I needed a ride today to clear my mind and also scope out the Lotoja route, so I headed down to Preston, Idaho, near the place of an altogether different massacre that unfolded back in the 1800’s (check out some of the description by Brigham D. Madsen).

Preston, today, is pure, pristine, rural, LDS Southern Idaho.  There is a huge scrapbooking store right on mainstreet.  Just cruising through town, it almost made me want to pick up a Napolean Dynamite map and take a tour.

But because of time, I hopped on my Motobecane for a trip from Preston to the top of the first, long mountain pass on Highway 36 – a race of how fast I could get there and back.  On the ride, I ran over grasshoppers, bypassed a dead deer, rolled by Mink Creek Ward, and enjoyed all the junk cars in farm fields. I knew I was in Idaho.

I had a beautiful ride.  And thank you Lord that I wasn’t struck by any lightning in the afternoon rain storm.

Now, it is basically one week till D-day.  I don’t know if the brother in my church family and I are physically ready for Saturday, September 8.  But I do know how to pray.