Series: Across The Great Divide

I wake up to six inches of wet, heavy snow blanketing Dubois. The storm killed power across central Wyoming and the motel room is dark. I pull out my propane camp stove and heat some water for instant coffee. The room is cold and cell service is minimal. It’s nearly impossible to ride in snow. Not to mention the cold. Temperatures aren’t expected to rise above freezing until tomorrow, so I’m staying put.

Nate Hegyi, rural reporter for the Mountain West News Bureau , is embarking on a 900-mile cycling trip crisscrossing the continental divide in August...

The shoulders on the highway are narrow. The tourists driving to Grand Teton National Park pass so closely, their windy wake pulls me dangerously close to becoming a fatality statistic. They are being drawn, like flies to an electric lamp, to the Tetons, which rise majestically over farm fields and sagebrush. The valley I’m entering is my least favorite version of the West – the discovered West.

It’s estimated that 95% of Rexburg’s population are members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This doesn’t surprise me, however, because this bustling little college town along the banks of Henry’s Fork of the Snake River looks like it was airlifted from Utah – clean streets, bright new buildings and the tall, white spire of a mormon temple overlooking town.

I wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of a skunk stealing my garbage. I’m camping alongside Birch Creek at the southern edge of central Idaho’s Lemhi valley and I foolishly thought I wouldn’t need to hang a bear bag. I was wrong.

I’m staring at an American flag near the library in Leadore. It’s faded from the summer sun and its tattered, frayed edges are whipping in the wind. A few years ago, I imagine, someone bought that flag at a nearby feed store and hoisted it up the pole, brand new. She lorded over this little pocket of the West until the weather and the wind started tearing her apart.

The earth slows. Cars disappear and the highway disappears into a thin, black ribbon over the high sagebrush desert of central Idaho’s Lemhi valley. There is snow on the mountains and Black angus cattle everywhere, a chorus of wails as ranch hands on all-terrain vehicles push the animals into different grazing spots. But mostly the land is quiet and I enjoy the solitude, cycling steadily uphill.

Nate Hegyi, rural reporter for the Mountain West News Bureau , is embarking on a 900-mile cycling trip crisscrossing the continental divide in August...

The morning starts off well enough. I’m cycling through a tall canyon surrounded by pine trees and the air is crisp with a hint of autumn. On the side of the road, I meet Warren Scott Anderson, his buddy, Tony, and their two dogs.

My first night on the road, in Hamilton, I can’t sleep well. There’s the ding-dinging of a Taco Bell drive thru and a motorcycle cruising around town. Soon the first light of morning is washing the Bitterroot Mountains in a warm glow and the sound of morning commuter traffic fills my ears.