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20260609

I had decided I would drive from Longmont, Colorado, to Auburn, Washington, south of Seattle instead of flying. It's four days of driving for three and half days of visiting plus a couple of days to explore some new sights along the travel corridor.

I did a little senseless rationalization of driving over flying. Flying consumes almost a couple of waking days with getting to and from airports compared to four long days driving. Flying is slightly better in terms of the carbon footprint because flying usually means using less hydrocarbons per person than driving. The cost - it's probably a wash given fuel costs and maintenance for the car. With driving, I do get to see some new places.

I got to bed on the later side the night before my departure because of my French class. I did fill up the car with gas and partially loaded stuff that evening. So with a relaxed pace this morning I launched by 8:40AM. I defaulted to taking I-25 north to Cheyenne instead of the back road to Laramie. That was a fiasco. I-25 is constantly under construction with decades of expansions that never seems to be enough. So traffic was very heavy until I reached Fort Collins. Leaving Cheyenne heading west on I-80, the electronic road condition signs reported increasingly ominous messages. The first ones restricted vehicles with trailers to only those with greater than 20,000lbs because of 40+mph winds. This increased to 35,000lbs and then 45,000lbs because of 55+mph winds when I reached west of Laramie. I did watch several big rigs struggle to stay in their lane. Surprisingly there were a number of tourists pulling light camper trailers that decided to brave the winds.

I was buffeted about a little, but mostly the wind devoured the $4.50 per gallon gasoline like it was Gatorade on a 110F Pheonix afternoon. Let's just say my mileage suffered a bit. I-80 across southern Wyoming can be a challenge in the winter - if it stays open - but today that extended into the summer months as well. The skies were dark and rain fell occasionally. The surrounding grass lands were the greenest I've ever seen them.

I turned northwest off of I-80 onto Hwy30 west of Little America. The wind was still blowing though slower and the sun had emerged. There was very little traffic which I liked. I settled back listening to a couple of French news podcasts.

Then suddenly, far from any services, my instrument cluster lit up with warning messages and flashing lights and the cruise control (adaptive cruise) stopped working. Dash messages read that adaptive cruise was disabled, crash avoidance was turned off, lane keep assist was turned off, and a brake system warning light appeared. I felt like I was on Apollo 13! I pulled off, turned the car off and then restarted it. Hmmm, no messages. The car seemed fine. I started back to heading west on Hwy30 and engaged adaptive cruise. About 5-10 minutes later all hell broke loose again with warning messages. I restarted the car again, but this time I never engaged the adaptive cruise. I drove the remainder of the day 'old school' maintaining my speed with my right foot. What a chore! Fortunately the instrument cluster just reported my wavering speed with no failure messages.

I stopped at Bear Lake east of Logan. I'd spent the night here in the winter of 24/25 on my way to Revelstoke. I also swung by Beaver Mountain ski resort where I'd skied that season. The ski runs were beautiful blankets of green grass. A new lodge had been built at the base.

From Beaver Mountain I descended alongside Beaver Creek to Logan, Utah, the home of the University of Utah. On the Beaver Creek road, there were three stretches of single lane traffic with lights set up to control the traffic; an example of many stretches of the drive today with construction. Beaver Creek is a beautiful mountain creek with a steady drop, splashing frothy water, and bushes and trees that crowd the banks often overhanging the water.

Traveling west of Logan, I thought I spied some of the old Salt Lake shorelines high on the surrounding hillsides when Salt Lake must have looked more like an inland sea. I exited I-84 heading west on a very straight road for 15 miles past farm and ranch land. I passed a newly built house made out of two metal grain silos and a shipping container. Picture a shoe with windows and you're starting to see it. I wish I stopped for a photo. It was very creative, inviting, with a whimsical charm. It looked practical as well.

The road turned north and at the Utah Idaho border a single track National Forest road cut back to the east. I passed a spot littered with several dozen shotgun shell casings and scattered parts of clay pigeons - we humans do like to leave our mark! I followed the dirt road for a mile or so into a low desert forest of junipers and scrubby pines where I elected to spend the night. The stormy clouds seen earlier in the travel were all gone as was the wind. The place I parked felt very isolated and infrequently visited.

20260610

My! I slept much better than I had expected when I lay down. I'd parked the car tilted sideways which meant I tended to slip in one direction. And my gout had flared in my left foot because I hadn't drunk enough water. I awoke once during the night to see the half-moon in the east and then didn't wake again until the sun was peeking through the low trees.

I boiled some water for coffee and enjoyed a cup.

