In hindsight, the last few days were a lead-up to hitting a wall, and this became clear while traveling alongside the Salmon River. After waking up at the Motel 6 (see previous post), which actually smelled better in the room than outside it (thanks McDonald’s), Willy and I hit the road, on what seemed an endless treading of the mill through rolling fields, exactly like the day before. We did not have a campground reservation for the night, but we did have a destination in mind in McCall, which was first come, first-served. As we traveled, I was not in a good place. I felt anxious, unhappy, dissatisfied, alone, and on it went—a miasma of yuck. I yearned to be back home, transported no less, as the thought of the travel to get there made me sick to my stomach. Not helping were the winds whipping across these rolling fields, which buffeted The Shroom in such a way that we were dancing all over the road. I resigned myself to another exhausting ride with no certainty of a bed at the end. After a few hours, we descended down seven treacherous miles and wound up hugging the Salmon River. Immediately, my mood lightened, my teeth started to unclench and my shoulders descended from my ears. This stretch of road was absolutely gorgeous and we pulled over at least a half a dozen times to take a small walk or snap some photos. Lending a hand, the afternoon light made the river sparkle and shimmer and, all of a sudden, it felt like everything was right in the world again.

I couldn’t believe it—was that all it took—an awesome river? “Um, yeah, that’s what you’re here for, dumbass,” answered my ever-forgiving and eloquent thoughts. My original intent was to be transported, to be awed, to be humbled, and here I was, somewhere in Idaho, and it was happening; for the umpteenth time, I might add. On the one hand, I was so relieved to have sprung back. On the other, I thought, “Great, so every time you’re in a funk you’ll need to go somewhere beautiful?” (It’s actually not a bad plan, but it might present some logistical problems.) How can just a few days of bad scenery upend me that way? I had just spent the last 40 being treated to some of the most jaw-dropping wonders I’ve ever seen and I let a few boring lakes and rolling fields erase it all?

My mood was even further lifted when we hit the campground and scored one of the last spots, just in time to set up, take a walk, light a fire and get dinner on (we passed into mountain central time so we lost an hour—who divides up a state like that, from north to south, by the way?). Once I settled in, I grabbed my bible, the Rand McNally, to plan the next two nights on my way to Yellowstone to meet my best friend for some bison antics. To my amazement, I found two unbelievable stops that will thrill and excite me; and they were under my nose the whole time, just like the Salmon River. For the past few days, I had been staring at the map of Idaho trying to make some sense of it as a thruway, but my mood had prevented me from seeing it as a destination.

Our ability to work ourselves up, only to have it reversed from one moment to the next, is the curse of the human mind. But, we are supposed to be creatures that learn and I, for one, intend to keep on making stupid mistakes and learning from them. If nothing else, the last few days have taught me that everything is going to be OK, it really will. Our moods and thoughts can blind us momentarily, but eventually our eyes take over. If you don’t believe me, check out the Rand McNally Road Atlas.