So I’m nearly recovered from our vacation and I want to tell you about the uber-exciting thing I did.
This uber-exciting thing fulfilled a childhood fantasy of mine and made me feel gosh-darn giddy and… you know… uber-excited.
I’m going to tell you about it even though you won’t find it uber-exciting. In fact, it’s highly unlikely you’ll find it mildly exciting. You’ll probably read it, scratch your head and say, “huh?”
But I don’t care. I’m going to tell about it anyway because, 1) I remain uber-excited about it and, 2) I think you’re nice and will humor me.
Please don’t let me down.
The event happened in Idaho. Husband planned our trip with great precision and care.
I think he worries about me on long car trips because he sees me staring out the passenger window and assumes I’m bored. What he doesn’t know is that I’m busy writing award winning novels, solving global crises, and wondering what a bit of lemon zest might be like in my morning smoothie. (I should try that.)
Anyway, back to Husband. He showed me the agenda for our trip, where we’d stop for meals, in what towns he reserved motels. One of our overnight stays was planned for Twin Falls, Idaho.
“There are waterfalls there,” he told me, in case I didn’t catch the reference. “One is called the Niagara of the West!”
Just so you know, once when our kids were still fairly young and we were living in Colorado, he said, “Who wants to see the Statue of Liberty? Come on, I’ll show it to you!” And he drove us to a house with a giant inflatable in their front yard.
As I wiped their tears, Husband swore he thought they knew it was in New York.
This is to explain why I didn’t get my hopes up for having a Niagara-like experience in Idaho.
We arrived in Twin Falls in the evening, walked downtown and had dinner in a cute little cafe, the name of which escapes me. The next day we drove to the falls.
It wasn’t a long drive, about five or so miles from town. Once we got to the entrance, we noticed several people parking their cars at the top and choosing to walk down, rather than pay the $3 entrance fee. (Apparently Idahoans are a frugal lot.) Fortunately Husband sprang for the fee.
As we passed the entrance, I turned to Husband. “Did that sign say this is the Snake River?”
He shrugged. “Maybe? I wasn’t paying attention.”
We drove down the steep curvy road toward the falls. It seemed a long way down. Quite a ways, actually. (Man, what people will do to save three bucks.)
The falls were lovely, by the way. As we gazed upon them, Husband gave me some facts. “It’s a 212 foot fall — that’s 50 feet farther than the Niagara!”
My mind was elsewhere. “So is this called the Snake River Canyon?” I asked.
He shrugged. “We hit the falls at the right time. Later in the year they divert the water for their hydroelectric plant.”
The cogs in my head were turning. “Snake River Canyon… why does that sound familiar? Does it sound familiar to you?”
He shook his head. “This canyon was caused by a flood 15,000 years ago. Isn’t that fascinating?”
I grab his arm excitedly. “What canyon did Evel Knievel jump?”
“Remember? Back in the 70s? He tried to jump a canyon? OH MY GOSH! It was the Snake River, wasn’t it?! Is this it?!”
Husband sees the wild look in my eyes and opens the brochure fully. He scans the Points of Interest. There it was, under letter F:
Evel Knievel Jump Site
“We HAVE to see it!” I tell him.
“Uh… ” Husband scans the map for a trail. “I’m not sure how far away it is… ”
My grip tightens. “I REALLY want to see it! We can’t come all this way and not see it!”
I’m sure Husband was glad he paid the $3 to drive down, because we wound up hiking over three miles to see the ramp. But look! Here’s me on the ramp!
Do you see me? That little speck at the top with my arms in the air?
No? Well, trust me. I’m there. And I’m uber-excited about it, okay? Because I am a dare-devil woman, on a ramp about to leap over a canyon!
Well, not really. But I did hike the three miles back to the car.
And it was totally worth it. 😎