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There was a cable ferry here. The farmers in the Bend, a dozen square miles half encompassed by a large bend of the Snake turning from west to north, begged for years before getting a bridge. Without it they, who by a surveyor's error became the only residents of Oregon east of the Snake, drove there cattle, sheep, and pigs back through Roswell to the railhead in Parma. There is a sign on the new bridge, a forth incarnation, warning bikers to use there skid lids, there're not in Idaho any more (and haven't been for a few miles). A historical marker on the west bank tells of this being one of the fingers of the Oregon Trail. |
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I turn right into Adrian. No gas, last store, well stocked but no debits: cash only. The Mirage Café-Tavern is always packed Saturday evenings as people drive all the way from Boise for the prime rib special. A couple miles out of town I turn west |
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onto Overstreet and climb. From the top of the hill the Treasure Valley spreads out behind me, an agricultural patchwork surrounded by highlands and snow covered mountains. Over the hill I drop down to the Owyhee River drainage where it winds the cut and sculpted red canyon. I cross the bride and start up the river. My little bike is scooting along at 40mph in top gear. The road is the old railroad grade used in the construction of the damn and has no hill climbs. I picked up the river road at the foot of Mitchell Butte where there once was a bordello-spa. It closed after the dam was finished and years latter the sheriff blew-up the pool to stop teen parties. As the canyon narrows I dodge three large puddles where another steaming spring, only a seep in the summer, has encroached into the road. I stop at the wildlife viewing area; no water or trash pickup, but tables and clean outhouse. |
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