Atomic City

In the middle of a vast sagebrush sea, where lava beds the color of black charcoal rise like giant ocean waves and ancient streams run underground into the Snake River, sits the Idaho National Laboratory. Or so that's what the place is called today. Operated by the U.S. Department of Energy, there have been multiple names changes over the years. It started as the National Reactor Testing Station in 1949, became the Idaho National Engineering Laboratory in 1970, then the Idaho National Engineering and Environmental Laboratory in 1997, and since 2005, the Idaho National Laboratory (or even more simply, the letters "INL"). Regardless of the name, the purpose of the site has always been the same: to research peaceful atomic energy production.

The facility (which employs some 3,300 people in a massive complex of buildings and structures closed to the public known as "Atomic City"), was created after the end of WWII, when government scientists began to focus on civilian applications of atomic fission. In order to do the research, the eggheads wanted a site with: 1. lots of room (like a million acres), 2. not many people around (in case the shit goes half-life) and, 3. stable geology (earthquakes would be a problem). The Idaho desert plain met all three pre-requisites, and over the course of the last fifty years, fifty nuclear reactors have been in operation at one time or another. The most famous being EBR-1, as seen here. On August 21, 1951, the reactor went critical for the first time. On December 20, 1951, the reactor created enough power to light up four 200 watt bulbs. Four years later, on July 17, 1955, "Expirimental Breeder Reactor-1" made history when the streetlights in the nearby desert enclave of Arco became the first in the world to be powered by atomic energy.

Any jubilation was short-lived however, as five months later, EBR-1 suffered an operator-caused partial meltdown. Things got even worse in 1961, when an expirimental reactor named SL-1 had a complete meltdown and killed three workers, the first peace-time atomic fatalities in the United States. Due to exceptional levels of isotope contamination at the accident scene, lead coffins had to be used for the burials.

Rusting in the desert sun next to the EBR-1 building are two prototype propulsion reactors for nuclear bombers (later made obsolete by ICBM's), providing a glimpse into how fine the line is between civilian-use energy research and weapon making. It reminded us of Iran, and the high-stakes chess game being played right now (private message to our loyal readership in Tehran: If y'all are just powering up your homes and schools and factories like you say you are, then stop all the foolishness and let international inspectors take a look. This situation has real potential to spiral out of control. Like start WWIII).

Five decades after the INL harnessed the power of the atom and lit up a desolate corner of Idaho, 104 commercial nuclear powerplants now produce 20% of our nation's electricity. No acid rain is produced and no rivers are dammed in the process. Today, the INL is researching new atomic applications, such as long-life plutonium technology (called radioisotope thermoelectric generators by lab nerds, they are essentially super batteries used in space probes and artificial hearts). If we could find a safe way to deal with the waste, if we could stop rogue countries from converting peaceful energy production into atomic bombs, then we'd party like it was July 17, 1955 again.

The Twin Falls Plunge

Twin Falls (pop. 35,000) is located in south-central Idaho, where the Snake River cuts wide and deep through the high desert plateau. Three waterfalls sit upriver of Twin Falls, the highest being Shoshone Falls. With a vertical drop of 212 feet, Shoshone Falls is the end of the line for the few remaining native salmon that make it past the downstream hydroelectric dams. Additional tidbits of local trivia include Nikki Sixx of Motley Crue grew up here, and in 1974, Evel Knievel attempted to jump the chasm in his X-2 Skycycle rocket. Thousands of people watched Knievel shoot into the sky and drift unceremonously into the cliffside, thanks to the accidental deployment of his parachute as the rocket left the launch ramp. The remains of the ramp are still visible on the south rim of the canyon, a permanent monument to the unintended failure of an unbridled ego.

Today, Twin Falls is best known as the only place in the United States where you can BASE jump ("buildings, antennae, spans, and earth") without restriction. While we stood atop the canyon rim, several jumpers (some with British or perhaps Australian accents) watched as friends leaped into the 486 foot gap between Perrine Bridge and earth. One of them talked about the growing number of serious BASE jumping adherents who move to Twin Falls and get low-paying schlep jobs so they can jump every day. In Twin Falls, researchers who study abnormal brain function would find an ample supply of human specimens who jump off bridges in order to feel, well, normal.

As you might expect, the hobby of jumping from bridges and such has not been void of tragedy. One hundred people have died while BASE jumping over the years (click here), and since 2002, three people have died jumping off the Perrine Bridge. The most recent fatality was in May, when a California woman slammed into the Snake River with the velocity of a cruise missile after her chute failed to open. It must be a most unsettling way to die: you realize every nano-second that passes after you willingly jumped from a rapidly-shrinking bridge means you're another nano-second closer to death.

