After a bagel at Mel’s Diner, I was ready to head for Great Falls. I really try to avoid a heavy breakfast, it leaves me wanting to just take a nap after a few miles. I stopped at the general store and picked up a package of doughnuts and a large container of Gatorade.
The countryside is looking desolate and forbidding.
Everything is looking brown and dry. The mountains had streams flowing everywhere and lots of green forests. I have a feeling that from here on it will be much different. I’m leaving the Rockies behind.
Numerous deer ran out in front of me on the road leading out of Augusta. Here is why so many of them get killed in traffic (I’ll shorten this video a bit, once I have access to video tools, it is 1:19 min):
I made it to Simms and was ready for a snack. Simms was where I would have ended up had I taken the shortcut I considered yesterday. The folks at the gas station also wondered why the maps took me to Augusta. They said the SR200 was better road and wider and would have saved 25 miles (42 km) of riding. The station didn’t have much for food, so I just had an orange juice and continued on.
The road from Simms to Great Falls is a straight shot and was reasonably flat. The map showed several very small towns along the way that had food opportunities, but when I arrived in them, the cafes were shut down and out of business.
More and more I was seeing places out of business and closed. Potential ghost towns?
Hungry, I continued on. Finally, near Vaughn, MT, I found a deli and had some lunch.
I had been trying, via email, to find some of the radio amateurs in Great Falls, but hadn’t been having much luck. I was hopeful I could find someone to let me use their antenna for my little station to give it some extra “umpf,” since my little wire in a tree isn’t that great. I was also hoping that one of them would do like a Warmshowers.org host and give me some bedroll space, but it wasn’t to be.
As I rolled into Great Falls, storm clouds were gathering in the west. I decided to find something quickly. I stopped at the first motel I spotted and for $40 got a very nice room. The motel is the Alberta, in Great Falls, Montana, and I highly recommend it for bicycle travelers. The room is nice, the staff is very friendly (as are their dogs) and the motel is well situated on the main drag.
A few minutes after arriving, I had a Skype call scheduled with some friends at my Toastmasters Club in Sarasota, FL, Positively Speaking Toastmasters. They asked me to participate remotely in our weekly meeting. The connection wasn’t great, but we did manage to meet and have a few laughs and I updated them on my progress.
I rode to downtown and stopped at Bert and Ernie’s Tavern and Grill and Grill and had a BLT. The server/bartender is a young man that is going off to the Marines in a few weeks. We had a nice chat and I wished him well.
I returned to the room and intended to update this blog, but laid my head on the pillow for a few minutes, just to rest, and before I knew it, I was asleep.
A few miles east of Lincoln, Montana. No wonder I was cold this morning!
When I awoke this morning, it was 39° F (3.9° C). What the heck? Isn’t it 11 August? When I finally rode out of town, after delaying with an extended breakfast and wearing everything I have, it was still only 44° F (6.7° C). Then, a few miles east of town, I found the sign that explained everything. One would really have to like the cold to live in this area.
Climbing out of town I had Rogers Pass to go over. As passes go, it wasn’t that bad, it is 5611 feet high (1710 m) and I was starting from around 4500 feet (1371 m). Of course, my Florida lungs were screaming for oxygen, but after doing this for a month I didn’t have to get off and walk at all, I rode all the way to the top.
At the top, which is, coincidentally, where the Continental Divide Trail crosses, I met up with two motorcyclists from Alberta, Canada, Ken and Mike. They were riding a big Harley Davidson and a big BMW. We talked at length about riding and motorcycles and a bit about hiking. It was a great excuse for me to catch my breath. We said our goodbyes and then I took a few photos.
The Continental Divide Trail (CDT) is one of the three major trails that run north to south across the US. It goes from the Canadian border to the Mexican border. The other two are the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) and the Appalachian Trail (AT).
