A Long and Strange, Dreamy Night

For those who don't remember back to my crisis of decision making back in Lewiston, whether to commit to the whole ride and possibly end up a skeleton out in the desert, or call off my ride in Lewiston, or, get a car to skip a portion, that is what occurred on Wednesday September 2nd. I grabbed my bike and left the back yard of my sleeping hosts, and rode out to the Missoula airport to get a Hertz Corolla. There is a mix of fortunately/unfortunately in here, as I was to find out that night. Ever make a decision because of something gone a little wrong and find out your new path may have saved you from something much worse?

Within minutes, I was in a strange world where you could go 75 (legally) with a gentle push of the right foot. I was still regretting the fact that my only option was to pick up a car in Missoula and drop it in Casper, cutting out about half my ride instead of a smaller portion, but it was that or nothing. Still, I wanted to see what I would have ridden, so I headed for West Yellowstone and drove through the park. I drove in at West Yellowstone and then wended my way to the south entrance and Grand Teton National Park. Every time I saw a pannier-laden rider, I felt guilty for skipping ahead. On the other hand, I had naively thought I could get through Yellowstone in one long day of riding. The miles alone said I could. What I was seeing from the car though, was that the route cruelly cuts back and forth across the continental divide, giving you the chance to climb and re-climb the same nine thousand odd foot ridgeline. It was beautiful, but would have been days for me to pull that off. And it gets worse.

After passing into Grand Teton Park, there are miles and miles of roadway presently under construction, soft gravel and hard dirt, uphill, where you have to wait for the pilot car and then keep up. I don't know if they would have said "go back," or have offered me the back of the pilot car. It would have been miserable. But the bad news is not over.

Once you head west from Moran Junction towards Togwotee Pass, which would have been the highest of my trip at well over nine thousand feet, once again, miles and miles of the climb up to the pass is all ripped out and you wait for a series of pilot cars. I became convinced that fate had dealt me a kind blow.

Once clear of the construction, I finally settled in for the drive across Wyoming to get to Casper via highway 26. The initial segment takes you through a red desert that is just amazing to look at in the twilight. There was a full moon, and the setting sun lit up the clouds in bright orange. If only I had taken a photo, I was so consumed with getting some progress made I didn't stop except for fuel and a quick bite in Riverton. Plus, I thought it seemed wrong to post a photo from a car. There was one very close, adrenaline producing encounter with a couple of deer crossing the highway. From then on I was very much awake.

Into bed at Motel 6 around 1:30 in the morning, and Thursday I will spend repacking, planning the final 177 or so miles, and being thankful that it has gone this well rather than ruing the six hundred miles I did not ride.

One good thing about the last part of my route. I think I have it figured out so I can camp near the Fort Laramie historic site, one of my favorite places to visit. That should be a shorter mileage day, so I think I might have time to go visit the fort. The few jaunts I have made without the trailer have felt very loose and easy. I'm sure that will wear off after I get home.

M is for Missoula

And Montana, and mighty happy with how today went. First just let me say a little bit about the great people working at Lochsa Lodge. I'm feeling sometimes how isolated you can feel traveling alone, and it is such a comfort to be treated so nicely along the way. I had three meals at the lodge. Lunch right when I got there (bison burger), dinner that night (elk steak, it was amazing) and breakfast just before heading out on my climb up to Lolo Pass. This place is extremely comfortable, the people are super friendly. The rate on my little cabin was dirt cheap, and well worth it. I would have loved to stay longer and I hope I can go back with my family.

It was still very cool as I headed out the drive and up towards Lolo Pass. Breakfast and lots of coffee had me well stoked, and I felt good as I wound my way up the 5-7% grades. Once again, 7% felt like the effort, and when it occasionally slackened off to 5%, it felt like a relief. Most of the road stayed in shade because the ridge runs sort of north-south, and the sun was still low in the east. Ideal! For some strange reason, I feel like the miles click by more quickly in a climb. I just kept counting down, knowing every foot of climb was going in the bank and every mile brought me closer. A couple of trucks on their way down tooted and gave me the thumbs up. At least I think it was the thumb. Yeah, I'm sure it was. Actually helps.

