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...

Grateful for Clouds

Finally settled in for the night, knowing that I have a plan for the next few days, I wait to feel sleep creep in. The darkness is interrupted by my cell phone ringing. I expect it to be one last call from Linda, but when I look at the little window, I am delighted to see the name of my workplace neighbor and one of my all-time favorite people, Chie. "Hello?" "Um, who is this" "This is Kevin, so nice to hear from you." "Thomas? Who is this?" "This is Kevin. I'm in Idaho. Where are you?" Laughter... Apparently she meant to call someone named Karen. Close but no cigar. I am wondering if she remembers I am on vacation because I think she says something like "I'll see you tomorrow." Which doesn't make sense either because tomorrow would be a Saturday. Not a dream, but entertaining.

Huge change in the weather today. I rolled out of town at 6:00 am, still fairly dark out because of the ample cloud cover, and made a quick stop at the Post Office to drop in a bill and an article for Theo I came across in the Lewiston paper the day before. It was about 70 degrees, even this early, but very comfortable. The route out of Lewiston takes me across another bridge, and then along a separated path that parallels highway 12. After a comfortable ride along the highway, I come to the junction with Highway 95 southbound. Big decision time. The Adventure Cycling map says that they do not recommend following highway 12 to Kamiah, due to lack of shoulders and heavy truck traffic. They recommend a longer route down 95 and then across the prairies to Kamiah. What makes it a hard decision is that highway 12 to Kamiah is pretty flat, and the "Lapwai" alternate has some climbing. A lot of climbing in fact. They advertise a near absence of traffic and decent shoulders, so after the stress of holding the white line for so much of eastern Washington's highway 24, I decided to try it out. If the big climb does me in, I can make it a short day and camp at Winchester Campground, located on a lake just after the monster hill. The distance differential is pretty big. Highway 12 to Kamiah, 68 miles. The Lapwai alternate worked out to about 87 miles. I headed out to 95 take the long way.

Today was almost entirely within the Nez Perce Indian Reservation. I read that the Nez Perce were the nicest, most helpful tribe to Lewis and Clark.

A short distance out of Lewiston, in the tiny town of Lapwai (place of butterflies) I stopped at a little diner for breakfast. I sat next to three native women at the counter and they immediately struck up a conversation with me. They were alarmed when I said I was headed to Missoula. "Honey, you're going the wrong way!" I explained the whole detour scenario, and they still seemed doubtful. I am suggestible enough that this starts to build doubts in my own mind, but I wasn't going to double back now. After breakfast, almost as soon as I got rolling, it started to rain. First time for the raincoat I had been portering along all this time. It was so warm and the rain so light, I almost didn't need it, but I kept it on until the drops abated. The shoulders were wide but strewn with debris. Just before the diner I heard a pop and then thump-thump-thump. I looked at my front tire as I rolled to a stop and a big screw was protruding out of the tread. I carefully unscrewed it,waiting for the hiss, but nothing. The tire was holding. I have had good luck with my Specialized Armadillos. I just hate flats, so I am OK with them being a little slower rolling.

Eventually, there is a right turn off the highway to start "the climb." It's called Winchester Grade Road, and it is about eight miles of tight switchbacks, uninterrupted ascent, inclines from 5 to 7% and in a few short places, even steeper. This would have been a killer in direct sunlight, but it was exciting to look back at each turn and see how much higher I was. The roadway was super smooth, so very comfortable to ride on. At about 3500 feet it levels off and the prairie component begins. Rolling high plains, almost zero traffic, but pretty rough roads. And, I notice that my front tire is losing air after all. I pump it up again, and find that it is good for about thirty miles each pump-up. I'll fix it tonight.

While I had cloud shelter for much of today's ride, the sun broke out at times in the prairies, and it was really nice. My legs were pretty wasted from Winchester, but I elected to keep going to Kamiah. There were numerous times where I would start down a huge hill only to see an equally long re-climbing of that elevation loss coming up. Finally, about nine miles from Kamiah, the road takes a steep, continuous descent to the little town. I am really spent, but I look forward to a short thirty mile leg to Lowell tomorrow, and a longer leg the next day.

Hitting the road again in the morning!

My peaceful day of rest ended on a huge emotional roller coaster as I worked out the potential ways the rest of my journey might play out. When I thought up this whole enterprise, knowing I didn't have unlimited time to complete it, but also not wanting it to be a death race, I was figuring my bail-out plan would be to pick up a rental car and fast forward a portion of it, hopefully a dry hot hellish portion, having just done one of those from Yakima to Palouse Falls.

First I figured out my legs across Idaho to Lolo, now with the help of my Lewis & Clark and Transamerica bicycle maps, and was getting excited about the sights and terrain coming up.

Once I started looking at which car rental agencies have locations in or near my route, things started looking bleak. It looked like I would need to decide whether to pick up at Missoula or West Yellowstone. I figured a drop off at Casper would leave me a nice two to three day stretch into Scottsbluff. Budget: "We cannot allow you to pick up and drop off between those cities, and we cannot say why." Enterprise: Very helpful sounding guy, who looked at it a number of ways but also came up empty handed, while calling me "Lance" on the phone, but said my only chance would be to call National. National has only one drop off site in all of Wyoming, Jackson, a beautiful place for sure, but a ways off route and leaving me a death race across Wyoming still. Then I tried Hertz. And they came through. I was at the point of thinking I'd have to do a 180 or a loop and just come back. Not a total loss, but I already named the blog! Anyway, now I know I can make it, have fun along the way, and for now concentrate of some cool little campgrounds and maybe even some cabins on my way out to Lolo.

