Thursday, April 30
I didn’t unhitch for an overnight stop, of course, and there isn’t much packing up to do. The park has a dump station (included in camping fee). Since we dumped when leaving our last camp, there’s no need to do that now. However, I do fill up the fresh water tank before we leave.
There are times, though, when an interstate is the way to go. I’ll be honest with you. I hate the drive across southern Idaho from Glenns Ferry to Boise on I-84. The landscape is monotonous — flat, dry, and, oh no, not more sage! — and the wind is relentless.
I avoid driving in wind.
This is a stretch of road where it can’t be helped. I’ve never had a problem with wind tossing the Best Little Trailer around, but it’s tiring having to be constantly alert for wind gusts and the wiffle-waffle effect of passing tractor-trailer trucks.
Look at the length of this truck passing us!
Today we have a cross-wind, sometimes becoming a head-wind.
By the time we reach Boise’s multiple lanes and six exits, it’s the noon rush and, for added excitement, lanes are diverted with traffic cones, funneling vehicles where they don’t want to go, causing quick lane changes and overall pressured driving. Everyone seems to be in touch with their inner maniac.
One more exit and we can get out of this mayhem!
On the other side of Boise, I take exit 27 at Caldwell.
Now if I were a normal RVer, I would drive I-84 to Ontario and then cross eastern Oregon on Route 20 to Burns and onward to Bend. Instead I follow Route 19 west to pick up Route 95 and head south.
Why head south?
Well, in my Idaho Benchmark atlas, I see a town called Jordan Valley. Hmm. . . Jordan Valley, such a pleasant name. . . .
It’s about 50 miles past Marsing, Idaho, and about 150 miles before Burns, Oregon. I’m compelled to seek out-of-the way places, and Jordan Valley, Oregon, just over the border from Idaho, certainly qualifies!
I read online that the town was named for a 19th-century prospector, Michael M. Jordan, and many of today’s inhabitants are descendants of Basque shepherds, recruited from Spain in the early 20th century. Only a couple hundred people live in this isolated place.
And they don’t have internet!
At least I couldn’t pick up any signal when I parked in the center of town to walk the crew. Uh-oh. . . goodbye blog. We’re going to a place even more isolated than this.
About twelve miles west of Jordan Valley, I turn onto a two-track lane cutting through the sage.
About a mile further and we go over this low ridge.
“There it is! There’s Antelope Reservoir!”
Bridget and Reggie perk up.
At the sound of that special word, home, the crew is charged with excitement. They bark and hop to get out of the PTV.
Well, isn’t this nice! No one is anywhere, not at the campsites, not along the shore of the reservoir, not on the distant hills!
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