We witnessed a jump where everything went as intended, which was a very good thing.

Westward Ho

Overheard at the Boise Airport Avis car rental counter:

RR: Hi, we have a rental car reservation.

Dippy girl behind counter: Ok, you can have either a Saturn Ion or a mini-van.

RR: Uh, no. We pre-paid for a full-size car through Priceline. Here's the receipt.

Dippy girl behind counter (while fumbling through various keys in the drawer): Um, OK. How about a Chrysler Sebring convertible?

RR: Sweet. We'll take it. Bah bye.

And so began our return to the Pacific Northwest, a place we lived for several years back in the day and a place we've since returned to often for rafting trips, hunting trips, and just disappear trips. For the next several postings, you'll ride shotgun in the RR convertible and visit places known, places unknown, and places long forgotten. We'll cross over the alpine headwaters of major rivers and pass through dusty desolate desert outposts onward to salty ocean fishing villages. We'll visit sun-kissed ski towns for the rich and beautiful, old gold mines far off the map where the only inhabitants are dead miners with fading wooden grave markers, and secret places known only to locals with well-worn leather boots.

Little will slow us down. The only road hazard will be the many lightning-strike fires which have burned hundreds of thousands of forest acres this summer, and will likely keep burning until the snow begins to fall in a month or two. The mountain skyline was often obscured from all directions by an omnipresent smoky haze, further excerbated by a low system from Canada which allowed nightly inversions to perpetuate the condition day after day.


These fires kept us from getting into a couple of remote backwoods locations, but made for interesting sunsets, to say the least. As seen here at dusk in Stanley, Idaho (population 170), one of our favorite mountain towns in the region, where thankfully the Black Butte Porter tap at the Mountain View Lodge continued to pour despite the ever-present threat of fire.

As we headed south over Galena Summit (elevation 8,701 feet), en route to Sun Valley, the smoke began to wane and the sky returned to a familiar Idaho cobalt blue. Here's how the drive looked with the top down, as we descended through lodgepole pine forest at Mach III speed. Buckle up.

A2 Art Fair

For the first time in sev-eral years, we ven-tured to down-town Ann Arbor to check out the annual art fair. Nationally known for both its size (several hundred artisans draw half a million visitors), and the caliber of art. Other than a handful of artists selling paintings or pottery that resembled the fingerpaintings and ashtrays we made in junior high special ed art class, the pool of talent was deep and wide. Highly acclaimed photographers, sculpters, painters, wood carvers, et. al. from across the country distinguised the event from the countless other summer art fairs held in Michigan towns where local hobbyists sell wind chimes made from Budweiser bottles and air-brushed license plates. At the A2 Art Fair, you get chrome musicians from welded Harley motorcycle parts.

The crowd, as to be expected in Ann Arbor, was nearly as entertaining as the specimens on display. Tattooed artists with more piercings than a Borneo tribal chieftan displayed works ranging from abstract to modern. Roaming groups of middle-aged hippie women smelling of patchouli oil marked the fair as home turf, like packs of coyotes claiming a few acres of sagebrush desert. In front of the nearly-vacant courthouse, the nearly-always present protesters waved anti-war and legalize hemp signs. Add in a few thousand yuppies from the Detroit 'burbs and how-ever-many college students stuck in town for the summer to the eclectic mix.

One small group who felt compelled to make their viewpoint known in the crudest of terms were the pro-lifers. We don't like abortion anymore than anyone else, but walking through the streets carrying a picture of a dismembered fetus (which we had no choice but to edit), is not the way to gain public support for your cause. People were grossed out and upset- at you.

How annoying. Located next to our favorite Korean restraurant on Packard Street is a woman's health clinic. Whenever we want a bowl of spicy beebimbob and kimchee, sure enough, the protesters are walking the sidewalk with their foul signs. It accomplishes little other than making diners lose their appetite.

For the people who could stomach the nasty placards, good food was in abundance. Street fair fare is reason enough to go to these events. Although, with some of the dishes, it can be difficult to tell exactly what you're eating. On this smoky grill, skewered ground squirrels roasted over a low flame. We're guessing that's what the delicious little bastards were. Sometimes, it's better not to ask and just enjoy.


Street performers helped keep the collective mood light and jeery. Guitarists strummed away and jugglers juggled. A trinidad drum band banged away on Liberty Street while a jazz pianist played under the EMU public radio tent near the Diag.

One "street artist" spray-painted himself gray and stood motionless on a platform for minutes on end. He had a small crowd mesmorized and a bowl full of money in front of him. We didn't quite grasp the artistic merit of his performance, proving art is indeed within the eye of the beholder.