It's still hot out, but some clouds have moved in to block the direct sunlight, and it makes a huge difference. Tomorrow and the next day, highs are to be about twenty degrees cooler, so it's looking like a "go" again, where a few minutes ago I was thinking of that scene in Apollo 13 when Jim Lovell says "We just lost the moon."

The photo I'm posting with this was somewhere between Othello and Palouse Falls. I immediately thought of another abandoned bus up in Alaska... Theo knows which one I mean. Side note on Theo and Apollo 13, I have a photo of Theo and Fred Haise shaking hands from a few years ago when he stopped in at Boeing Field. Some day maybe he will think it's cool.

I'm about to go into another region of "buried in the mountains" highways, so no telling when my next chance to upload blatherings and photos. At the least, I send text message updates to Linda and/or Theo periodically so they have some idea how far I am along each day.

I'm in Idaho! (where cyclists can legally treat stop signs as yield signs)

Today's ride was a gift after the last three days experiences. But first, I should cover my night in Pomeroy. Once the sun goes down, and things cool, it's hard to imagine why it seemed so hellish before. I was just beat, so I walked the length of the town to the Sagebrush Grill. Excellent bacon cheeseburger, which my body so craved. And another phenomenon which I have noticed sometimes occurs in small towns, order a glass of red wine, and it's not only cold, it's filled almost to the rim! This was heaven. I staggered back in the dark, and lay down on the bed. Though the place wasn't air-conditioned, it was only a little warm, or, my body is still radiating heat from the day, but Leann (owner of the B&B) said I could sleep with the door open to the outside and no one would bother me so I left it ajar, and could hear the crickets and neighborhood voices outside. You ever have that kind of tired where when you lie down, your body just hurts? I remember just sinking back onto the bed... a little while later, I was with people at work, and Tim was making fun of the way my whiskers had grown in all white (just shaved them off by the way), and later on, I was in a cabin and it was snowy outside. We were tossing little treats to the dogs romping outside in the snow. Then after some blurriness, I was sitting at a table with Virginia, trying to explain why the wine was so, so good, and my glass was broken but I was picking up the broken bottom part and getting the last drops out. Then I woke up and had absolutely no idea where I was. It came back gradually... I'm on a long bike ride. I'm asleep in someone's basement in a small town. Oh yeah, that's it. This was my first sound sleep of the trip, and maybe even for a while before that. I still had another hour before my alarm, so I relished it.

With forecasts of 100+ degrees in Lewiston, my plan was just to make it to Clarkston, only 29 miles away, and take a rest day while it's super hot. And, I wanted to arrive at my destination before the heat did (see? I'm learning) so I headed out of my room close to 6:00 am, and rolled down to Donna's Cafe for breakfast. I know, I was just at a B&B, but I didn't want to make my host get up that insanely early. It was the least I could do for the great night of sleep. Two old(er than me) guys at the next table asked me about my ride, and assured me that I shouldn't have too much trouble making it up and over Alpowa Pass.

About a mile and a half out of town, a brisk headwind set in. Not sure where it came from but it was steady and strong. I had to shift down even though I was only going up about 2-3%, and I was starting to wonder if this was all part of a series of signs trying to tell me something. "Don't leave Washington on your bike! Go back!! Whoo, scary..." I tried to stop thinking of how many miles left and when will I get there, and just more of "where am I right now." Sure, headwind was slowing me down, but it felt good on my face, and the countryside was beautiful. Some things I learn so slowly in life that I wonder really, maybe I am a slow person. I was probably in my forties before I realized Lewiston and Clarkston, two towns right across the river from each other, sound ominously close to the names Lewis and Clark. Well, now I'm riding roughly alongside the Lewis and Clark Trail, and every few miles I come across viewpoints with stories of their journeys just over two hundred years ago. This is like riding through a living museum. And I realize, I'm having fun. Headwind, schmeadwind. The climb up to Alpowa is gradual, never more than 5%, and soon I reach the top, about nine miles out of Pomeroy. And there are restrooms. Can it get any better? Well, yes.

After Alpowa, you start downhill, and it's about eleven miles of uninterrupted descent. I hardly had to move the pedals. At this rate, I was going to get to Clarkston about two hours earlier than I had conservatively guessed when I planned my departure. Now, I know this will sound like Homer Simpson complaining the turkey's a little dry, but once you finally get to level ground, the shoulder surface becomes pretty bumpy. However, since I was so far ahead of schedule, I started just slowing down, and then the bumps were not so bad.

Rolling into Clarkston, where my librarian resource assistant had helped me set up reservations at the Best Western (pricy but I just had to get out of the heat) I see a huge billboard for Econolodge, with rooms starting at 34.95 a night. I'm wondering: what's wrong with this place that the room costs a third of what Best Western is charging? The sign says free wi-fi and pool. What's the catch? No air-conditioning? No TV? Dry turkey? I have plenty of time on my hands so I call the number on the billboard, and ask to be sure the price is 34.95 and is there air conditioning? The Indian accented man tells me... something, but with all the traffic noise I can't be sure what. "You come down here and we will honor that price." So, I head on down the road, cross a bridge, and wow, I'm in Idaho! Last time I rode over the border of Washington into Idaho, I was with my son (who wishes not to be named on line, so I will use the code name Theo) when we rode from Spokane to Coeur d'Alene. But I digress. I walk up to the Econolodge lobby desk and ask, just to make sure, do the rooms have air-conditioning? He shakes his head. "No sir, rooms have no air-conditioning. No TV, no bed, no bathtub." I decide I like him, he's funny. So now I am taking a rest day off in Lewiston. The forecast says maybe things will ease off the hundred-ish highs in a day or two, so I will rest, recover, and go float in the pool. There's a tiny sporting goods store across the street, maybe I can also replenish my white gas supply for the stove.