Great day. From Salmon, ID, up through Montana, back into Idaho, to charming town, called Sandpoint.
The roads in the morning were beautiful, but I lost focus coming into Darcy and rode poorly.
We drove through Montana the 250th anniversary celebration signs became Trump. The weirdos came out at the gas station, telling us about imaginary 1957 Army Harleys with swastikas, as if a secret naughty treat, or strangely stalking around the town as if on patrol.
But the road wound on. Deeper and deeper into pine forest and rolling hills, eventually opening onto the massive Lake Pend Oreille (apparently 1100 feet deep, used to train submariners), and finally Sandpoint.
Sandpoint is gorgeous and clean. We found a cheap little motel where we could wash the bikess, and a really nice brewery. Sandpoint has a strange feeling about it—too nice? Almost Stepford Wives feeling. Inexplicable.
Tomorrow we head west and north.
Onwards! 
William! If you are headed to Oregon for any stretch and have any flex in your schedule, I’d love to see you.
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This is great writing- my mind fills in all sorts of things.
“The roads in the morning were beautiful, but I lost focus coming into Darcy and rode poorly.”
Brian
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