1319 miles...

Ah road trips! The endless expanse of road stretching into the horizon, winding lazily up the distant hills, or snaking precariously down the side of the mountains. I always enjoy driving long distances, although inevitably before the end of the trip I am more than ready to arrive at my destination. I love the changes in scenery throughout the course of the day. Beginning in the deserts of Arizona, with ancient saguaro cactus reaching upward toward the clear sky. Climbing up into pine trees and rugged mountains, with the clean scent of pines hanging in the air. On to the mesas of Utah, and earth tone mountains of Zion National park. Driving through the flat expanse of southern Idaho, and finally the most beautiful stretch of driving: US 95 from Boise to Lewiston.

As much as I enjoy the drive, however, my muscles persistently remind me that I have been sitting in this seat staring out the window for the past 15 hours. Every time I turn onto US 95 the thought that immediately comes to mind is "I'm almost there!" Then, inevitably, I see the sign that says Lewiston: 274 miles, reminding me that although most of the miles are behind me, the end is still far enough away to seem excruciatingly long.

My travels along US 95 this time were significantly less eventful than April when I drove up here and found blowing blizzards in every mountain pass I drove through that night, make it nearly impossible to see the road. If you've never tried that particular type of driving don't spend too much time wondering what you are missing. I can assure you that straining your eyes in an attempt to make out the lines of the road, through the blinding white of falling snow, as it twists and turns up and down the mountains with a plunging cliff on one side hidden by the darkness is vastly overrated!

It is night again on my trip north on this beautiful winding road. The sun set just as I was turning off I-84 and each mile I travel the darkness deepens. There is something relaxing, and strangely beautiful about the night that makes me enjoy driving after the last rays of the sun fade into oblivion. As I wind back and forth along the mountain road I can see the dark shadow of the trees, their tops stretching up into the night sky appearing like silent sentinels on my journey. I am surrounded by mountains on either side, their shapes loom into the night sky leaving only a narrow expanse of sky directly above filled with stars. The night sky is already bright from the light of the nearly-full moon that is still hidden somewhere behind the mountains. I open my window and the crisp, cool, pine-scented air fills my senses, I can hear the river flowing along to my left, following me in my travels. What a beautiful place!

As I pass through towns along my way I can see a strange light flashing into the night sky, alternating white and green. Airports! Oh what I wouldn't given to be able to be flying along these valleys right now! It would certainly shorten the transit time, not to mention the fact that I would take an airplane over a car any day! But alas, I am gravity bound, so onward I must drive. The miles pass by, counting down to my destination. Then, when I see the sign Lewiston: 11 miles, my nostrils are suddenly accosted by the pungent, acidic smell that I have come to associate with home: the smell of Potlatch's paper mill. I am almost home!