On the edge of whitespace

Friday night there was anger in the sky. The clouds argued and rumbled, lashing out at each other with bursts of lightning. With the arrival of the sun it had simmered to a discussion with occasional outbursts of spittle.
Oatmeal. Coffee. Pack tents, go ride. Today we rode highway 12 across Idaho, in the footsteps of Merriwether and William 206 years ago. I feel sorry for them - they didn't have 99 miles of smooth twisty tarmac. Then again, they didn't have a community organizer for a president.
At Kooskia we had a decision to make: go north through a very hot and direct route to Portland, or go south to Hell's Canyon.

We went south. But then after some discussion and looking at timing with friends in Portland, we decided to continue south, all the way to Ontario, Oregon. On the way we enjoyed a very curvy six miles of highway before laying tracks on Hwy 95. Hot 95. 95f. The highway snakes along the Salmon river, bringing us to Riggins for an elk sammich.
We entered eastern Oregon at Ontario on hwy 20. This roads goes into the wilderness, over some mountains, and traverses the northern edge of whitespace until Burns. Whitespace. Go look at a map of Oregon. Look at the southeastern corner. Hwy 20 to the north, 95 to the east, 395 to the west. South? Nevada. I-80. A great big whitespace in there. 68 miles of hillocks and buttes, streams and marshes, and one home with junk strewn about. And 97f.
Harney county calls most of the whitespace 'home'. Despite occupying 20÷ of Oregon, there are about 2400 registered voters. I don't know why they bother ... Benton an Multnomah counties dictate politics in this state and I bet most of those votera couldn't tell you where Frenchglen is.

As we approached Burns the temps dropped quickly into the 60's and we pulled into the first campground we saw, and paid $29 for site - turns out there was no picnic table there, but they did have showers. No table means no stove which means MRE before sleep.