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'68 KO in Idaho
The trees still have no leaves but the grass is again green. I roll my 1968 Honda 90 out of the shed. Patchy low clouds, 56 degrees, but the bits of blue sky seem to call to me. I toss a V8 and orange into my rut sack, warm up the little engine and turn left out the driveway, onto old Hwy 18. My home is the cluster of houses called Roswell, first settled when travelers along the Oregon Trail |
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threw up ditches and turned the marshy sod at the confluence of the Boise and Snake. Three early Idaho governors came out from here, but now we've not even a post office. I pass the boarded up school and putt out to the Roswell Marsh then on into Oregon and down to the Snake River. |
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At the river leans Riverview, the smallest of ghost towns. The peak-roofed, false front old structure was the post office-general store built by a speculator who filed a town plat for the town that never was. In 1917 the railroad came down the other side of the river. |
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My six volt Coleman AM/FM is strapped to the bars. A headset helps drown out the engines mighty roar. |
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