I'm posting a photo of the sign just a mile shy of the top. I saw that sign and thought "well, my legs still feel fine," so I knew I had it make. 7200 and some odd feet up! I wondered how Lolo would stack up against Cayuse-Chinook. I have to say, they are very close, but maybe Chinook was a little harder. I had fun with this one.

The visitors center at the top is excellent. A little museum, gift shop, restrooms, and free wireless. Oh, and coffee. I grabbed the netbook and sat down with a cup, and posted the last couple of days of progress. I had zero cell or internet access once I left Kamiah.

The trip down is precipitous, at least for the first five miles or so. The pavement is good, but still no usable shoulder to speak of. Fortunately, I had absolutely no traffic behind me. I tried to keep it under twenty-five (the trailer feels a little funny at higher speeds, and they don't recommend it anyway). And I was thinking: "this is the last time this ride I should have to worry about my rims exploding." They didn't, and eventually the hill flattened out a bit. It's generally level or downhill all the way to Lolo.

Today is easily the best day of the trip so far. As I was riding along highway 12, now in Montana, I was thinking that I have been trying to follow how my mood relates to the riding conditions, if at all. I have had some highs and lows, and I'm not sure it necessarily correlates to my environment, but maybe. I'm glad I have a little inclinometer on my handlebars, because sometimes the road ahead can look downhill and I can't figure out why I'm having to put out so much effort. I look down, and sure enough, I'm going uphill. Also, I've noticed how a slight change in the roughness or smoothness of the pavement can really add up to stress or ease in riding, and my overall happiness. I've had great luck with wind so far. (quickly Kevin runs over to a tree and gives it a couple raps). Except for leaving Pomeroy last week, I haven't had to fight any major headwinds.

Just outside the town of Lolo, I stopped at a little store to top off my water, and as I'm filling up, a guy on a yellow bike swoops in and stops. He introduces himself as Brian, and says he's an intern at Adventure Cycling. He offers me his back yard to camp for the night. It's funny because he actually did it the way I would. He said "have a nice ride," bolted off ahead, almost out of sight, then I could see him make a u-turn in the distance and come back. Then he says "I meant to say, you can camp in my yard if you want." At the Adventure Cycling office, I meet Elliott, the guy who owns the house that Brian shares with him. He provides me a map. I am now in their back porch, using their wireless. This is nice.

Along the Lochsa

I woke up at about a quarter to midnight, and could hear the rain had slowed to just scattered drops. Then I struggled to sleep for about three hours. Sometimes I have trouble being comfortable in this tent. Maybe not so much the tent but the bag I'm using. It was still pretty dark as I started disassembling and stowing things. Of course everything that was outside was soaked. I laid the rain fly out on the paved surface in hopes it would dry a bit. I am about out of stove fuel, so cold breakfast for me this morning.

On the road at around 7:30. Another cloudy morning. I have my previous days clothes packed on the outside of the trailer because they are still wet. Today I continue along highway 12 as it follows the Lochsa River. I'm checking my mirror frequently because being a weekday, I figure more trucks will be coming along than yesterday. Still no shoulder, but the surface is good. So I glance at the mirror, where I'm used to seeing the back of my bike or a bit of my flag on the right side, but this time I see part of a red and black pannier over on the left side. Suddenly I realize I have company. I look back and it's the same rider I had seen in Lewiston on my rest day, heading out from a Dairy Queen in hundred degree afternoon heat. This time he pulls alongside and we talk. His name is Alex, I'm going to guess early twenties. He's been on his bike for eight weeks so far. Started in Santa Cruz, rode up the coast to Vancouver Island, and is now working his way across the country. He says if he reaches New York, he'll probably take a train home from there.

