September 13, 2021
The Four Mile Road Story
Potlatch City Park Campground, Idaho
While on my last bike tour I wrote in my journal that as long as I can still carry my fully-loaded bike up the stairs to a second floor motel room I am still cut out for this bike touring business. It's kind of a strange standard I set for myself, knowing that I could certainly unload my gear and make two trips. But I seem to have a stubborn desire to constantly prove I'm a Tough Guy and a Tough Guy only makes one trip--even if he puts out his back doing it.
The other night when I checked into the Moscow Super 8, I was really put to the test. They only had a 3rd floor room available.
The shoulder on U.S. Highway 95 was much better heading north out of Moscow than it was coming into town, that's for sure. There was still quite a bit of traffic, but overall it was a pleasant ride through more hills and wheat fields. Then, off in the distance, I saw a change in landscape coming.
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It turned out to be more Palouse wheat fields once I came down off the mountain, but at least I got a small glimpse of the forests I have ahead of me.
Soon thereafter, I came to Four Mile Road. I saw it on my map this morning and it looked like it could be a quieter alternative to Highways 95 and 6 to Potlatch. It was a little longer route, but since it was a short day I figured I'd take it anyway as long as it was paved.
When I got to the turn off for Four Mile Road I was pretty tired of all the auto traffic. So I was very pleased to see the paved surface. It was chip seal, but it looked quiet. I made the turn.
Oh what a great decision I made. It was more than quiet. It was downright lonely (a good thing.) Scenic too. I even liked the view-blockers.
I don't really dislike view-blockers trees as much as I might seem to. I definitely enjoy seeing them in the distance. But I give special consideration to pine forests. As mentioned in the video, they smell so nice, unlike the hardwood forests where I live in Minnesota. I guess that sweet smell is why air-fresheners always seem to be pine-scented.
Four Mile Road had more in store for me than nice aromas though. Believe it or not, I passed Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. Three very startled deer raced across the road not more than 50 feet in front of me. I saw a gaggle of wild turkeys. (Or is the technical term a "gaggle of gobblers," or a "flock of gobblers," or a "plethora of turkeys," or a "herd of giant chicken-like creatures?") I saw a few magpies, but they weren't the famous swooping kind you read about in Australian bike touring journals. I found serenity too. Then came a big surprise, which I will get to after a few pictures.
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So I was enjoying this stuff and all of a sudden the chip seal ended and course gravel began. I sure didn't expect that. It was no problem though, because I like gravel riding. I do a fair amount of it back home.
But I was a couple miles and a few steep climbs into it when I saw a signpost at an intersection with another gravel road. Neither one of the signs said "Four Mile Road." Apparently, I was now on Flannigan Creek Road. What the hell? Did I miss a turn somewhere?
Now, I often brag about being a paper map guy. But in this case, I pulled out my phone to find out exactly where I was. Of course, there was no signal. My first instinct was to turn back. But I went with my second instinct, which was to keep going forward.
At worst, I'd get hopelessly lost and have to wild camp in a pine forest. At best, I'd get some cell phone reception pretty soon and regain my bearings. Or was it the other way around. I could see myself camping up here among the sweet smelling pines.
Soon after that last picture, my phone beeped to tell me I had an e-mail. That meant I was back in civilization and I could probably pull up a map, which I did.
I felt a little relieved that I was still on course to get to a city campground in the town of Potlatch.
The Flannigan Creek Road leveled off and turned from gravel to hard dirt for a couple of miles. The hard dirt was nice riding. Then it became pavement again all the way to State Highway 6 just outside of Potlatch. It was a fun ride and I had more fun exploring Potlatch.
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Then I encountered another glitch. The city park campground I had read about turned out to be an RV park. What is this world coming to when "campground" means RV park?
Not all RV parks allow tent camping, but the host at this one was willing to accommodate. He pointed me to a grassy spot over by the railroad tracks. "Or," he said, "you could rent one of the cabins."
"A cabin sounds cool," I said. "How much?"
I agreed to the $50 asking price, much to the chagrin of Mike the Tent. I like the cabin too. In some ways it was like being in a tent: No TV, no running water, no toilet, no sheets and blankets. And in other ways it was like being in an RV: Hard walls, a little table, a mattress, electricity and something I totally did not expect--WiFi.
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3 years ago
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I'll leave you now with a video of a song that has been an earworm for the last three days. It came up in a text discussion with a very good friend when he noticed my holiness vs. hellishness theme. Seeing those goats earlier reminded me of the song once again.
Today's ride: 23 miles (37 km)
Total: 233 miles (375 km)
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