June 26 - Beside the Clearwater River

[Adele]

I surfaced reluctantly to consciousness in the wee hours of the morning as the wailing sound of sirens pierced the darkness. My eyeballs aching from weariness too much to care what was happening, I remained curled up in my sleeping bag as Brock scrambled out of the tent to make sure the townsfolk weren't bolting for the hills.

No such drama. The tiny town of Kamiah apparently is accustomed to the local lumber mill's 4:30 wake up call.

The pitter patter of busy raindrops and the inevitable need to find a bathroom woke me up hours later. After sweating and crisping under yesterday's merciless sun, awakening to a gray diluvian world was the last thing I would have expected.

By 9 am, Brock had moved most of our things to the nearby picnic shelter (we were camping in the town park), and by 10 we had the tent drying under there as well, the tent fly hung from the rafters, and the entirety of our belongings strewn over no less than 4 picnic tables. It looked like someone had busted open a pinata of camping gear, food, and bedraggled clothing.

Brock and I made a unanimous vote to hunker down and wait out the steady rain; this is vacation after all and there's no need to punish ourselves. (Alright, yesterday's 80 miles evolved into a torture fest by the end, but I have a really short term memory when it comes to these things).

I walked down the road and bought us some consolation mochas from a coffee stand, By the time we'd eaten lunch, the skies had cleared and we felt energized and ready to move on. Quickly we packed up our gear and pedaled across the Clearwater River and out of Kamiah.

From reading up on local area history this morning (I prefer to be called "placard-reading junkie" over "nerd")
I learned that the Lewis and Clark expedition sojourned in the Kamiah valley on their return journey in 1806. Sick and hungry, they stayed for a month to rest and stock up on provisions. I like that our experience paralleled theirs to a certain degree; in place of salmon and wild game, of course, we had huge hamburgers and mochas.

We travelled beside the fast-rolling Clearwater River on highway 12 for a few hours, marveling at the piney slopes and glinting river.

With sparse traffic, Brock and I were able to actually carry on conversation during the ride. Refreshing. Usually, trying to converse is frustrating, because just as you begin to say something the sound of a passing car drowns out your words, leaving the other person to shout, "what?! what!? I can't hear you!". Not good for any relationship. We've learned over the past few years of cycling together, and so we generally don't attempt to talk much on busy roads.

Our campsite tonight is perfect: the sound of the rushing river fills the otherwise pristine night air and we have the campground all to ourselves on a Tuesday night.

I won't go into detail about the huckleberry pie we consumed at a roadside cafe, except that it was the priciest slice a la mode that I'll ever pay for, but it was also totally worth it.