New Format

Thanks to our highly-skilled IT support team, we've altered our template a bit. The previous Blogspot format was ok, but read like so many of the countless other sorry blogs out there. We don't claim to be any better, but at least now we look a little different.

And we have disabled the RR comment link. For a while, we enjoyed the hearty banter inherant with allowing open and anonymous comments. But, it wasn't long before some faceless lowlife came along and began to post messages far beyond the boundaries of spirited opinion. Unfortunately, the wierdos and losers are drawn to the internet like rain drops to a raincoat. We're not going to allow some degenerate who sits at home sniffing his own body odor and surfing the 'net dump his mental garbage on this site. We tinkered with moderating the comments but ultimately said to hell with that as well. Mental telepathy only from this point forward.

And we apologize about not having any recent river trip postings. The holiday weekend was spent updating the kitchen (no easy task. On the first day, the rented steam machine transformed old wallpaper and fifty years of paint into globs of unmanageable gloop. Day Two was spackling and priming good times. Day Three was forfieted to painting the walls and ceiling. On Day Four, we put up new trim and cleaned up). The kitchen no longer looks vintage 1978. It was worth the tediousness and aggravation.

We're hoping to be back on the river by the end of the week, and we'll be sure to keep you updated. As for the above photo- it was taken last week on our recent noodling trip, when the morning sun speared through the Kentucky trees and shards of light exposed a simple truth not previously illuminated: life's too short. Don't suffer the fools.

Back from Hell

Baseline Lake in Livingston County was a scene most tranquil this past weekend (as you can attest to from looking at this serene photo. Breath deeply and think of pleasant summer nights and warm cider wine. Try to forget about that rash problem. Turn up the new Enya cd a couple of decibels. Light another stick of pachouli incense and dream of warm-oil massages. That's what RR is doing right now). Over in Hell, though, after last weeks "666" party, things aren't so blissful. In fact, all heck is breaking lose....

After we left the shindig, things spiraled downward, as reported in this newspaper article:

Disorderly behavior, parking complaints and crowd-control problems mounted in Hell Tuesday as John Colone's much-publicized "666 Party" continued into the night, and when Colone — the Putnam Township hamlet's unofficial mayor — found himself at the wrong end of a punch from a disorderly reveler.

"It was no big deal. I have a cut on my nose, and it feels a little worse," Colone said after staying until 2:30 a.m. Wednesday cleaning up. "It was over in seconds, and we left on good terms."

Livingston County Sheriff Bob Bezotte said problems began to increase as the festivities and devilish fun wore down late Tuesday evening. Bezotte sent five extra deputies to Hell as the party intensified along with complaints from area residents. He said he heard about 8,000 people attended Tuesday's party, but Colone said there were closer to 12,000 visitors.

The police arrested someone for throwing a beer can at a police lieutenant near the Dam Site Inn. The department is seeking felonious assault charges against the person through Prosecutor David Morse's office. Police also arrested a Midland man for disorderly conduct after he pushed two people on the porch of Screams Ice Cream, and for assaulting another person as he ran away.

The man, who was believed to be intoxicated, later attempted to strike police troopers, and was lodged in the Livingston County jail for the night.

In a related situation, a man driving an all-terrain vehicle reportedly crashed his ATV around midnight near Weiman Drive, south of Patterson Lake Road. Further details were unknown Wednesday.

Colone said there were a couple of thefts Tuesday, including a slab of children's cemented footprints and a witch's head from that was mounted on a cooler.

Crazy shit for town of 75 people, eh? The "mayor" got popped in the nose. Traffic came to a complete stop. Cops hauled drunken idiots off to jail. An ATV flipped over. 8,000 or 12,000 or noonereallyknowshowmany people jammed into a quiet midwestern village with 75 year-round residents. Frankly, we're surprised it wasn't worse, much worse, when we look back on the day. The crowd, a bizarre mixture of bikers and weirdos, well-intentioned preachers and misguided hellions, was amped to 11 on the civil disturbance dial thanks to summer temperatures and heated arguments over the wages of sin and the cost of another beer. We're surprised Hell didn't go up in flames.

And you know the three businesses that make up the Hell Chamber of Commerce (the Hell General Store, Scream's Ice Cream, and the Damsite Inn), made a killing on 666. We predict they will celebrate June 6 every year from now on. And next year, the hype and hoopla will warrant replacing Dead Elvis with Alice Cooper.

Once was enough for us. Next 06/06, we'll instead hit the river, like we did on Sunday. It was a perfect day for our fourth trip down the Huron this year. We could canoe this river every day. Everytime, we see something new. Here's another little river vignette, courtesy of RR adventure films. Some people make home movies of birthday parties or their cat playing with a ball of yarn. Not us.


We'll leave you with another moment on the Huron. Enjoy. We sure do.