I embarked upon my personal bike tour this past weekend in
lieu of the Tour de Vin. Boy oh boy, is the Portneuf Gap beautiful. I cycled
south on Bannock Highway to the cement plant in Inkom. I intended to continue
on to McCammon but my tired thighs and the day’s to-do list had me head back
along Old Hwy 91 after a snack in the Inkom City Park. I love those Idaho back roads.
When I was a kid my dad knew every back road and fishing
hole within 90 miles of Lava Hot Springs. As an aside, I’d like to point out
that this “Lava” is pronounced with a short “a” as in “lad”, not a schwa sound
like in “lawn.” The relaxation and calm evoked in childhood memories of back
road adventures and Lava are violently disrupted when people mispronounce it.
When I was really little, Dad used to take me on drives to
scout out fishing and hunting spots.
This was before seat belts. I stood and wobbled on the passenger side as
his truck crawled along the dusty roads. The windows were always down, and the drives
were quiet. He was surrounded by a continuous stream of booming country music while
running his bar, so he protected his personal silence.
I was not a still kid. I probably drove him batty. Luckily
he was charmed by my angelic red-headed Dorothy Hamill haircut, and he could bargain
for brief bouts of stillness in sharing his pastel orange circus peanut
candies. They tasted like perfume. But I liked their bounciness in my mouth,
and I ate them on our drives to be like my dad. I’d sneak sips of his Budweiser to be like
him, too, but Mom put the kibosh on that quickly.
I watched how he drove. His left elbow rested on the door’s
window frame and he held a cigarette or fiddled with his false teeth. His right
hand was a top the wheel at 12’o’clock. He didn’t grip it, but rather rested
the heel of his hand with his fingers loosely draped toward the hood. He had
strong square hands. I’ve got his hands.
When we’d pass people, he’d keep the heel of his palm on the
top of the wheel, but raise all five fingers in a slow, purposeful wave. His hand had the same cadence with every car
that passed. A closed mouth, wide-eyed smile complemented each gesture.
While he was working, I would slip into his truck in the
parking lot of the Lava Lounge and pretend to drive like him. I hauled an old
mop bucket out so I could step up and reach the door handle. Then I’d situate the bucket upside down on
the driver’s seat and climb up so I could see above the dash.
My wing span wasn’t long enough to hold the wheel where he
did and reach my other elbow to the window. I adapted the pose but made sure my waving
hand was perfectly placed. From his parked truck just off Lava’s Main Street,
I’d wave to people heading to and from the hot pools. Sometimes I’d forget the slowness and ease and
I’d find myself doing an over-exuberant kid wave which, although notable in its
own right, is very different than the slow, easy Idaho wave I picked up from
Dad. I lost count of the Idaho waves I collected on my bike ride last weekend. It’s a little tricky to manage from road bike handlebars, but you better believe I waved, too.
With our recent rain, the Gap was greener than usual for
this time of year, but it’s still a beauty to behold. The leaves in the
weekends to come will be a perfect backdrop for people to perfect the Idaho
wave.
If you’re not a hunter or if you’re new to the area or if
it’s just been a while, I encourage you to hop in your car or truck or on your bike
or motorcycle and hit some Idaho back roads this fall. Whether you go alone,
with a partner or the whole family, a serene tour with friendly waves scattered
about is so grounding. It’s so cleansing. It’s so Idaho. 
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