A number of hiking friends have hiked the CDT and some have even ridden it on mountain bikes. As I was taking photos, I talked to a hiker that had just been dropped off there, “Knotts,” and he told me he only had three hundred more miles to walk to finish the CDT. Only a true hiker would claim to have “only” three hundred more miles. We are out of our minds. Looking at “Knotts,” I think I figured out why the name; he had a head full of dreadlocks that would have made Bob Marley jealous.
The good news about reaching a pass is that there is usually a good downhill afterwards, and this was no exception. This downhill was actually a bit scary. Some of the turns were quite tight. Missing the turn meant a thousand feet of flight before hitting anything. I kept thinking about a blown tire and what a disaster that could be. Then again, I was grinning all the way down at 45 MPH.
The pass is a demarcation line for the forest, the terrain now becomes more like the upper mid-west. As far as the eye could see was open prairie and rolling hills, brown vs. green, and wide open space. I was officially leaving the Rocky Mountains.
The rest of the day was spent climbing up and down rolling hills. At one point the Adventure Cycling maps take the rider to Augusta, Montana. There is clearly a more direct route to Great Falls, my goal, but the map routed me to Augusta first. I was tempted to just take SR200 directly to Simms, but I figured they must have a good reason.
The twenty miles up to Augusta was hot and hilly. The scenery was nice and that was some redemption, but I can’t say it was worth the extra miles.
When I arrived in Augusta, my first chore was to find a place to stay. There is a place called the “Bunkhouse Inn,” but it had a “No Vacancy” sign, a “For Sale” sign, and looked abandoned. The only other choice was a place just down the road that was both motel and campground.
The campground was a wide-open space in the hot sun, no shade to be found at all. When tent camping, shade is needed, otherwise the tent becomes a portable oven. Even though the room was expensive, I opted for it. WiFi and air conditioning were definite draws. The room was nothing to write home about, so I won’t.
I went down the road to Mel’s diner and had dinner and desert (hot fudge sundae). I walked around the town a bit. It seems so many of these small towns in this area of the world are just hanging on. Most of the businesses, whether operating or not, have For Sale signs. I talked to one of the patrons in Mel’s and she told me that the businesses that are still open are actually doing very well but the owners are getting old and just want to retire. The younger folks head off to the bigger cities and there just isn’t anyone around that wants to pick things up.
After a brew at the local cowboy bar, it was back to the room and a good night’s rest. Tomorrow: Great Falls, Montana.
In the morning I asked about a decent place to get a good cup of tea and Julie directed me to Butterflies and Herbs, not far from ACA. Without a doubt, I had one of the finest pots of tea and a bagel that I have had since leaving home. I didn’t want to leave the place, that, and it was pouring outside. It started raining just as I arrived at the cafe. The cafe is known for their coffee and I would add their tea. It was a fabulous way to start the day. I stayed long enough that the rain ceased and I rode out of town.
Americans generally just don’t know how to make tea. It is a pretty simple process, good hot water, a warm cup and a pot to brew it in. Most places with put some lukewarm water in a cold coffee mug, give you a tea bag and you’re good to go. What really drives me nuts is upscale cafes seem to feel if they give you an herbal tea, that will make a fine tea. Wrong.
The folks at Butterfly put loose tea in a large pot, added lots of hot water and gave me a warm cup. For breakfast, one should have a good English or Irish blend of breakfast tea. The previous day I had gone to a cafe that professes to have fine dining and they gave me a coffee mug with warm water in it and sent me to their tea selection:
Herbal teas and not a black tea to be seen.
The selection was a collection of fancy, expensive teas, but nothing suitable for breakfast, especially if one likes to add milk or cream, which is customary with black breakfast brews. The tea I selected was Rocky Mountain High blend. When I looked at the bag carefully, I wasn’t certain if I was supposed to drink it, or smoke it.
Sorry if I rant, but tea is just as important at breakfast as coffee, but is treated as an afterthought in most places. Enough said.
