Going the Distance
Mapping the route from Susanville, California to Wyoming and
Yellowstone was no mean feat. It is a
fur piece and there are no major connecting highways. Susanville does not lie directly on U.S. 395
but is just a tad west. The easiest way to explain it is “the triangle of
confusion” (Is he going to the Bahamas?):
entering from the south, U.S. 395 doubles back on itself a few miles outside of
Susanville. In the meantime, the
traveler must enter the town via CA-36 with no obvious indication that one has
changed route numbers. The natural progression then when leaving Susanville is
to drive north while U.S. 395 is racing speedily eastward. The navigation
system was struggling to find the words that would alert me to this situation;
apparently TOM-TOM does not build stupid, jackass, or f#$%head into its argot
of navigation language. Being the seasoned land navigator I boast to be, it
wasn’t long ere I recognized the problem and eschewed the GPS guidance for my
trusty AAA Map (free to members) and solved the riddle. A few turns here and
there put me back on U.S. 395 en route,
well I wasn’t sure.
U.S. 395 traveled north into Oregon and continued for about
one hundred miles to junction with U.S. 20.
They join for twenty-eight miles then separate at the town of
Burns. One might be asking why this
detail is necessary (Yeah, I was
wondering at his wandering!): It’s because there is nothing else to write
about.
This night, I stayed at Burns, Oregon because I was afraid
that the blank space on the map might drop off the edge of the earth in the
dark of night. I can honestly say this
was among the three most desolate stretches of highway I have ever
traveled. If I had been told I was in
Nevada, I would have believed it. The blankness was so overwhelming I honestly
cannot bring to mind the motel in which I stayed. It reminded me of a Twilight Zone episode. I kept a wary eye
on the road shoulder but didn’t see William Shatner.
The next morning the highway crossed Stinking Water Pass
(El. 4,968 ft). It then descended into a
lush green valley with rolling hills and irrigated farming plots. It was what one
would expect from Oregon. I stopped for
breakfast at the Oasis café in the farming town of Juntura (pronounced
Jun-tur-ah, with a hard “J” according to the citizens, despite the word being Spanish
for juncture). The special was cinnamon
roll French toast. I was over the heebie-jeebies; only in a safe world can
cinnamon roll French toast exist. Just
before crossing the border into Idaho, U.S. 20 joined I-80 which carried me
past Boise and on to Mountain Home, the community attached to Mountain Home Air
Force Base (go figure).
The next morning, as I was gassing up for the day, I
witnessed an Idaho Highway Patrol unit charge onto the freeway going
CODE-3. For the uninitiated, this means
he was using his emergency lights and siren to clear traffic. This is usually an indication of a life-or-death
matter. I finished my pit stop and
proceeded southwest. After a few miles,
traffic began to build, slow and then come to a complete stop. “Damn!” I
thought to myself, “this is a fatal accident and were going to be here for
hours while the Patrol Officers collect evidence.” Isn’t this what I left California to get away
from?
A few miles later I had approached close enough to interpret
the scene. There was a fire fighter
standing on the shoulder with a couple of civilians watching the wheel bearings
of a small utility trailer burning. I’ve
never connected the concept of excitement to Idaho; now I have first-hand
experience that supports my suspicions.
The whole delay was being caused by looky-loos.
About thirty miles east of Boise, U.S.-20 detaches from I-84
and continues east as a rural highway joining U.S.-93 at Craters of the Moon
Nat’l Mon. This is a lava field created
by the most recent eruption of the Yellowstone super volcano (about sixty
million years, give or take an eon). I believe I covered this in Wyoming 2010
blog. Once again, the visitors’ center
restroom is the star attraction. I
continued on another eighty miles or so to Idaho Falls, Idaho. It seemed to be the typical agriculture
support city, but with a huge Mormon Temple.
The edifice speaks for itself in terms of culture. Not a lot of tattooed skate boarders hanging
out in the supermarket parking lots.
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