Early July, 2009 - After landing in Burbank, California, following our seven week sojourn in Michigan, we collected our trailer and
made a circuitous route to Idaho in search of some R&R. We had fallen in love with the small town of Kellogg, outside of Coeur
d'Alene, two years earlier, and everything we had heard about Idaho from other travelers was outstanding. One six-year full-timing
veteran we met in Pioche, NV last year told us, "I just came from a boondocking spot in Stanley, Idaho, and it was exactly what I've
been looking for all these years: gorgeous mountain views, meadows filled with wildflowers, clear streams, and lots of wildlife."
This image had been in the back of our minds ever since.
After a long slog across the Nevada desert, we aimed for Twin Falls,
Idaho. We had thought we'd blow right through town, but instead we got
a blowout on one of the trailer tires about 60 miles from town. We limped
into Twin Falls on the spare tire with eyes only for Les Schwab Tires.
Once a new tire was in place, we opened our eyes a little more and
began to look around. What a neat town.
It is legal to jump off the huge bridge spanning the Snake River with a
parachute, and we watched for quite a while as people suited up with
all kinds of lines and parachute gear, walked to the middle of the
bridge, climbed over the railing, and jumped off. In the distance we
could see the spot where Evel Knievel tried to jump the Snake River
with his motorcycle back in 1974 (his parachute opened too early and
he landed on the water's edge just below his launch site).
There is a pretty bike path that goes along the edge of the Snake River,
offering fantastic views into the canyon and river below. The first settler
had put his farm on the river's edge smack in the middle of the canyon.
Today the same area is home to a beautiful pair of golf courses. As I
gathered tourist material at the visitor's center, I wanted to stay longer,
but this was a hot time of year to be here, and the mountains were
calling up ahead. I had emailed the head of the Escapees' Boondockers
club, asking where the best boondocking spot might be in the Sawtooth
Mountains, and got the response, "There are MANY beautiful spots." I
was a little bemused by this vague answer, but when I arrived at the
Sawtooth National Recreation Area I discovered that she was right:
there are gorgeous spots all over the place, no planning needed.
Our welcome committee the first night was a young mule deer. He
walked through our campsite, totally unconcerned about our presence.
One special patch of grass kept him occupied for over an hour. The
second night, in a new site, another mule deer stopped by to say
"hello." We were quickly feeling all the cares of the world slip away.
There is a wonderful rails-to-trails paved bike path that goes between
Bellevue, to the south, and Ketchum, to the north. Thirty miles or so in
overall length, it does several loops in and around the Ketchum/Sun
Valley area as well. We rode it into town regularly, although the wide
shoulder on Route 75 makes for great cycling too. Riding these paths
and roads, I kept feeling as though I was riding through a bicycle touring
catalog's best photos.
The town of Ketchum has its deepest roots in silver mining, but it also
has the distinction of being home to a world class ski resort. Averell
Harriman, a railroad baron, wanted a prime winter tourist destination
somewhere on his line. He hired an Austrian count to scour the
countryside along the railroad in order to find the best location. After
several months of searching, almost ready to call it quits, the count
made one last trip -- to Ketchum -- and decided this was the spot.
The Sun Valley resort opened to great fanfare in 1936. It was such a
celebrated wonderland of ice and snow and the rich and famous that
far far away in New York City my mom grew up in the 1940's
fantasizing about visiting someday (and she did, in 2003).
We first heard of Mr. Harriman because of the mountain bike trail that
bears his name. It runs from Ketchum north for 20 miles to Galena
Lodge, winding along the Big Wood River. Between that trail to the
north and the paved bike path to the south, we were very happy
campers, getting out on our bikes every day.
Brilliant deep blue skies greeted us every morning during our first week,
giving way to puffy clouds every afternoon. It was paradise.
Our first stop in town was the bike shop, of course. There are many bike
shops in Ketchum, but the one in the center of town -- and the one
broadcasting the Tour de France every day -- was the Elephant Perch.
Lance Armstrong was in the hunt when we arrived, and there were high
hopes he'd pull off one of his famous maneuvers to win. The Elephant
Perch has a group bike ride every Wednesday night, and they were relying
on Lance for inspiration to tackle the mountains around town.
We saw some of the faster riders out on the road and vowed to join them the
following Wednesday. Unfortunately, ten miles into the ride (just as I was wondering
how I was going to fare on the big hill up ahead) the heavens opened up, and it
poured. Mark and I took that as our cue to exit and dashed back to the trailer as fast
as we could go. The ride leader, Nappy, had told us that the group never misses a
date at The Roosevelt, a restaurant in town where they reserve a private room to
imbibe a bit after the ride. We didn't realize just how serious these post-ride dates
were until later: the whole group had turned back when the downpour began, but
they went straight to the bar!
This happy-go-lucky spirit pervades the whole town.
Whimsical statues grace the main drag, from huge cowboy
booted flamingos to huge cowboy booted rocking chairs to
fun and crazy animals and other sculptures.
The summer is short here, so everyone spends a lot of time
outside. There are a zillion cute bistros, with cafe tables all
over the place, and there are events going on every day.
If it isn't a musician strumming his guitar in the middle of town, it's the
gourmet meat and cheese vendor giving away samples (even pure
angus beef "sliders"). Every day we came into town we were swept up
into something fun.
