Reflections on the Road from Salmon to Leadore, ID

On my previous trekking through the Northwest, I had been struck by a curious element and I recall it today as I am going through Idaho. Each place, regardless of its size or relative importance, has a unique claim to fame. I have never been too fond of history and, except for reading biographies of famous people in history, I hated to memorize so many dates, battles, feats of conquest or destruction. Yet, as I trudged along I was constantly assailed by signs recounting history in snippets, even along the most remote and difficult shortcut, namely the one that exacted two hubcaps as a right of passage. The signs informed me that I had been following the Lewis and Clark trail at times and that of Chief Joseph and his Nez Perces at others. In Tendoy, named after a famous Lemhi Chief, a sign sporting the name Fort Lemhi related how a group of Mormon pioneers settled there, painstakingly irrigating the area to plant gardens, building houses and eventually, an adobe fort, only to be chased away by some natives turned hostile. I learned about Sacajawea and her brother Chief Cameahwait and the Shoshone tribes of the area and how they had virtually saved Lewis and Clark's expedition (...and lives?) by lending them horses and advising them (Lewis and Clark, not the horses) about edible plants.

It is difficult to imagine the extent of the pioneers' courage and fortitude going through uncharted territories, facing untold climate hardships, having to survive picking either food or poison among unknown plants. I believe that we, the nomads of today's paved roads (well. . . some are), of rest areas with facilities, fast food joints, instant locomotion, and a warm bed wherever we stop, are seriously riding on our ancestors' shirttails, whether we realize it or not.

Smokey Cubs - Leadore, Idaho

Later that day, the sky suddenly filled with dark clouds, presaging a storm, perhaps. They quickly disappeared but not before the sun had slipped below the cloudy mass, igniting the hills a bright coral with the sky slowly turning to a deep magenta. The colours were beyond description, the photos failing do justice to the overwhelming beauty surrounding me.

Montana to Idaho

While I was in Hamilton, I asked Len, who had driven a semi for years, how I could manage the steep descents without constantly applying the brakes. He suggested I go downhill in second gear. I had done just that in the VW Westphalia I'd had before but was afraid of popping something or overheating. Guess I was intimidated by the size of the motor-home, a far cry from a VW van. But I followed his advice and managed serious downhill grades like a pro. Thanks Len.

Made it almost to Leadore, Idaho. A scant few yards before I reached the place though, my rig stopped and would go no further. Had to get a new fuel pump. The work was impeccable and way less expensive than in the city. The people were so friendly that I decided to stay and settle down at the Smokey Cubs camp for a while before heading south. The official population posted on a sign read 90; but on another one a mile away from "town center" the number 90 had been crossed out and now boasted 663! A recent search on Google gave it as 50. So who knows? Smokey Cubs turned out to be another delightful surprise. Aside from meeting most of the human population, the only obvious life forms I encountered were herds of antelopes darting up and down the hills and a young bull who paid us a visit.

There was a cool creek gurgling gently below the trees, Canyon Creek. My dogs, Teddie and Keesha, played and splashed with abandon once they had noticed how shallow the creek was. Eventually Keesha noticed tiny fish, a glimmer in her eyes leaving no doubt as to her intentions. In her valiant attempts to gobble up the slippery prey, she ended up swallowing a few quarts of water while Teddie viewed all the excitement with an air of lordly superiority. Never a dull moment with those two. . .