Finished with my meal and seeing that the coulds had broke, I went outside to mount up my bike and begin riding. Across the street, an old bearded man, with leathery tan skin and tattooed arms, wearing an old leather floppy brimmed hat, and carrying an orange canvas backpack and walking stick waved and called over to me. His little black dog lead him across the street and immediately came over to me to start sniffing my feet. "Squirrely, leave him alone. Git over here and sit." The dog obeyed and sat right by the man's feet, next to his walking stick, and stared at me. "How you doing? My name's Popeye and you've met Squirrely here."

"How you doing? My name's Dave."

"Looks like you've got quite a load. Where you headed?"

"Connecticut, coming from Oregon." Seemingly unphased by my response, Popeye checked over my bike, my trailer, and my legs. "Where are you headed?"

"Goin' to Orofino, but not too fast. Been tryin' to git out of these mountains for the last two days. People don't pick up hitchers much around here."

"Where are you coming from?" Popeye fascinated me, so I needed to find out more of his story.

"All over, been on the road for 14 years. Might be 16, can't really remember. Been down to California, then Key West, back to California, spent some time in Mexico, then around here in the north."

"What's in Orofino? Is that where you're from?"

"No, I ain't been feeling so good lately, so I need to git to Orofino to see the Shaman, you know, medicine man. I need some herbal healing. I'm from Indiana originally. Yup, I'm a Hoosier. My Pappy's from Kentucky, my mother's down from Chicago. You know why we're called Hoosiers? Down in South Indiana, back before automobiles, a group of pioneers moved in from Kentucky. They brought with 'em their horses and oxen. When they'd pull into town, they yell out 'holds there' to stop the horses. See like this...," then he tilted his head back and yelled out "holds there!" Then he smiled showing all 15 of his crooked, splintered teeth. "Over tme, 'holds there' became 'Hoosier'." Popeye then yelled out "Holds there" and then "Hoosier" to illustrate the difference between the two and how it was likely that this was indeed the answer to the question "where did the word 'Hoosier' come from?"

Popeye's attention then immediately switched from me to an elderly lady walking next to us on the sidewalk. He smiled at her, bowed his head, then said "You should smile, your lovely eyes match your sweater." By the time I noticed her, she had already walked by me, so I couldn't see her eyes. I wish I did, since she was wearing a puple sweater. Popeye then switched his attention back to me, winked and said "still got it." Then he opened his mouth and pointed to a stub that was probably once a tooth on the right side of his mouth. "See this? I broke this one on a PBR. You know what a PBR is? Pabst Blue Ribbon, best beer around. Know where the name came from?"

I shook my head no. "Came from the brewer's daughter. See, the guy used to brew the stuff in his garage. Then one day he entered it in a local beer contest. Stuff was so good, he won first place. When he got home, his little girl was so proud she went around saying 'Pappy won a Blue Ribbon.' Then that turned into Pabst Blue Ribbon." Popeye then repeated "Pappy's Blue Ribbon" and then "Pabst Blue Ribbon" to illustrate how this was indeed the origin of the name to his favorite beer.

Then without taking his eyes off me, Popeye said, "you're buddy's coming." I turned around expecting to see another biker coming down the road, but saw nothing but an empty street. Then a police car turned around the corner and headed towards us. "I can smell the pork a mile away." We both turned our heads to watch the cop drive by as Popeye smiled and waved.

"Where you going after Orofino?"

"Not sure, probably stay in the area to look for gold. They ain't mined it all out yet, you know. Well, probably best be on your way now, huh?"

"Yeah, I've got a long ways to go."

"Me too. Be safe on your journey. I'll be thinkin' of you. Will you do me a favor?"

"Sure, what?"

"When you say your prayers, say one for me and Squirrely, will ya?"

"Absolutely." And with that, we shook hands and went our separate ways.

The road from New Meadows to Riggins follows the Little Salmon River. Closer to New Meadows, the river weaves through vast valley fields and cuts through high grass, almost disappearing amidst the vegetation and fisherman that line the water. Further on down the road, the river makes a bend and starts flowing through a rocky canyon and thick pine trees. Along the way, numerous mountain creeks connect with the Little Salmon, resulting in raging waterfalls and rapids as the water rushes over the many rocks and bends along the river.

