Day 6 - I love Idaho

I'll probably write the same about Montana tomorrow but right now I'm so in love with this state. Today was the best ride so far. Gorgeous, breathtaking, stunning, short, fucking awesome!! I had originally planned to drive up north to Sandpoint and the down southeast on Highway 200. But during breakfast (another rich, almost scary French toast experiment)

the host told the other guests, a couple on a Goldwing, about the beautiful road down south they were going to take. His face was all lit up and he was very enthusiastic. When I asked him about my  planned route he just said:"Yeah, that's a nice road, too." with a very bland face. I knew that the route south would be a lot longer than my planned one so I kept asking him about it until I was sure which way I wanted to take. South, another pass, lots o curvy roads, 350 miles of stunned awe. 

And off I went. Down 95 towards Lewiston and then across some smaller highways to highway 12. At one point the high plain opened into another huge canyon. Even before that I was able to see hundreds of miles in every direction. Snow or tree capped mountains, plains, fields, more trees, canyons. But then the road went down into the canyon, curves and views that made me want to cry. Well, the road work related gravel made me want to cry, too. But then, the slower I went the more I was able to enjoy the view. 

Unfortunately, the canyon pics are on my real camera and I'll have to post them later. 

I reached the bottom of the canyon and had lunch before I started the 187 mile ride along the 12.

Every time I talk to people here they eventually learn that I'm German and, I swear, everyone has either relatives in or from Germany or has spent some time there at one point. No wonder, everything in the Northern States reminds me of some part of Germany. There's alps, fields, meadows, rivers, lots of pine trees, lakes. Well, everything is the XXXL version, though. Like highway 12. It's like driving along a small mountain river. Trees and mountains on both sides, long curves parallel the river. Only that in Germany you can't drive 125 miles (~200km) without driving through a city or even just a small village! And, the river would be much smaller.

You just turn and turn and accelerate and turn again and look around and can't believe how blessed you are to be in this very place in this very moment with this awesome bike that seems to enjoy this ride even more than I do. I know it sounds weird but I swear that she looks at me every morning as if she wanted to say:"Dude, hurry up, get dressed, and get your f***ing ass on top off me so that we can get on the road!". Btw., I finally gave her a name. Figured, that being on the road with someone/thing for such a long time requires a different way to address her/it than "you" or "bike". I named her "Fury". Black, dirty, fast, temperamental, and particularly nice to only one person. Don't know about the last part, but the first four are true.

When I took the last chance to get gas before the summit I met a few bikers from Montana who looked like they had been on the bike for some time longer than me. Weathered, wild hair, bags and camping gear. And of course, I got my picture taken with two of them. Unfortunately not the wildest looking ones. But, the dude on the left has an eye pad :-).

Should have worn a weapon, though. They usually make my ass and thighs look less fat in pictures :-). 

When driving what was supposed to be "up" the mountain to the pass it didn't really feel like going uphill. And I guess this makes sense in a country with an abundance of space. In France, Switzerland, or, worst, Madeira, there's just less room for the road to cross the mountain. So there are tons of curves, one tighter than the other, it's steep and the roads are narrow. So you do feel that you're climbing up or driving down a high mountain. But here you don't. The road begins to ascend that far away from the mountain, that you don't even notice you're going uphill. I mentioned Madeira because there's a 7,000 ft elevation and the island is only a few kilometers broad. That's what I call steep. At one point I had to start the car uphill and it took me several attempts to get it to actually drive and not die. While gaining elevation within short distance, gaining distance was much harder. The whole island is about 50 kilometers long but the drive a long the coast is almost three times as long, thanks to an incredible amount of curves.

Now I'm in Missoula, Montana, eating dinner and fighting to keep my eyes open. My hotel is about a quarter of a mile away but I think I might not make it.