Yes, it is true that Idaho is the nation’s largest producer of spuds. But that’s not all that makes Idaho special. Hey there’s Snake River Canyon and Evel Knievel’s ill fated rocket bike “jump” in September of 1974 (I still believe that it wasn’t an accident that the parachute came out prematurely).
Or how about that highly talented actress Ronee Blakley? Can’t remember her? Oh come on, she played a supporting role in that amazing piece of cinematography… A Nightmare on Elm Street.
Speaking of movies, who can forget that masterful work of art set in Idaho, Napoleon Dynamite? Remember, vote for Pedro and all of your wildest dreams will come true.
Okay… I admit it, Idaho isn’t the hotbed of the United States, but it does have one hidden attraction that you just have to see. It’s the Hiawatha Bike Trail – a rails to trails piece of art – 17 wondrous downhill miles through the scenic mountains of Idaho. But that’s not all. Unlike the typical east coast bike trail… the Hiawatha takes you through nine tunnels carved in solid rock and across seven towering trestles spanning seemingly bottomless gorges.
I first found out about the Hiawatha while reading Redbook magazine during one of my son John’s orthodontist appointments (hey... before all you guys start questioning my testosterone level… know this one thing… you read the same junk in the waiting room… you’re just afraid to admit it!) Anyhow, I kind of look it as God’s providence… how else would I have found out about the Hiawatha.
For the past several months I have been planning for the ride. I purchased mountain bikes as Christmas presents for the entire family… flashlight mounts for the handle bars… flashlights for the flashlight mounts (of course, I labeled every flashlight with the user’s name… hell hath no fury like that of Dad when someone misplaces his or her flashlight)… I bought an extra bike tire, two extra tubes, a compact bike pump, loaded Mikey’s bike bag with my bike tools… and last but not least a bike rack that could handle 5 bikes.
We were ready… but our bike rack wasn’t. John E. Ripoff - the customer service guy at the Internet site that I bought the rack from – assured me that it would work great for the entire 8,000 mile R.V. trip. Well, he was only off by 7,000 miles. By the time we hit Wisconsin the rack was bending more than a yoga instructor. Calling my MacGyver inspired skills into play, I quickly rigged up a couple of tie down straps and off we went. That worked great for another few hundred miles. As we pulled into Pine City, Minnesota, it was clear something more substantial needed to be done or a there would eventually be a video clip of our five bikes being crushed by a semi featured on You Tube under the heading of Stupid Things Pastors Do. Fortunately, our kind hosts in Pine City were willing to sacrifice a heavy galvanized pipe that I forced inside the bike carrier’s bent tubes with the help of a hacksaw and a sledge hammer (hey Tom Bair, are you still interested in buying my bike rack when we get home?)
O.k. enough of the bike rack… back to the Hiawatha. As we exited Interstate 90 and turned onto the country road for the three mile journey to the trailhead, I quickly learned that the term “road” is relative. In Montana and Idaho roads aren’t necessarily paved… as a matter of fact what Pennsylvanians call trails, Idahoans call expressways. It was at this point that I decided to nominate Erik and Derrik – our Minnesota Tire Changers – for sainthood. After 20 minutes of treating our R.V. like a Conestoga wagon, we arrived at the trailhead, unloaded our bikes and got our tickets to ride (my little tribute to the Beatles hit single from their 1965 album Help!).
It was at this point that we once again experienced the wrath of the vulcanization god. This time, Nicole’s bike had a flat tire! Fortunately, I didn’t need Monty’s help and within 10 minutes we were on our way. The first mile and a half of the Hiawatha consists of a pitch black tunnel – 44 degree temperature – water dripping on you from the ceiling – it was totally awesome! Before we knew it, we were back into the sunlight and on our way.
The rest of the ride was a total blast. We would ride… stop and I would take pictures… ride again… stop and I would take pictures again… after about the 5th stop , the kids start to ask if Steve Kebede had taken over my body (you have to be part of our Living Water family to understand that one.) 
At one point, I had a little bit of photographic mutiny on my hands... no one wanted to listen to my instructions. But after threatening death to all mutineers, I was able to regain control and the photographing continued in earnest.
Other than Nicole’s flat tire and one wipe out by John - he insists that it was my fault – we safely arrived at the bottom of the trail where a school bus was waiting to take us to the top of the trail. 
Being the frugal guy that I am, I decided that I would pay for the school bus to take me to the top of the trail and that Kathy and the kids could ride back the 17 miles uphill by themselves… Hey, some sacrifices have to be made to save a couple of bucks.Just kidding… I didn’t make them ride up, but I did go on the bus by myself with the plan of bringing the R.V. back down to them. I was only on the bus for about three minutes when I realized that my plan was fatally flawed. The road was one lane, was literally carved into the side of the mountain, and made the road from the interstate to the trailhead look like the autobahn. During the entire 30 minute bus ride up the mountain all I could envision was being the lead story on the 6 o’clock evening news… “Today a Pennsylvania Pastor drove his R.V. off the side of Idaho Route 512 and fell 300’ into Moose Lake. He survived the fall, but was later killed by his irate wife and children.”
Sheepishly, I asked the bus driver if she would allow me to ride back down the mountain with her so that we could pick up my family. She kindly obliged and after another 1 ½ hours on the bus, we were back in the R.V. and heading to Washington.By Mike
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