I awoke to the knocking of a stick and the call of a Ranger saying he’d come to collect. I had picked the campground that was $15, not $10 like the two on either side of it, and forked over the money with a frown of disappointment. Motivated now to leave and make some miles I packed up my things. As I did so one of the campers across the way came over to say hello and I discovered they were from up and down the east coast, from my beloved Georgia to my home of the northeast. We didn’t talk long but I found myself leaving the campground with three nutrition bars and a roll of duct tape which I used to reseal Rommelton’s bandages.
I happily munched on all three of the bars within the first two miles. On the third mile the road dropped into a sharp cliffside road and on it a construction crew had taken over for seven miles. I passed all the waiting cars for the go ahead and took the cleared road for myself watching the river rafters below take on each set of rapids in screaming joy. Occasionally I’d get a toddler spot me from the raft and shout a waving hello to which I’d jovially respond with a return wave.
When I got to the real construction my six mile stretch was up and I was able to take lunch on a side road under the guard of a first time construction sign holder. She was home for the summer from Florida and was good conversation over my Clif bar break. When I got up to go again, though, the pilot car was leading another pack of anxious travelers to the far side of their site and she stopped the line to tell me I couldn’t be where I was. I put up a minor fight over her concerns of my being rundown by lose steamrollers, but in the end I was forced to break the trail for the fourth time on the trip. This time it was for about a quarter of a mile to the next waiting line of autos. I felt shame, impotent shame.
I hopped out and scampered away down the road away from my shame. It took me a little while, through mile markers and clock watching, to re-figure my new arrival time in the upcoming town of Alpine Junction. Not much had changed, so I didn’t fret too much over the trail snapping again.
I rounded a few bends over the next set of miles, talking with a few drivers offering their services, and soon found myself looking over the valley my next café lay in. I hurried on, once again anxious to taste a burger, or ice cream, or coffee, or all of the above. At the same time the guilt in my head was screaming that I didn’t have the money I had last year and shouldn’t be indulging so much. My budget had been cut from $1/mile to $.50/mile and this was a much more challenging adjustment than I had given it credit for. It not only meant less time in diners, but less time chatting it up with people in diners which, to me, was the heart of the trip and the whole reason for embarking on what the hotel desk man in Statesboro, GA had called “a painful exercise”.
I got into Alpine and found myself unsatisfied at the sight of a gas station complete with general store and an ice cream parlor. I wanted a burger, damn it, and I wanted to sit down at a booth for a bit whether anyone talked to me or not. I went in and asked for a café.
A mile in the opposite direction there was the Red Baron café and it was well worth the detour. I got another mushroom Swiss burger with a plate of all you can eat fries, which I took full advantage of. I had cell service as well so I made my set of calls this time only reaching mother. As I devoured my bottomless plate of fries and coffee she noted that I didn’t sound all that happy and offered to make a donation to the cause. Ordinarily, my strict sense of independence would have turned her down, but since it seemed I was either going to be grumpy and hungry for the next two months or swallow a little pride and accept outside help from family (something I’d only recently become accustomed to from strangers on the road) and live out the ideal I would have been able to have had I not squandered my cash back in my three weeks off in Denver, I accepted gratefully.
I ordered an apple pie when I got off the phone right away. Then after sufficiently stuffing myself I had a spring in my step again and I crossed back over the Snake heading into Idaho purchasing a map along the way of both Idaho and Colorado to replace the one I lost in the wash. I went eight miles into my tenth state and the terrain became even more delightful, as well as the hospitality of the few Idahoans I met on the way in.
About five miles before bedding down, I past two guys working on a rock pile. When one offered me a ride I thanked him and told him what I was up to then kept on trucking up the next hill. A mile later they passed me and one of them came to my side of the road with a $20 bill hanging out the window saying it’d help me along. All I could get out was an “Oh my God, thanks” before he drove off.
The road followed the Palisades Reservoir which is a very pretty stretch of vacation land. When I finally pitched my tent it was by a stretch that opened up to the lake and I was able to take a few sunset pictures with the old Nikon.