Hoping to beat the daytime wind increase, we both woke up at 2:30 AM to the sound of a steady breeze outside. After checking the wind advisories, we decided it was best to get those 40 miles to Rawlins out of the way before the gusts picked up. By 2:50 AM, we were rolling out in stealth mode so as not to wake the other campers.
We didn't make it far. At 2:56 AM, Kasey felt a sharp increase in the crosswinds, prompting me to refresh the local warnings. A brand-new advisory had just been posted at 2:53 AM: Interstate 80 was closed to light, high-profile vehicles once again.
We immediately turned around and headed back to our spot. Even tucked between two larger RVs, the wind howled through the night, rocking our motorhome on its suspension. At times, the gusts hit hard enough that I genuinely wondered if we were going to get tipped over. Sleep was tough and elusive.
Sitting in tiny Elk Mountain with nowhere to go, my mind drifted back to our breakdown a few days ago and I started worrying again about how I was going to cast my Oregon ballot if we got stuck out here. I had already looked into emergency flights from Cheyenne to Eugene and car rental deals, but I needed to know if there were other options. Turning to Gemini on my phone, I learned something crucial: if you are temporarily stranded out of state near Election Day, you can contact your Oregon County Elections Office directly. They can issue an emergency replacement ballot via secure email or electronic transmission, which you can print out, complete, sign, and mail back with a valid postmark. Knowing a post office was within walking distance, and that I'd just need a printer, brought a huge sense of relief, even if Monday, November 2nd, would be the day to make that call. I rolled in and out of sleep as the RV weathered the wind gusts.
Just after 7:00 AM, Kasey sat bolt upright in bed and said, "The wind stopped. We should go."
I checked the state road advisory site and it still listed the restriction, but it hadn't been updated in over an hour. Poking my head outside, the air had gone completely still and a soft rain was falling. A great sign. By 7:20 AM, just as the morning light broke, we were rolling back out past Deshon’s box truck and onto the county road to I-80.
The 40-mile run to Rawlins went off without a hitch under surprisingly calm winds. Later, when I checked the recorded weather data, sure enough: the winds had dropped right around 7:00 AM, though the official travel warnings weren't updated until nearly 8:00 AM.
Along the way, we passed through Sinclair, Wyoming, with its massive oil refinery dominating the horizon, no doubt the origin story for all those green dinosaur statues at gas stations across the country. Ironically, we passed the Sinclair station and got gas and coffee at Walmart for 40 cents a gallon cheaper. Go figure!
With the scariest, windiest stretch finally behind us, we could finally take a deep breath and start figuring out where we were going to land for the night.
As we drove we considered many options. We settled on the route that would take us through Boise. The scenery was quite varied and I tried to keep Kasey entertained, snacking, and fully awake. We passed the Continental Divide and now we were truly in the west.
We tried to make sure Tad was well entertained as well, but sometimes there just wasn't a lot of excitement.
We opted for a quieter spot up the road near a town called Milton. A city park off the beaten path. The park is nearly 125 years old.
Nestled along Morgan Valley Drive in northern Utah, Milton Park is a quiet, two-acre city park framed by the Wasatch Mountains. The surrounding area was first settled in 1856 near Deep Creek. After pioneer James Hanson established a sawmill at the mouth of Line Creek, locals began calling the settlement Milltown, a name that was officially shortened to Milton in 1868.
The park itself came into existence in 1905 specifically to give local families a central gathering spot, built through the dedicated hands of the community. In those early decades of the twentieth century, the park was entirely a labor of love. Without a large municipal budget or dedicated city maintenance staff, local volunteers took complete ownership of the grounds. Neighbors banded together to clear brush, level fields, and build basic facilities by hand.
These cleared grounds hosted local baseball games, family reunions, summer picnics, and holiday celebrations, making the park a true symbol of early pioneer values rooted in cooperation, hard work, and neighborly care. Management of the park was eventually transferred to Morgan County, which maintains it as an open public space today. Though county-maintained, it retains its cozy, old-fashioned feel; a classic example of early twentieth-century Utah community spirit where a small rural neighborhood carved out a lasting refuge through sheer volunteer effort.
After a quick rest, we set out toward our next destination: a Harvest Host spot nestled right on the banks of the Snake River in Burley, Idaho. Clocking in at 500 miles for the leg, we were more than ready to call it a day. We got the motorhome leveled and set up on the grounds, then walked over to enjoy dinner at the upscale restaurant overlooking the water, The Boathouse in Burley.
We were seated next to the window, taken care of by a delightful young server named Chelsie. When Kasey filled her in on our travel goals and mentioned Roseburg, her eyes lit up. It turns out her grandmother, who is in her nineties, lives right in Roseburg! It is always such a fun treat to find a home connection in the middle of a road trip.
For dinner, Kasey ordered the Ahi tacos while I opted for the tortellini with Alfredo sauce and a fresh side salad. We couldn't resist trying their seasonal Thanksgiving margaritas, which came served with a cinnamon stick and a fresh orange slice. Kasey capped off the meal with a warm chocolate brownie topped with hot fudge and ice cream; a well-deserved treat after a long day on the road.
A nice, calm, end to a day that started with a whirlwind.
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