From Idaho Falls, Idaho

Sunny. Warm wind blowing up from the south. Motel room door open. Across the street, sound of the Snake River and Idaho Falls. Finishing off the last portion of the box o’ wine I brought from Rochester. But don’t worry, I have another Black Box Pinot Grigio chilling.

I love Idaho. There were maybe 10 other people traversing the state on U.S. 93 and U.S. 20 today. The view is spare: rolling hills of yellow grasses, muted green sagebrush and splotches of redishness. Tumbleweed rolling across the road. And then there is the lava. Apparently this part of Idaho sits on the volcanic Great Rift that lets loose every couple thousand years. Who knew.

We visited Craters of the Moon National Monument. It’s about lava. It’s black. It looks like a cosmic road project gone terribly wrong — “asphalt” dumped in piles everywhere. Yikes.

Then we drove through the vast “restricted” area, with references in our atlas to “nuclear waste management.” Oy.

But Idaho Falls is a fine town. Just west of the Tetons and Yellowstone National Park, where we will head tomorrow.

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