The streets were wet, but I was off. Thus far, for the entire thousand miles of this ride, I have not yet ridden in the rain. I headed out of town on S.R. 200. There were mountains everywhere, but then this is the Rocky Mountains, isn’t that what I should expect? The temperature was only 49 degrees F (9.4 C) and would get cooler as the day and altitude progressed.
Riding beneath the clouds leaving Missoula.
It was about 08:30 in the morning and it was nice to see so many commuting by bicycle, I thought I was in the Netherlands. As far north as Missoula is, they have a great attitude about using the bicycle for more than just recreation.
My plan was to ride to Lincoln, 81 miles. My fallback plan, should I get too tired, would be to ride to Ovando, MT. The problem with Ovando is that it would put me in an awkward spot to start from the following day. Starting out from Lincoln would give me a 56-mile ride to Augusta, MT, the next major resupply point. Starting from Ovando would give me an 83-mile ride with a major climb over a pass. Lincoln would be a much better starting point.
The road to Garnet, MT, a ghost town.
There are a number of ghost towns in the Pacific Northwest. Most are mining towns that have gone bust. There was a sign pointing down a side road that indicated it led to Garnet, MT, a ghost town. I took the turn to see if there was any indication as to how far it was. Another sign said it was 11 miles. That ruled out a visit. Of note on the road, however, were the cattle barriers that one sees in this area of the world.
They’re used to keep cattle and wild animals from having immediate access to a roadway. If they step on the grate, their legs slip through and they tend not to cross the barrier. Deer can sometimes figure them out, but cattle usually don’t. The idea is to prevent animals from getting out onto fast highways and it does work reasonably well. They’re no fun to ride over on a bicycle since it is a bone-jarring experience, like that of riding across a large washboard.
Cattle barrier. There are some that use a triangular shaped rod and even though it seems counter-intuitive, it gives a smoother ride than the rounded edge ones.
While investigating going to Garnet, I spied what I thought were blueberries. The bush looked like blueberries, but the berry didn’t have the little “crown,” that one sees on a blueberry. I broke open a berry and tasted the juice. It was more tart than a blueberry, so I didn’t eat any. Maybe a Montana native can comment on what the berry is?
A blueberry look-alike in Montana.
Even though it had rained all around the region during the day, I avoided any riding in the rain. When I arrived at Ovando, I stopped in town to get a light lunch. Out on the main road there were signs for “Trixies,” and I avoided it, figuring it might involve pole dancing and bars. In town, there was the Stray Bullet Cafe. I spotted a few other bikers going there about a mile ahead of me and figured they were heading in for food as well.
When I arrived at the cafe, the other bikers were at another building discussing something. I went in and ordered a hot dog and the soup of the day. The others came in and we all sat together and had a fun time. The cafe closed at three pm, so we had to hurry up and order.
The other bikers were on a mountain bike trip and looked like it had been tough but fun. Some were pulling trailers. One was injured and is scheduled for an Achilles heel operation in a few days. Riding with one foot?
The food arrived and the soup was superb. It was creamy chicken and rice…hot and flavorful. The hot dog wasn’t just any hot dog, it was some local concoction and it too comes highly recommended.
The other riders agreed they were going to get a room in town, so I bid adieu and headed out. It was still cold and the wind was picking up. Fortunately, it was a tailwind and pushed me along for the last 25 miles (40 km). It had gotten so cold that I had stopped earlier in the day and picked up some plastic shopping bags and used them to help keep my feet warm and dry. It raised the temperature considerably and I was comfortable. Jane and I had used this same technique in Spain.
A couple of plastic grocery bags can make a big difference in a pinch.
When I arrived in Lincoln I saw this sign at a casino. I thought it humorous that the Casino owner is going to make America great again by having a Mexican food night. I thought we were supposed to build a wall?
In all, in spite of the cold weather, it was a good day. I rode about 82 miles:
81.71 miles for the day. I felt good enough to ride another twenty miles, had there been a town to ride to.
