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.