Mountain Home Hospitality
I left Wyoming and headed over into Idaho on a gravel road that ended near the town of Ashton, ID. It was a pretty rough ride for my FLH, loaded down with dang near everything I owned. But the ol' girl made it and I enjoyed the ride as we saw almost no one on the trip over the mountains. I headed down to Idaho Falls, where I once lived while in Uncle Sam's Canoe Club. I was surprised to see an HD shop in town; there wasn't one when I'd left. Nearest one had been in Rexburg (I think) and was run outta some guys garage. I bought some oil and was in the parking lot changing it when a wild looking dude on an old WLA pulled in. He matched his bikes looks pretty good. The bike had four colors, one for each fender and tanks.
We talked while he changed his oil, too. He was coming from Sturgis the long way round as Wyoming had a helmet law and he didn't have one. We finished our oil changes and decided to get a bite. I took him downtown to a little Chinese hole-in-the-wall that I used to eat at after a night on the town. They had my favorite hangover cure; fried egg sandwich with a side of dill pickle chips. Anyway, we ate, then hit an old cowboy bar for a couple beers. When we came out it was getting dark and we needed someplace to camp. I called my old landlady from eight years earlier and asked if we could crash in the horse barn at her rent house. She said OK and met us at the drive to unlock the gate.
We piled our junk in the barn and slept like logs 'til morning. My old landlady woke us up around 6 am when she came to turn the horses out. We helped her with the few remaining chores and then went to breakfast, her treat. When breakfast was over and goodbyes said, the guy on the 45 asked if I wanted to go to Washington as he was looking for an electrician to help him work in a meat packing joint. I didn't need the work, but decided to head that way anyhow.
We made it as far as Mountain Home, ID when we pulled of the slab to get gas. There we saw what looked to be a Honda 750 chop at a gas station across the street. We topped off, fired up, and went over to have a look-see at the Honda. A itty-bitty girl, couldn't been more than 5' 2" came out of the store and got on the Honda. She invited us to her place to clean up (guess she was down wind of us) and then told us to come to the bar where she worked.
We got presentable, went to her bar, and had some sandwiches washed down with ice cold draft. There were no other customers the two hours we were there. She called her boss and said she was closing up 'cause there wouldn't be any customers as a big party was happening at another bar.
We loaded up and went to the other bar and partied way too long. Some gal with a broken leg wanted to take me home, but several other girls told me to steer clear of her as she had the crabs. I didn't find out one way or another, but got way too drunk to be riding anything. I looked around for my riding partner and was told he'd left with the girl on the Honda chop. I didn't know the way back to the girl's house and had all my stuff with me anyway, so I decided to hit the road and find a spot to camp. I wobbled out of the parking lot, headed in what I thought was the right direction, and managed to get out of town without getting stopped.
I found a ranch road and pulled down it for a quarter mile or so, threw my bag down and passed out. When the sun awakened me the next morning by searing my bloodshot eyes I figgered I was buzzard bait. Man, my head hurt! I packed up and started to head back into town but didn't have a clue which way town was. After riding a spell I realized I was going the wrong way when I saw a sign telling me Hill City was the next town. So I said the heck with Mountain Home and kept on. I followed the secondary roads to Twin Falls and headed south into Nevada on US93. Best hangover cure for me was always just ride 'til it was gone.
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 Chrome sucks.
Barges are for chopping. Otherwise, they're called Gold Wings!
Ride it! Beat it! Break it! Fix it! Ride it some more!
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