Getting into Hot Water

Orofino, ID -- Whoever decided that "Idaho: Famous Potatoes" would be a good license plate motto owes the state a serious apology. Better, I'd say would be "Idaho: Surprisingly Gorgeous" or since the damage has already been done, perhaps "Idaho: Much More than Potatoes."

Yesterday, my first full day in Idaho, was my best, or at least most luxurious, day of riding so far. Someone told me at the campground that my day was going to be all downhill and I was skeptical. People tell me that sort of thing all the time when I ask for directions and they're usually just wrong. It's not their fault -- it's hard to judge slope from a car -- but they're usually wrong.

Yesterday, though, this guy was not wrong. The 70 to the next town miles were actually all downhill. Well, if you added in a few flat parts and the occasional mild upward slope, 68 of the next 70 miles were downhill. Not brake-screeching, trying-to-stay-in-control downhill -- I still had to pedal. But for my minimal investment of energy in pedaling, I got a return of around 18mph, instead of my usual 12mph.

It was chilly and low clouds hung in the valley, but it made for a scenic gray day's ride and the relatively low temperature made it all the better when I stopped for a short hike into the woods to a hot spring someone told me about in Missoula. There was a bridge over the river (I had to wait for a man on horseback leading a string of pack mules to cross before I did) and then about a mile's walk through the woods to get to Jerry Johnson Hot Springs, where hot water poured down a short cliff and into Warm Springs Creek below. The hot water pooled in some rocks before running into the stream and I sat in it for a while enjoying the water and the view of the foggy, drizzly woods.

I rode on after that to the town of Lowell, through the gorgeous, undeveloped Lochsa River Valley. The road ran through the Clearwater National Forest, which was separated by the river from the Bitteroot National Wilderness Area. I had been planning to camp at a Forest Service campground, but the shopkeeper in Lowell told me that for a dollar more, I could camp at the motel/resort in town, and use their showers, pool, and hot tubs. That's a lot of hot water for one day. Jerry Johnson was better than the chlorinated warm pool I read my book in under the stars, but I didn't complain to the management.

I met a man at a roadside historical marker and he said he was envious. I didn't say it then because it didn't seem right, but I would be, too.