The Long Drive Home...an Awesome Race

Steve processes in silence, and we all know that I don't. So, I really needed someone to talk to as we pulled away from Idaho, and Steve didn't. That made the start of our trip a bit tougher on me, especially when I recollected that Emilie had foretold this dilemma a few weeks ago when she exclaimed, "You're going to get lonely, Mom. Who are you going to talk to? ...Because we all know Dad doesn't."

I pulled out a book that I had started reading, but something inside reminded me of my sister's talent for making memories to commemorate landmark occasions. I knew that the vast monotony of Nebraska would provide plenty of opportunity for reading, so I decided to take in the changing wonder that every turn of eastern Idaho and western Wyoming had to offer.

Eventually we made our way back to Freedom, WY; where, while we were on the way to Idaho, Steve came nigh unto leaving rubber on the road as he came to a stop in the North bound lane of HWY 89 when he recognized the Freedom Arms factory sign. Apparently, this factory is the only one left that makes revolvers by hand. Here's a link to a Deseret News article about the hallowed place. Unfortunately, (Oh, I'm sorry. Was that sarcasm I just dripped?) the lobby was closed and the hand printed sign on the door informed Steve that they don't give tours. Never-the-less, a duly placed phone call to report the stop was made to Steve's brother. Actually, I was a little disappointed that there wasn't much more to see. Steve is so cute when he gets gun-giddy.

Not long after, Freedom came Afton, WY with it's elk horn arches placed throughout the village.

Then we began the assent to the top of Salt River Pass, where I asked Steve to stop for a moment so I could stretch my legs and take a gander at the view...

...and read the informative sign about a natural phenomenon:

There was quite a bit of activity going on at the crest of the mountain, with beyond-the-normal-number of sight-seeing cars parked along side the road...and cones...and a man standing by one of the cones, sort of officially...when all of a sudden a racing bike passed with cheers and encouragement from an animated spectator wearing the same jersey as the rider...and then another cyclist crest the 1,300 foot mountain, and another one... As we started down the mountain we saw more and more, realizing that this was a pretty major race! Indeed, it was the LOTOJA Classic (1 day, 3 states, 206 miles, 1000 cyclists). Whoa! Apparently they started in Logan, UT, cycled to Preston, ID and then on to Teton Village/Jackson (aka, Jackson Hole to non-Wyomingians), WY. I found another great link for the "Race Bible", that gives lots of cool details about the 26 year old event; including the official race map, an elevation map, distance descriptions, etc.. We saw men, women, young, "old" (our age), even tandem cyclists. It was sooooo cool! A main part of the coolness was that all of the cyclist were traveling north, and all of the spectators, and team support vehicles, along with other unfortuante and unknowing travelers were heading north...and we were headed south (whew!). After all of the pent up anticipation of sorrow and bittersweet transitions, I got soooooo excited at seeing all of these dedicated cyclists! I climbed into the back seat, rolled down the window, whooped my arm in a circle and yelled "Woo-Hoo!" as we swiftly passed the oncoming, hard-pumping, valiant, climbing travelers.

This an unofficial map of the awesome race route:

Of course, a duly placed phone message to report the race was left for Paul Roberts.