Missoula is a really bicycle-friendly town with lots of bike lanes, bike shops, and courteous drivers. I decided on a second night in the motel, so I’m still in the same place.
Today I had several chores that needed doing. First, I needed a haircut and beard trim. I was starting to scare little children and dogs were barking at me…it was time.
Finally, a haircut and beard trim.
Next on the agenda was a stop to Adventure Cycle Headquarters. The folks there put together amazing maps of various bike routes around the country. I talked to Beth there and she was very knowledgeable and helped me chose the best route to Newburyport, Massachusetts, my destination. Did I mention they offer free ice cream to long distance bikers? They won an instant friend.
I met briefly with Greg. Greg does their magazine photo work and promised I would return tomorrow with the bike loaded up for a photo.
Last on my list, but not least, was doing my laundry. I packed up everything I have, including my sleeping bag, and headed to the laundromat. Once there, I removed my shirt and put on my raincoat, I was already wearing my swimsuit. Everything I have for clothing and sleeping went into the washing machine. I looked like a pervert standing there in my swimsuit and raincoat. Oddly, I don’t think anyone noticed. Either they are accustomed to perverts, or long distance bikers…I hope the later.
While waiting, I received a phone call from a fellow named Brian. Earlier I had gone to QRZ.com, a ham radio database. I put Missoula in the search and it gave me a list of ham radio operators in the area. I started searching through and found Brian, call letter AG7KZ, had an email address. I sent him an email asking if he knew where I could find some parts I needed to replace a cable that I had lost, probably back in Baker City, Oregon, when the police officer chased me out of the park. Brian called to tell me he had some cables and parts I needed to do the repair.
He invited me to meet with him across from the hotel, next to the Kentucky Fried Chicken place. When I returned to my room I changed into more acceptable clothing, I figured showing up in a swimsuit and raincoat might be a bit much for a first encounter. I thought he said he’d meet me in the parking lot, but I couldn’t find his vehicle anywhere. I called him back and he explained that he wasn’t in his vehicle, he actually lived on the other side of the restaurant. Of all the few hundred ham radio operators in the region, I managed to coincidentally pick the one that was across the street from my motel room. What are the odds? Yesterday nothing went right, my luck had changed.
Brian invited me in, handed me the needed cable and parts and, over a Moose Drool, I proceeded to put together the cable. Brian was a joy to talk with. Then his wife arrived. Maggie is originally from Costa Rica. She introduced me to their huge cat, Max. Maggie said Max doesn’t see many strangers but he let me pet him and invade his turf.
Brian and Maggie took me off to dinner at the Iron Horse Bar & Grill and we had a wonderful time discussing all things Costa Rica, hiking, and biking. Costa Rica is now officially added to my bucket list. A thunderstorm blew through while we ate. It was the first real rain I have seen since starting this journey; I hope it isn’t a harbinger of things to come. As I am writing this, I can hear another storm approaching.
I can’t wait to see what tomorrow holds. Then again, that is what is so wonderful about these long adventure bike/hike trips, you never now what you will be facing, and that makes it exciting.
Only 13 miles (21 km) today. I’ve ridden a grand total of 968 miles since Lincoln City, Oregon.
I awoke to a very cold morning. It wasn’t freezing, but I wore everything I had. I tried to operate the ham radio for a while, but my hands were getting so cold it was difficult. I sat there at the picnic table with the radio and me all wrapped up in my sleeping bag to keep warm. It was not pleasant.
The night before I had spent some time on the ham radio and communicated with several stations in California, Missouri and one in Ashburnham, Massachusetts, Jack, W1PFZ. I have talked with Jack previously and it was nice to hear him again. He lives just down the road from a lifelong friend of mine. His signal was very weak, but I was surrounded by Montana mountains and we were both running very low power, he, about 20 watts and I about 2.5 watts.
For most of this journey I haven’t been able to use my cell phone anywhere, it was comforting to know that, should I need it, I can reach somebody, somewhere.