He pushes on, and I see he is quite a bit faster than me even though he is also carrying a load. Every turn I see him farther up the road until I don't see him at all. I settle back into the cadence that seems to work for me. After quite a while I notice him stopped by the side where some other people are gathered. I'm just going to head on past but one of the guys yells "there are hot springs here!" So I u-turn and swoop down into the little roadside lot. The springs are a mile up a trail so I decide I'm going to move on, but one of the guys catches my eye. He's got a bike, is wearing regular shorts and holey tights with a sleeveless jersey, and has thick dreadlocks down to the back of his thighs. Later on the road, Alex (who seems easier at talking to strangers than me, I wonder if that improves after eight weeks?) shares with me that the guy has been living mostly on his bike for about fourteen years. Hard to describe the funny personality of this character, the way it bubbled out of him physically. He was so light and fit, and would sort of flit around as he talked. He joked about not wanting to get another flat before getting back to Missoula, then immediately danced over to a tree to knock on wood. Adding to his character was his way of speaking. Sort of like Tommy Chong.

Today was harder for some reason even though I only rode about forty miles, and no big climbs. Maybe the rushed in-tent dinner last night, or the sad cold breakfast. Anyway, I reached the Lochsa Lodge, a place I have read about on other touring cyclists journals. I am in a little log cabin with no plumbing, but a great bed, and I had lots of time to spread my wet stuff out to dry before sundown. There's a cafe too. I just wrote in a postcard that I think I like some luxury interspersed with the rough. Last night storm, tonight dinner with wine and a soft pillow.

Tomorrow morning, the climb up to Lolo Pass.

God Bowling

Easily the most exciting event of today is the spectacular thunderstorm going on everywhere outside my tent.

I went a little farther than planned today. Once I reached Lowell at about 11:00 am, it seemed a little too soon to stop. Every mile I get behind me, the shorter my ride to Lochsa Lodge (about 12 miles shy of Lolo Pass). Around 3:00 pm, I rolled into Wilderness Gateway Campground, set up the tent, went down to the river to clean clothes and myself, and was standing in the water, enjoying the sunshine, when I saw ominous clouds moving in. I hadn't had dinner yet, so I went back up and got the stove going and started some noodles while I made sure everything was out of water danger and that my rain fly was fully tied off everywhere it could be. I could hear thunder cracking as I monitored the noodles, and had no sooner gotten them out of the colander and back in the pot when the storm cut loose. My tent is designed to that the front of the fly creates a little porch. I sat cross-legged just inside the doorway and stirred the chicken and spices in as all hell broke loose outside. I was hoping the tent would prove to be watertight. This was my first chance to find out.

It's been about an hour now, and all my stuff is still dry, so it's looking good. I hope things dry out a bit by morning though. Of course the clothes I had hung up to dry are still out there, quite rinsed by now. Including my one pair of socks. I guess I could wear wet socks tomorrow if I had to, but I'd rather not. Anyway, very exciting. The ripping thunder and almost continuous light show, plus the sudden wind reminded me a bit of one night we spent in Belize, but then we were in a cabin. If I'm lucky, tomorrow night I'll get an open air cabin at Lochsa Lodge. It's only forty miles, but it's a climb to get there.

Highway 12, as advertised, is not the nicest place to ride a bike, but maybe because it's Sunday, traffic was very light. I saw only a handful of trucks and they were all going west.

There's some construction going on, and fortunately for me, the part they had completed was to grind the pavement smooth. From Kamiah to the start of the construction zone, I thought my teeth were going to fall out from all the rough pavement. It's also very tiring on the arms to ride out all those little jarring bumps. Once I got to the ground smooth section, it became easy riding again, though the shoulder that was, became soft gravel, so I had to ride in the lane and just be vigilant for traffic coming from behind at the same time as oncoming.

Still a lot of Lewis and Clark informational signs, which I take as an excuse to pull off and drink water while I read. I learned that "Lochsa" means "rough water" in Nez Perce, and that although the initial meetings between the natives and European explorers were cordial, in later years, that would go downhill as more and more people flowed in and the army worked to drive the Indians out. I was reading of the Lewis and Clark expedition's trek through the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness (where I am now). The going was so rough that they described it as "difficult and disheartening." I can understand the feeling a bit when I am slogging my way up a steep pitch, but I marvel at the conditions they survived.

Well, the rain is slowing a bit. I hope this means I can make a run to the bushes before sleepy time. I wonder what's on TV...