On a more serious note, the town was trimmed head to
toe in yellow ribbons, with plaintive signs stating, "Bring
Bowe Home." Beloved local boy, Pfc. Bowe Bergdahl, a
Hailey, Idaho native, had recently been captured in
Afghanistan, and a video tape of him had just been
released by his Al Queda captors. The community had
rallied around his family, and there were offerings of
support everywhere.
Grateful to everyone, past and present, who has gifted us with freedom, we enjoyed many
strolls around town. There were flowers everywhere, pretty mountains in the distance (with
ski runs plain to see), and it was a big enough town that it took several strolls on different
days to see all of it.
We had been out of our home
and away from our lifestyle for
so long that these kinds of easy
days in a friendly town were
exactly what we needed.
Stanley, which we had assumed
would be our destination, was
still 60 miles up the road, but we
couldn't tear ourselves away
from Ketchum.
We even got library cards at the
local library so we could take out
some CDs and DVDs to enjoy in
the trailer (there was little radio
and no TV reception in the national forest).
We scouted out many boondocking areas by bike, and
happened on the ideal spot 3 miles down a very bad dirt road.
It was too tempting not to try, but in hindsight it was a once-in-
a-lifetime experience. I stood on the roof of the trailer and
trimmed branches for quite some time before we shoe-horned
ourselves into the spot. Only after we'd gotten in did we think
about getting out. Yikes. On the day we pulled out there was
thunder and lightning in the distance and big, fat threatening
raindrops falling all around us. Our patch of dirt quickly turned
into a mudhole. But Mark managed to do a 30-point turn with
the trailer, dodging two large boulders and three trees, and got
us turned around.
In the end, however,
the white knuckles
and scuffs were all
worth it: the many
days between our
arrival and our
departure were pure
storybook fantasy.
We were camped on the edge of a creek with a cascade of
mountains rising behind us. The mule deer came by every
evening, except on the weekends when the forest had too many
human visitors.
The sun shone so warmly that we ran around in shorts and tank tops,
that is, until Mark decided to sponge off in the water. Then the sun
always went behind a huge cloud and stayed there, leaving him in shade
while he hooped and hollered and thundered like an ornery bull,
splashing ice water all over himself. It was all very impressive, but I
preferred taking a hot shower in the rig. Of course, by that time the
warm sun would be out again.
We spent our days walking and riding along the dirt road, reading and
listening to things we'd gotten from the library, tidying up the many loose
ends that had been frayed with our hasty departure in May, and
generally getting back to our old selves. It felt so good to unwind in our
own home.
Our return to the rig had been
a little rockier than we would
have liked. We dashed first to San Diego and then to San Francisco in pursuit of one
final sailboat deal before giving up for the season. We had learned over the course of
the preceding months that the sailboat brokerage business is not one for the faint of
heart. It is a cut-throat, dog-eat-dog world of ruthless backstabbers. One broker told us
how another had robbed him of a deal at a boat show and then gloated openly for days
afterwards. Another lamented that his employer had stolen a deal from him at the last
minute and refused to pay his commission after he had invested weeks of effort in the
transaction. He later found out the employer owed other employees tens of thousands
of dollars in commissions too. Apparently honesty isn't a policy in that industry.
So it was no surprise when the boat that
we had been assured had air conditioning
("I saw the compressor myself") turned
out not to. However, it was a very big
surprise when on the same day, in the
same town (tony Sausalito), a pair of well
respected brokers who had been selling
one of the highest end European brands
of yachts for years got hauled off to jail for
embezzling several hundred thousand dollars from their clients. How reassuring
(though depressing) to discover that our assessment of the California boat business
was right on the mark.
We were able to laugh about all that now, in
the shade of a tall pine with the water
glistening on the rocks in front of us. Our
dream had sent us on a wild goose chase,
including a whirlwind tour of Michigan. We
hadn't ended up where we expected, but all
had turned out well. These woods, this
town, our trailer -- all wonderful.
We were living a dream right now, and, as life has taught us over the years, dreams can
be very flirtatious and hard to capture. Sometimes they make us feel like toddlers,
running around on stubby legs, waving our arms, chasing butterflies. The best moments
in life are gifted to us like jewels from leprechauns, unexpectedly, as if by magic.
Thank goodness for our
beautiful national
forests. As we hung
around Ketchum for a
month, we were able to
take our "summer
cottage" from one
priceless creek-side campsite to another stunning mountain-view
campsite, and enjoy exquisite scenery all around us every day.
We had partied long and hard with friends and family all winter, and then
we had eaten our way around Michigan for almost two months. Who can
pass up fresh raspberry pie made by the Amish? Or hot-out-of-the-oven
pastries and cookies at a cute Canadian farm stand overlooking Lake
Erie? Not us! But now our clothes told the rest of the story, as everything
we owned was too tight. It was time to get fit and healthy again. We
started doing daily runs and bike rides, and we got our hand weights out of
their hiding spot way under the back seat of the truck.
But man, were we sore. A little exercise sent us straight to bed for an
afternoon nap each day. What's more, the sun didn't crest the mountains until
after 9:00 in the morning, so why get out of bed before that? For a while I think
all we did was sleep, exercise and nibble a little here and there. We had driven
4,000 miles around Michigan, and done another 1,600 to get here from
California. It felt really good just to stop. And what a place to do it: Ketchum
and Sun Valley are worthy of a really long visit.