While I sipped, the gentle sound of many many soft snaps could be heard reminding me of the sound diving on coral reefs. At first I thought it a lost cause to track down the source but then a slight movement near the top of an eight foot juniper tree and suddenly the insects making the sounds were visible everywhere. I believe they may be related to cicadas. They are about an inch long with a big head, widely spaced eyes, translucent wings, and a bean size abdomen. A molted brown color they blend in well against the bark of the trees. I spotted two mating. From the sounds I could tell they were situated near the tops of most of the trees all around me. I imagined they might make a tasty morsel for birds.

Still enjoying a warm coffee, a conversation of soft soothing sounds could be heard coming from a tree 5 meters away. It was a group of 4 to 8 brown birds slightly bigger than a fist with small crowns on their heads. They fluttered about the trees with one pair tumbling up and down through the air and the branches in a caressing manner. The group soon wandered elsewhere.

Driving back to the paved road, I headed west and then north on the road toward Malta. Before getting that far, I turned west onto an improved dirt road and continued west passing just south of a mountain group and into what feels like another north-south valley arriving at the town of Almo after about 10 miles. I decided to visit the City of Rocks National Reserve Visitor Center in Almo to start things off. The Reserve is separate from the Castle Rocks State Park north of Almo. The State Park charges $7/day/vehicle. The Reserve is free. If you want to camp at the Reserve online reservations are required; I don't know if there is a fee. The visitor center felt more like shop to sell Reserve merchandise, but they did have a couple of information posters and a video that provided an overview of the Reserve. There is a potable water spigot next to the parking lot and an immaculate pit toilet.

At the Reserve Visitor Center, I chatted with a helpful young person in a ranger type outfit. She pointed out some trails and her favorite spots. She also told me that south of town just past the blue house (when that's the only thing out here it makes for a great landmark!) is an access road to a BLM camping site with a pit toilet that is free; no water though. I decided that would be the place to spend the night.

The road from Almo to the Reserve follows a portion of the California Trail. I'd heard of the Oregon Trail, but not the California one. I parked at the Bath Rock parking lot.

The City of Rocks is a popular destination for climbers seeking to challenge their skills on the white granite. Many of the trail markers call out various pitches. There are bolts set into the rocks on many of the climbs to provide safety points. Many climbers seemed to be using this area as a training ground with top roping. Most of whom I saw in the Reserve were climbers. Every third vehicle was a sprinter van type. There was an outdoor mentoring group from Austin Texas. License plates included Idaho, Utah, Colorado, and Texas. I may be making the place sound crowded, but in the 4+ mile hike I took in and around the rock formations and gulches I basically only saw people at a couple of the easily accessible climbs.

It's late spring here. I saw several types of birds: small raptors, turkey vultures, blue birds, ravens, and small brown birds. One of the lush gulches had a small amount of clear water flowing. The flowers were blooming with the crimson and yellow cactus being the most spectacular.

This seems to have been a good time of year to visit. The camp grounds were mostly empty, the temperature ranged from low 50 to 70F. Things were still green. I could do without the wind.

By 4PM, I'd made my way to the BLM campsite. I am the only person there.

20260611

I found the wind yesterday evening grating. It stirred up a find dust which began to accumulate in the car. The gusts rocked the car at times.

I awoke this morning to a bright sun rising over the mountains far off to the east toward Logan, UT. Happily the air was calm. I didn't feel like making coffee or breakfast and instead ponder the idea of eating breakfast in Albion, ID - there is a breakfast place there, but I didn't stop.

I lamented a little that I hadn't gone to the Durfee Hot Springs just north of Almo the previous evening. From the descriptions and pictures on Google Maps it would have been refreshing after hiking in the City of Rocks. Next Time!

I bounced down the short but boulder strewn road from the BLM campground to the main road toward Almo. I waved good morning to the couple in the blue house sitting on their porch greeting the morning sun and sipping drinks. I filled up water at City of Rocks visitor center and while doing so was greeted by a ranger with a small rescue dog with beautiful black hair.

It was a beautiful morning as I headed north up backward along the old California Trail. I passed a couple of local folks driving their ATV's on the highway and one couple that appeared to be out walking the highway for their morning exercise. I went over two small 'passes' before arriving into Albion, ID. Reed's grandfather lived here. It's a small town of 294 people with lush lawns and tall mature trees. After traveling through the desert, the change of vegetation was a surprise. This side of the mountains that are part of the City of Rocks must catch the moisture.

