2009 Roadtrip: USPSA Area 1 Championship, IdahoJune 11: I'm following my typical route west: to Birmingham, then Memphis (where I become lost downtown when my GPS freezes up, make a u-turn, get pulled over, but get directions rather than a ticket), and somewhere outside Little Rock for the night. The motel room has a cubist painting instead of the traditional fare. June 12: The routes are a little different at Pinnacle Mountain now, which is refreshing even after 18 months. At the summit I get a good view of the approaching storm front. I'm surprised it's here so fast from Oklahoma. During my descent it hits. I've never heard a wind like this. I'm soaked within a minute. A little later I'm sitting on my ankle; my knee doesn't like that. At the nearby supercenter I pick up supplies and menthol for my knee (fortunately, I'll be off it for the next few days) and head west. The straight-line winds also blew through Clarkesville, and the first motel I try is without power. June 13: In Sallisaw, Oklahoma I take a break from I-40 at a city park off U.S. 64 which I came across a few years ago. West of Oklahoma City (and some rain showers) I take a scenic route north into red mesa country and spend the night in Alva. June 14: Along U.S. 64 through the Panhandle (badman's territory) I see distinctive scissor-tailed flycatchers, colonies of cliff swallows that flirt with disaster everytime I cross a bridge, and a pronghorn family almost keeping up with me. The earth no longer curves down at the horizon. In Boise City I pick up OK 325 and head into black mesa country. New Mexico 456 follows the Cimarron River through a valley of mesas. The mesas slowly become mountains while the valley rises to 8000 feet. A few mule deer appear. Then NM 72 descends into Raton, where I spend the night in the same motel as last time. I think I'm even in the same room (since only a few have a fridge).
June 15: I shoot my revolver at the NRA's Whittington Center off U.S. 64 outside Raton. Although it's a Monday, there's a cowboy match on the pistol range, so I use the silhouette range. Two pronghorn mosey through; there must not be any cheetahs around here anymore. The NRAWC has completed its firearms museum and reading room. The museum is small but interesting; I purchase some Southwestern items at the gift shop. Instead of heading deeper into the Southwest like last time, I now head north into new country. There's a steep climb on I-25 through Raton Pass which more than doubles my hybrid's RPMs and completely drains the battery. At over 7800 feet I'm in Colorado; the snow-capped Rockies line the horizon. On the way down the battery fills up again and serves as another braking system. (This cycle will be repeated many more times, and I'm happy I started using premium when I hit the High Plains with the headwinds, high altitudes, and steep grades out here.) The interstate straightens out; on the left, the Sangre de Cristo rockies tower above; on the right the Plains stretch past the horizon. In Walsenburg I take U.S. 160 west; the next pass is 9400 feet. Colorado 149 twists north along the Rio Grande, then rises to 10,900 feet at the Continental Divide, rolls through alpine meadows and forests with small lakes and western bluebirds, rises again to 11,300 feet and follows another river. Night falls as I coast into Gunnison; there's no room at the inns, so I continue to Montrose and miss some scenery on U.S. 50. June 16: The original plan was to go north to Dinosaur, but the weather in Grand Junction pushes me west on I-70 into Utah. I take a scenic detour south on UT 128, following the Colorado River to Moab: it's like driving through the Grand Canyon:  Scenic routes out here seem to have several motifs in common: a twisting road following a river sculpting mountains with the help of the wind and rain; the main differences are the covering on the mountains, the size and motion of the river, and how much help it gets. As the Colorado passes through Arches National Park just north of Moab, it leaves the road behind and next carves out Canyonland NP, then Glen Canyon (bypassing Capitol Reef NP), and inevitably Grand Canyon NP. Lacking a canoe, I take U.S. 191 back to I-70. There aren't many gas stations out here, but there are plenty of overlooks -- and for good reason: the landscape is so vast that even the interstate becomes a scenic route, perhaps making Utah the biggest state of all. Here's a canyon Butch Cassidy used as a hideout:  Utah 28 takes me by some rustic scenery and odoriferous feedlots (eat more chicken!) to Nephi, near the I-15 junction, for the night. June 17: The weather is dismal north on I-15. At least I'm not missing much scenery: nearly all of Utah's cities are located along this route, one after another. In Ogden, as a raincloud slams into a mountainside just ahead, I decide to visit the John M. Browning Firearms Museum. The museum is in Union Station along with two others (covering the transcontinental railroad and antique cars) and well worth the stop. The weather clears up and cools down, and my roadtrip continues northward. But no sooner am I heading into Idaho on I-84 when lightning streaks across the darkest sky I've ever seen. I can't think of a reason to drive through that scenery, so I turn around and hightail it toward Nevada. Utah 30 puts the Raft River Mountains between me and the storm. A rancher gives me a solid wave, and then there's no one else out here. I figure it may be days before they find my body as I watch the storm spill over the Grouse Creek Mountains onto the prairie, touching me a few times. There's only one gas station on this stretch, in Nevada, charging an extra dollar per gallon, and I'm happy to pay it. Then I-80 takes me to a motel in Elko.
June 18: The sky is clear as I head north on Nevada 225. Bing Crosby had his PX ranch in this area, the North Fork valley of the Independence Mountains. A white pelican trolls Wild Horse reservoir. I start to notice black-billed magpies and western kingbirds along Idaho 51; then ID 78 trails the Snake River. In the afternoon I check in at the range off U.S. 95, find a motel in nearby Parma, stock up at the small but jam-packed grocery store, stop by the taco stand, and look through the match booklet. Another day, another state; and I'm here. June 19: USPSA Area 1 Championship: The good weather holds out through the morning; strong winds in the afternoon kick up dust, knock down steel, bring a chill, and drive some rain; but Squad 5 is a friendly squad and takes everything in stride. I volunteer to shoot most stages first, and no one seems to mind. The twelve stages are thought-provoking and on par with Cherokee IPSC's; two are even IDPA-like in their design. I encounter forward-falling steel and a Polish plate rack for the first time (the rack rotates as the 8 plates are knocked off). There are 328 total shooters, 103 in Limited, 26 in Limited C (40--59%). I shoot the match at 42%; since my classifier scores average 44%, the match strikes a good overall balance for me. My two subpar stages are the result of 3 penalties, but 3 errant rounds out of 276 are almost acceptable. While 42% should put me near the bottom of C-class, I finish 15th out of 26. The scores range from 26--58% with 7 finishing below 40%. (Of the 328 total, only 10 are in Revolver.) I skip Parma's drive-in theater in favor of a trout dinner in Oregon. June 20: Idaho 21 and 75 to U.S. 93 along the Salmon River make for a stunning series of scenic routes. Named by the Lewis and Clark expedition, the Salmon River rockies have a rich variety of earthtones and textures:
I stop for the night in Salmon and have lasagna for dinner. It's a really nice town with friendly people everywhere and a movie theater downtown; and the high school has a rodeo team each year. It probably snows here, though; it's even chilly now. Last modified: 7/19/2009 |
