DAY 53
New Meadows, ID to Oxbow, OR
Everyone likes talking about themselves, right? Wrong. I know this is going to come off as being a complete asshole, but I don't care. It's the way we feel. At least three times a day, random strangers will come up to us and intrusively inject themselves into our lives. "How far are you going? Where did you come from? Where?!?! Let me tell you something..." Or better yet, "Well, you're going to be going over this... Or through that... Let me give you some advice that you probably don't give two shits about, but I'm going to tell you anyways because I like the sound of my own voice." Trust me, I know how big of a prick I sound like, complaining about these mostly good natured people who are only curious, or wish to help. But didn't their fathers ever teach them not to give advice unless it's asked for? Also, this barrage of questioning always seems to come at the most in-opportune times. "Hey, hey! I can see that you are standing in the middle of the street in the blazing sun sweating. Trying to cross in order to get to the gas station for a refreshing soda that you've been dreaming about for the past 20 uphill miles, but let me badger you for my own amusement." Or, "It looks like you just sat down to enjoy a well deserved rest break and delicious Ben and Jerry's ice cream, how about I talk your ear off for 15 minutes. No, I don't mind that the conversation is completely one sided and that in fact, it looks likes your girlfriend wants to stab me... I'll just stand here and talk all afternoon." Again, I'm sorry for my selfish outlook. In all actuality, I've never been rude to a single curious bystander, but sometimes holding my tongue takes everything inside me.
New Meadows, ID to Oxbow, OR
Everyone likes talking about themselves, right? Wrong. I know this is going to come off as being a complete asshole, but I don't care. It's the way we feel. At least three times a day, random strangers will come up to us and intrusively inject themselves into our lives. "How far are you going? Where did you come from? Where?!?! Let me tell you something..." Or better yet, "Well, you're going to be going over this... Or through that... Let me give you some advice that you probably don't give two shits about, but I'm going to tell you anyways because I like the sound of my own voice." Trust me, I know how big of a prick I sound like, complaining about these mostly good natured people who are only curious, or wish to help. But didn't their fathers ever teach them not to give advice unless it's asked for? Also, this barrage of questioning always seems to come at the most in-opportune times. "Hey, hey! I can see that you are standing in the middle of the street in the blazing sun sweating. Trying to cross in order to get to the gas station for a refreshing soda that you've been dreaming about for the past 20 uphill miles, but let me badger you for my own amusement." Or, "It looks like you just sat down to enjoy a well deserved rest break and delicious Ben and Jerry's ice cream, how about I talk your ear off for 15 minutes. No, I don't mind that the conversation is completely one sided and that in fact, it looks likes your girlfriend wants to stab me... I'll just stand here and talk all afternoon." Again, I'm sorry for my selfish outlook. In all actuality, I've never been rude to a single curious bystander, but sometimes holding my tongue takes everything inside me.
 |  Sounds interesting? |
As we descend into Hells Canyon, a gust of super heated air smacks us in the face. So instant and intense is the change in temperature that it's suffocating. The treed mountains are replaced with golden vertical slopes leading down into the inferno. How or why anyone, or for that matter anything, could survive here is a mystery to me.
Caution: dead cows on roadway... Beware
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 |  Heading down into Hells Canyon |
After a drawn out air conditioned lunch break at the Gateway Cafe, we take our chances in the heat. A sign along the side of the road gives a warning that travel beyond this point is at your own risk. Becky spooks easily. The name Hells Canyon alone is enough to make her second guess whether it's safe to proceed. Throw in this threatening sign and she becomes a scared little puppy dog. Don't get me wrong, it was hot. But on a scale of one to ten, one being hot, five being unbearable, and ten being death, it was only a two. The thing that concerned me the most was the popping sound our tires were making on the pavement. At first I thought it was our tires melting from the heat of the road, but came to believe it was the tar on the roads sticking to our tires. Reaching the bottom of the ravine, we follow the turquoise colored Brownlee Dam North before arriving at the Snake River and our tenth and final state of Oregon!
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 Keith is very excited about this burger! |  |
We camped at an Idaho Power campground below the Oxbow Dam. Showers and electricity are a pleasant surprise having only expected primitive accommodations. The evening took an unfortunate turn for the worse as the sun set and the life saving breeze went with it. It seemed as if the temperature rose by 15 degrees. We attempted as little movement as possible in the stagnant hot air of the tent. Becky opted to risk being eaten by bugs as she laid in the open on the picnic table for half the night. Little sleep was had by either of us.
The Brownlee Oxbow Road
 OREGON!!! |  It's a celebration! |
Stats:
Miles: 88.32
Average speed: 12.9 mph
Max speed: 42 mph
Odometer: 3770 miles
Miles: 88.32
Average speed: 12.9 mph
Max speed: 42 mph
Odometer: 3770 miles
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