an infrequent repository of mostly new stuff
music is “Sheets” by Damien Jurado, here
Leaving out of Boise, we head north with the wind, and follow the Snake River all the way to Oregon along the Oregon Trail.
Just before the state line, a double rainbow appears. It’s a natural mirror of the man-made one we saw back in St. Louis, this one a true gateway to the west. Emily takes it as a very good omen, the best welcome sign she could have. She is dancing in the driver’s seat.
Even in the dark we can see this is a different landscape. (I say “we,” but Emily is sleeping.) Hills are rounded, not craggy like the mountains we just left. Valleys are broad pans, and the highway undulates through them. Everything bears the mark of those biblical floods pouring out of Utah. It’s an empty landscape, scoured bare of people, too, apparently. The one gas station we see in the distance – a single light glowing in a nimbus on the otherwise dark prairie – is closed. We need gas again, soon.
This is the approach to the Snake River Valley: a wide, flat, elbow shaped plain, the dominant feature of southern Idaho. Though a river runs through it, as did those those epic Old Testament scale floods, it is not just another alluvial valley shaped by water.
No, that’s not what made it. Massive terrain altering floods not good enough for you? Ok, how about this: Multiple super-volcano super-erruptions. BAM! ‘at’s what I’m talkin’ about.
down to Utah
Averting vehicular catastrophe in Wyoming, we’re entering a region of the country rife with past catastrophes – both human and geological.
The Wasatch Range forms a rampart between Salt Lake and the rest of the world. Contrary to common sense, we don’t go up into the mountains; we descend into them. From Evanston, and then in the mountains themselves, we’re winding down narrow canyons beneath the peaks, and the road drops steadily over 3000 feet.
Like a walled medeival city, there are few ways through the mountains to the Promised Land of the West. Gates are small, obscured, and fortified against ingress. All supplicants are channelled into easily defended chutes like livestock.
Just beyond the border with Utah, we enter the first chute, the mouth of Echo Canyon. For hundreds of years, pilgrims have funneled through this spot – bowed their heads, shuffled their feet, and prayed. Places through here have ominous names: Devil’s Gate, Devil’s Slide, Hells Gate, etc..
Devil’s Slide
crossing Colorado and Wyoming – ground blizzard in Wyoming
Music:
Peter Biedermann “Circles”
Laurie Lewis “Trees”
The Whistles and the Bells “Mercy Please”
Crossing Wyoming – Time Lapse Sample
The six hours it takes to cross Wyoming will be the most treacherous of the whole trip.
Wyoming is the least populated state in the country. It also has fewer people per square mile than any state except Alaska, which is 7 times larger, and almost a third of which is above the Arctic Circle. Wyoming is pretty desolate. A hard place to live, with crazy extremes in temperature – a highest high of 114° down to a record low of -66°F, at places just 100 miles apart.
It’s a big, high, desert. Only Nevada and Utah get less rain. What rain does fall, lands in the mountains in the far northwest corner of the state. They strain the last bit of moisture from the air like a sieve. But for that rain in the mountains, Wyoming would be the driest state of all. Those mountains, however, are beautiful.
Front Range in morning light
It’s 11:32pm when Colorado finally rolls under the wheels, supplanting stubborn Kansas. Except, it’s really 10:32pm, because it’s now Mountain Time. We’ve been up for 17 hours, driving almost non-stop for 15 straight, and still have a long way to go.
Dash Cam