I drove up to the Pomerelle Mountain Resort ski area south of Albion. The forest is beautiful. The road was windy and steep. I imagine in the winter it's a slow drive. There was a campground just before the ski area that would probably make a good place to spend a night.

Not far northwest of Albion the mountains give way to the broad valley of the Snake River. This corridor was the path of the Oregon and California Trails. The part I passed through was actively cultivated with massive irrigation systems. I was curious where all the water was coming from and then I suddenly passed over the Snake River full to the brim. So the Snake must be a major source of water for the region - but I haven't validated this.

Back on the I-84 freeway I just drove until I reached the town of Glenn's Ferry and the Three Island Crossing State Park. I paid the $7 entry fee, explored the Oregon Trail Interpretative center. It was fun walking along the Snake river to observe the wagon ramp and the ferry where some immigrants elected to cross to the north side of the Snake to continue their journey to Oregon.

I tried to follow the original Oregon trail from Glenn's Ferry. The first sign points down a single track dirt road that looks more like a ranch access. The next couple pointed down graveled roads which I later ascertained where the route to get one to the original trail. I decided the original single track was probably correct and also that I didn't want to spend a day traveling the original trail. I made my way back to I-84 to continue northwest.

The traffic through Boise on I-84 for many miles was the typical big city congested road that required constant attention. I was glad to leave it behind me.

I arrived into Baker City, Oregon around 3:30PM after the time change to the Pacific Time Zone. The friendly lady at the tourist office gave me some flyers and suggestions on where I could find dispersed camping in the Wallowa - Whitman National Forest west of town. After driving a few miles up a singletrack dirt road, I found myself in a secluded temperate forest with 60ft scattered pines surrounded by short green grass at their bases. Views looked north past Haines in the Baker City valley. The sun filtered through the trees creating large patches of sunlit grass and scattered shadows of trees. Several different bird species flew about. I didn't find any recent deer or elk evidence. I hadn't expected anything like this so close to town. I had contemplated a hotel room, but this is much much nicer.

20260612

After a pleasant nice sleep, I awoke to orange sunlight filtering in low through the trees. After continuing to lay there a spell then rearranging the few things in the car, I headed down the mountain toward Baker City and the Inland Cafe.

The Inland Cafe is a small town diner serving the community for many decades. It received high marks on Google Maps. On the face viewed from outside it looks like a place to pass by if you even noticed it as a restaurant. I was committed and the few cars parked out front sinched the deal. The interior looked as expected with a mixture of booths, tables, and low bar seating. About three older parties sat scattered around the 40ft square room. There was no sign saying 'wait to be seated'. I caught the cook's eye far across the dining room as he worked in the kitchen and circled my fingers about the room in an effort to enquire if I could sit anywhere. He nodded his head conveying to me a yes. I sat at the bar. A waitress was not visible so I helped myself to a menu in a large stack. Reviews gave glowing mention of the huckleberry pancakes and cinnamon rolls. When the well feed stern waitress arrived I ordered a coffee, the german sausage, eggs, and hashbrown dish with a substitution of a single huckleberry pancake for the toast. I figured it looked like a meal for the locals. She said there would be an upcharge for the pancake which I heartily agreed too. The coffee rarely dipped below the brim as the waitress kept it filled. The meal was spot on what was expected though I would have enjoyed more huckleberries. More than satiated, I tipped generously and headed out to learn more about the Oregon Trail that pass through the area.

I drove a few miles out of town to the BLM Oregon Trail Interpretive center .(What's with the word 'Interpretive'?) It didn't open till 9AM which gave me time to post yesterday's blog. My American Pass got me in free. I've come to appreciate that many of the local place names are from the French trappers in the area in the late 18th and early 19th centuries. The presented story tells of how generous and helpful the Indians were to the immigrants making their way to Oregon. The full size displays helped convey the equipment used in the 2000 mile trek from Kansas to Oregon City.

Just down the hill from the center there was physical evidence of the wagon wheel ruts. I was pleased as I've been wanting to see examples for a couple of days now.

I decided to take an hour longer route to pass near Mount Rainier. Traveling Hwy 410 up the American River and over Chinook Pass an unobstructed Mount Rainier came into view. Spectacular! Covered in snowfields and glaciers it was beautiful to behold against the blue clear sky. Stopping and stepping out of the car, I enjoyed the views and smells of being in the mountains. I pondered how this route would be in the winter and if it would require using any of the many chain up stations.

The road north passed through majestic old growth forests the kind not present in Colorado. It parallels the White River so named I suspect because of the chalky color of glacial action. I arrived into Auburn to be greeted by Ashley, Jacob, and Rory at their house.