These guys said goodbye to me as I left Lolo, Montana..
While stopped for a quick bite to eat in Lolo, I met a few local bicyclists and asked them where one might stay in Missoula. The described a few places I might try. Oddly, as big a town as Missoula is, I had not yet been able to arrange a WarmShowers.org stay. There are something like 90 hosts in town. The problem I’m running into is most of the members are doing as I am, they’re off having a good time like I am. Either that, or I’m finding their data is not up to date and I never make contact with them.
The ride into Missoula is almost entirely a new bike path that parallels the highway. It is gentle rolling hills and scenic. As I rode along I passed two women pulled over on mountain bikes, they seemed engrossed in conversation.
Buffalo, just outside of Missoula, Mountana.
Later I stopped to photograph a field full of buffalo and the two women caught up and said hello. Forgive me, I should write names down, I believe it was Ellenia and Terry. (if you’re reading this, do let me know the correct spelling!). I explained my plight with WarmShowers.org and the first name Terry mentioned was one of the many people that I had already contacted. That particular contact already had a house-full. They were very nice and tried to be helpful, but it was obvious I would just have see what I could find in town.
Next, the cyclists I met back in Lolo caught up to me and we rode along and chatted for a bit. They were interested in the Camino in Spain so I gave them the very quick low-down on it, as much as one can pushing up and down rolling hills with a seventy pound bike. They were on fast bikes and I knew I was holding them up, so told them to go on. We were starting to meet lots of bike traffic coming from the other direction.
I rolled into Missoula and was at a loss as to what to do for accommodations. I had several messages and phone calls that were still unanswered, so I figured I’d just find somewhere with WiFi and wait it out. I went to a McDonalds (they have great WiFi here in Montana) and got something to drink.
It was a nice day and I spent the next four hours hanging around there with my drink and laying under a tree on their lawn. I wasn’t alone, there were other people doing the same, so I didn’t feel out of place. After all that time, the skies started to darken, so I figured it was time to do something.
Across the intersection behind the McDonald’s I spotted an amateur radio antenna on a home. Like I am so often wont to do, I rode over there to see if anyone was home. Maybe they would have some ideas. I knocked on the door and rang the doorbell…again, no luck. Nobody home.
Lightning was starting to crack. It was time to find a home for the night so I quickly rode over to a motel up the road and got a room. I don’t like being out in lighting, especially when hiking or biking. Your head is the highest point around and a likely target.
After settling into the room it was time for a meal. I hadn’t really eaten much all day. I was up for Italian food, specifically: spaghetti. Some of the WarmShowers.org hosts I had been trying to contact had noted they were vegetarians and all day I had fancied myself hooking up with one of them and going out, buying local produce and sharing an evening meal of fantastic pasta and great veggies. That’s the nice thing about such an organization, meeting local people and having experiences.
The hotel had a list of local restaurants and one showed “Italian food.” A place called Noodles & Company was listed. I had never heard of them, and they were right around the corner. I walked down and found it at a mall. I went in and the decor was disappointing, it was Papa Ginos, with less class. It was a big, wide open space, and looked like a military mess hall with fancy lights.
I was hungry and determined to get my spaghetti. I ordered from the chart on the wall. Beer? There was no local beer. I had my heart set on a local brew to go with the spaghetti. All they had were soft drinks. I was sinking to a new low, spaghetti and cola.
Deflated I seated myself with my drink and number card so they could bring the meal. The spaghetti arrived in a bowl, a big bowl. The bowl wasn’t too full and swimming in the bottom of it was noodles, a weak looking tomato sauce and a few meatball. It wasn’t the meal I dreamed of. When you’re married to one of the world’s best spaghetti dinner makers, that dish is a big letdown.
I left, disappointed. I had failed at everything that day, nothing went as planned. I stopped at a microbrewery next to the motel, surely they would have a brew. At last, success, they had something called Smoke Chaser Porter, and it was excellent. The brewery was having some sort of talent show, so I watched as I had my brew. After the third act I realized it was comedy night, but the humor was mostly falling flat. It sounded more like an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.
