon, even Hells Canyon Harley Davidson, but that does at least sound plausible. I’ve never heard of Hells Canyon so stop for a coffee at McDonalds to use their internet and find out.

It’s ten miles wide along the bordering Oregon, Idaho, Washington states and is North America's deepest river gorge at 7,993 feet. Yes, that’s about 2,000 feet deeper than the Grand Canyon nadir and twice its average.

It’s 93 miles south of where am I would have made for good, full day from Walla Walla. I’ll just have to add this to the ever lengthening in list of ‘Places I’ve Missed’ but the map indicates the forty miles or so to the Washington State line follows an interesting course.

And so it proves to be as a make a whistle stop tour to the Basque Country and the Picos de Europa. I said I won’t talk about roads anymore so the picture below will have to do where you can see Route 129 snaking down the Grande Ronde Rover and up the other side.

The second myth was that outside of the well-known cities, the dining options a choice between gorging on buckets of deep-fried, orange-coloured things of dubious provenance or self-starvation.

Now Lewiston is hardly a thriving tourist destination nor is it ever likely to become one as it pongs, sulphurously on account of the local industry.

But local salmon, smoked and served on flatbread and with a very light Mexican sexing-up, followed by grilled chicken with Tortellini, pesto and pine nuts at the Mystic Cafe was difficult to fault other than there being 20% too much of it.

I have written previously about “Leaving a little for Mr Manners” being what American kids are asked to do for the sake of politeness. The adult version of this is to eat half your main course and ask for the remainder to be put in a container to take-away, commenting on how delicious it was.

I’ve seen this often now and initially thought it looked a bit desperate. But it's polite, smart and thrifty insofar it upholds the principal of demonstrating you’ve been properly fed, avoids cooking the next night, and ekes out better value from your restaurant meal.

In this respect and other food-related matters Lewiston is very typical. Yes, all the fast food options are present and correct and there isa ubiquitous steakhouse or two. But so far, even the hickest town has had a quirky & healthy option and failing that, a wholesome & healthy one. Lewiston is no exception.

18 April 2024

A Ms. J Hufton, a schoolteacher from Upper Spondon, Derbyshire has been in touch. Ms. Hufton points out, a little pedantically if I may say, that in my last post, having promised not to write about roads, I then used the next four paragraphs and 222 words to write about roads.

I’ve just read back what I've written today, and while the comments in this post are more about the terrain, I can sense another “see me; must try harder” missive winging its way to me.

But, as John Maynard Keynes said: “when the facts change, I change my mind” and as I believe I’ve just ridden The Best Road in the World, I’m going to tell you all about it.

Picture your favourite road and imagine it stretches from London to Manchester, but without any other traffic on it: US12, culminating with the Lolo Pass, is that road.

It starts a few miles outside Lewiston and follows the gentle, meandering course of the Clearwater River for 75 miles.

For a European reference point, think of being taken gently up the Mosel Valley (no sniggering, please): Undemanding but fun, and a good way of warming tyres, brakes and limbs.

Beyond Kooskia, the ‘Middle Fork’ of the river runs through slightly steeper terrain and you soon pass the sign below:

As the river starts to flow faster and rapids form, with the incremental increase in gradient, the bends get gradually tighter and a voice within says:

“Go on, you can go a little faster than this, lean a little further…”

So you do. And the bends just keep coming, consistent arcs, one after the other, for mile after mile.

Very soon, the same voice coos:

“OK. That was good. But try using your feet to pivot-steer while pushing against the turn with the bars for more stability"

Oh yes, I’m getting good at this, but practice makes perfect. It’s like having one of those tennis machines that hits the same shot at you for you to return, hundreds of times in a row, and through repetition, apply the Japanese concept of kaizen - gradual, continuous improvement.

Finally, the voice says:

“You’ve got it. Now try dropping your elbow into the turn and shifting your weight in the saddle while pressing the knee opposite to the turn into the tank. Y’know, how it was explained in that classroom briefing before you first wobbled around Donnington Park 20-years ago. When that heavily-tattooed, shaven-headed gentleman, calling himself 'Dog' snorted, derisively, when he found out the box-fresh Ducati 748 belonged to this idiot who had just passed his test…”

So the last twenty miles are spent yanking the throttle of this Bavarian, 300Kg supertanker wide open in 3rd gear at full lean, catapulting it from one bend to the next. Dog would no doubt approve…

And finally, the most testing section, that of the Lolo Pass itself. The twists and turns are broadly of the same radius and complexity as the previous 80 miles but with the added challenge of ascent and descent thrown in.

And all of this, in as near to safety as is possible on a motorcycle. Most of the road is as wide as a three-lane motorway, but deserted and in perfect condition. Other than on the mountain section, where rock-outcrops inevitably interfere with sight lines, visibility of the corners is excellent as it follows the largely treeless riverbank. Comparisons with anything in Europe are meaningless as there is nothing of this scale or duration.

Maybe there is an equal to this road somewhere. But I can’t envisage anything better.