There are very few towns and even fewer houses along the river. There are however, a few hotels and bed and breakfasts for passing motorists and vacationing fisherman. In front of one motel, there was a sign encouraging travellers to spend the night with them. Amongst all of the benefits they offered, clean rooms and color tv, this motel also offered "free local phone calls." I rode 15 miles before and after this motel and didn't see one town or any houses. Who are you going to call?

With the clouds now fully dispersed after the morning rain, I decided to stop at one section of the river that had a nice big rock to sit on, to watch the waterfall below. An hour into sunning myself, two guys pulled up with kayaks strapped to their roof. They had come to get a better look at the waterfall and to study the lines that would make it possible to go down in a kayak. We stood around for a while on the river bank looking at the waterfall. They asked questions about my trip and I about their kayaking. I think we were both equally impressed. After much coaxing by me to have the two guys try going down the waterfall today so I could get a cool picture, they decided to go down to Riggins instead to kayak. According to the more talkative of the two guys, Riggins is a great place to raft and has lots of rafting companies.

I sat on the rocks for a few hours longer and decided I was going to try and get on a rafting trip in the morning. In order for me to finish my planned route of 4900 miles in time for Lenny's wedding, I was going to have to average about 420 miles a week. I was ahead of schedule, but taking time to go rafting would definitely put me behind. But you know what? I don't care. If I want to stop and enjoy myself, I'll stop and enjoy myself. Besides, if I'm already putting in 90+ mile days in these mountains, wait until I get to Kansas and have the wind at my back (hopefully).

When I arrived in Riggins, the welcoming sign proclaimed Riggins to be "Idaho's Whitewater Capital." After riding up and down Main Street, I'm not going to argue that claim. Whitewater rafting tours are offered from almost any building in town. In total, there are 28 companies that have permits to give tours along the Salmon River. Halfway into town, I stopped at a new looking, brown, wooded building with a shiny sign advertising rafting trips. Sometimes I guess, purchasing decisions are based on packaging. Anyway, I signed up for a full day tour that began at 9:00am the next morning. I was also told that if I cross the river, I could camp along any beach I wanted. Perfect.

About a mile outside of Riggins, I found a campsite right next to the Salmon River. The spot was on a ledge overlooking the water with a picnic table and a firepit. After setting up camp and cooking dinner (Franco American's Spaghetti-Os and Meatballs), I was sitting at the picnic table, reading and just looking at the river, when a woman and her daughter walked by looking for firewood. I shouted over to them and said they could take the wood that was left in front of my pit, since I wasn't going to light a fire. They were much appreciative and each took two logs back to their campsite.

One half hour later, the little girl and her brother walked over to my site. Expecting them to take more wood, the girl asked "my parents want to know if you want to come to our campfire for a while?"

"We've got a campsite right on the beach down there," the little boy said pointing to a tent, a truck and a trailer full of rafts about 200 yards upstream.

"Sure, sounds like fun." So I put away my book and walked with Ashlin and Jeffrey over to their campfire. When we reached the beach, there were four chairs circling the fire fuelled by wood from my fire pit. John and Katarina occupied two of the chairs and heartily wlecomed me to the third with a cold Bud Light. They wanted to know everything about my trip, my route, my gear, what I did before and what I'll do after. I think Jeffrey was the most interested, or at least the most likely to try a cross-country bike ride himself, since he kept saying, "I could do that." I forgot how when you're eleven, the world is a wonderful place and everything is exciting and nothing is impossible.

When Jeffrey and Ashlin seemed satisfied that they had enough details about my trip, I asked John how long he had been doing river tours. "Actually, this is my first year. Just bought the company this winter."

"Really?! How's business been?"

"Slower than I'd like, but it's picking up a little. I didn't expect too much this year. I'm giving it 3-5 years it to see if I can make it work. Right now, it's just sort of part time. I still work a few days a week in Clarkston (Washington) to make money, then come down here the others to give tours. Kat teaches, so she's got her summer's off. Since Clarkston's only 2 hours away, we just drive down here and camp on the beach the days we have tours. Works out pretty good actually."

"So never gave tours before this summer?"