Anyway, the brew was good and it was off to bed. Hopefully tomorrow will be more successful.
Another state, another timezone. I’m finally in the Mountain Time Zone, only two hours from my timezone in Florida. Only 11 miles to Missoula, Montana.
Upon leaving Powell, Idaho I encountered numerous deer. Then I spied this male moose off to my right. The photo doesn’t do it justice, he was much closer than it appears. He kept looking up at me on the road and then decided to wade out into the pond.
He had a ball. He kept splashing his head in the water and making big waves and then would just watch them. Every so often he would look up to make certain of my whereabouts and then do more splashing. He was fun to watch and I spent about twenty minutes there. He was like a big kid with his own kiddie pool.
Today I was facing a climb over Lolo Pass, 5235 feet (1595 m), which would bring me into Montana. I was anxious to see a new state, one I had not been to before.
The climb was a few thousand feet, but the road was gradual enough that it wasn’t a killer and I was feeling good at the pass. Idaho has a visitor center there and I filled up my water bottles and rested for a bit. I tried to call Jane using Skype, but, as usual, the WiFi was powered by potato (see previous comments in another post) and we were only getting about every third word of the conversation.
Just beyond the center was the sign for Montana. I ran into David there, he is a retired police officer following the path of a book he read recently about an attempted murder case. The book, A Strange Piece of Paradise, is about two women cyclists that rode cross country and were attacked in Oregon. A man ran over their tent with his pickup truck and then proceeded to attack them with an ax. Amazingly, they both lived.
David was riding an Indian motorcycle. It was an impressive machine and it was nice talking to him. We parted ways and I was in Montana.
They have finally named a creek after me, how nice.The cows always view me with suspicion.
In late afternoon, I arrived in Lola, Montana. I tried to hook up with someone from the WarmShowers.org, but it was late in the day and I gave up. I had a quick meal in Lolo and then pedaled back to a campground that I had passed earlier, 2.5 miles (4 km) out of town. The campground, Square Dance Center and Campground was full. It was getting dark and even though they had a dance in full swing, the owner took me out to show me where I could put a tent and find a shower. I’m forever grateful. Additionally, the campground has the best WiFi service I’ve seen since leaving the Pacific Coast! Kudos.
As I was signing in they offered for me to join in the dance. There were at least a hundred people dancing and they have never seen me dance. It would have been like rolling a giant bowling ball into the middle of them. It would have been chaos. I can’t dance a step, just ask Jane.
The campground is very nice and I felt quite at home with everyone I met. I liked it so much, I decided to spend the next day there before heading off to Missoula, Montana.
I stayed in the motel unit in Lowell, Idaho, because there was talk of temperatures near freezing, but it didn’t get quite that cold. It was cold enough in for the morning departure that I did wear all my heavy clothing and I didn’t regret having the motel room. The WiFi there was useless, but that was becoming the norm.
Keep in mind that most of the places I’ve mentioned in Idaho are very small towns, if a town at all. Lowell had a sign in front of the cafe that showed a population of 24 that was scratched out and 23 written over it. I was afraid to ask what happened to #24.
Population change in Lowell, Idaho.
My destination for the day was Powell, Idaho, 66 miles away. There would be no cafe stops or stores along the way, it is all wilderness. The road follows a river upstream, which to a bicyclist, means an uphill ride all day. It wasn’t a big climb, but it is a constant uphill with no break. The total climb for the day was 1944 feet (592 m).
My plan was to ride the entire distance. The fall-back plan was, if I tired, to camp somewhere along the way. The road, which is also the path that Lewis and Clark took on their expedition, runs through the Bitterroot Wilderness and is stunningly beautiful.
The Lewis and Clark Expedition, in 1804-05, passed through this same trail, both on the way west and the return to the east.
