It's been a week now. Tonight we are sleeping at a beautiful park on the snake river in Idaho.
These few days have been all hills and valleys, so riding is either 4 miles per hour or 30 miles per hour. This morning had a 2,000 ft climb and I wanted to die. Those 6 miles took 90 minutes. But as soon as we reach the summit, I forget how it felt. Then there is a 5 mile downhill and a cold river, and by the end of the day I feel great. Tomorrow morning is 4,000 ft. (i lied when I said the Rockies were 4,000, they are 11,500).
People are so different in these small towns. So many nice old men in overalls who talk forever. Stores that look like garages and diners that look like livingrooms.
Having left home is starting to sink in and that is sad. Owning nothing feels good, but the people I might not see again go through my mind and it doesn't seem fair. There are so many of us people, everywhere, most of us good. So why can't we all know each other always? I think next I will build a longhouse like the Indians did, with room for 40. And then fill it.
Beth swore she saw a hyena yesterday, and heard rattlesnakes all day. It was a cayote and grasshoppers. I think she secretly wants to die from wildlife.