One advantage to riding a bicycle is the animal life doesn’t hear you approaching so there are many opportunities to observe deer, badgers, moose, Colombian ground squirrels and other natives of the area. I hoped to see a Canadian Lynx, they’re endangered, but failed to do so.
The route, for most of the day, was a bit monotonous: pedal up grade, turn corner, take in breathtaking beauty, repeat.
66 Miles of beauty, fish, moose, deer and outdoor life.
It wasn’t all lonesome. Along the way I would chat with people pulled over at the numerous “turn-offs,” as they call them here. See photo above. Fly fishing seemed to be the main event of the day and I saw dozens of people trying there hand at it, although, I don’t recall anyone with a fish.
Most of the bicycle traffic I have been seeing over the weeks has been headed west. Today, Wendy, and east-bound rider, passed me and accelerated away. Ah youth, to be young again. I would see her later at the campground.
I arrived in Powell late in the day. Actually, I arrived at where Powell is on the map. As near as I could tell there isn’t actually a town of “Powell.” There is a popular vacation lodge there which hosts cabins, campsites for bicyclists and a very nice restaurant. After a long day without a real meal, I was ready.
As I rode down the dirt road into the cabin area I came up behind a tanker truck spraying water on the road to keep the dust down. It was only moving about a walking pace so I kept my distance behind it to avoid getting wet. I spotted a nice group of folks sitting out in front of their cabin and pulled over to ask how far it was to the restaurant.
With all the noise of the truck spraying, and the people yelling instructions to me, a dog that was sitting on one of the people’s laps decided she had had enough and sprung loose from her leash and charged at me and sunk her teeth into my foot, which was still clipped to the bike pedal.
It all happened so fast that it really didn’t register at first, then I felt my toes being squeezed. Even though I was wearing sandals, it did get my attention. I lifted my foot and the poor animal went flying, maybe six or seven feet.
I’m certain the owner was horrified to see her black schnauzer sailing through the air, but I was relieved to know that my foot was fine. Surprised, the dog limped off back to her owner. There was a second dog there, but he was big and didn’t seem in the least bit interested. Thank goodness.
Starving as I was I didn’t give much thought to the incident and got instructions to the restaurant. After a monstrous turkey club sandwich, with salad, I returned to put up my tent and check on the dog. I really didn’t want to hurt her, being a dog lover.
The group greeted me and the dog, Sophie, kept a wary eye on me. The other dog, a big friendly thing, became my immediate friend. Sophie and I kept an uneasy truce and all was well. She wasn’t hurt, other than perhaps her dignity. They were a nice bunch of folks and invited me for a drink, but I figured I would pass out if I had anything. All I wanted to do was put up the tent, shower and get to sleep. Hopefully, someone in the group will send me a nice photo of Sophie.
Bike camping at the Lochsa Lodge is free for bicyclists and of course use of the bathroom facilities. The lawns are lush and green and a welcome sight at the end of long day. The showers are $5.00 and well worth it. They supply you with a towel, shampoo, soap and a very nice private shower room. I highly recommend this place. They are open year round and the restaurant is exceptional. Try the Moose Drool beer. Additionally, they have a very well stocked camp store.
Watch for a little black schnauzer on the way there, she has an odd way of greeting you.
I Started out early from Grangeville. Prior to leaving, I sat on the steps outside the motel office to call Jane. I had to sit there because the WiFi service was terrible and that was the only place I could get a signal.
While talking to her, dogs started showing up. All sorts of dogs. Big ones, little ones, and all sorts of colors and breeds. Before I knew it, I had five dogs surrounding me, all wanting for attention. Everybody wanted an ear scratched or a belly rub. It was crazy. My next door neighbor, Elizabeth, who works with rescue dogs would be thrilled, especially since the leader of the pack seemed to be a little white dog.
Riding east from Grangeville I was looking across huge fields of oats or wheat. I stopped to photograph some combines harvesting the crops and even took a video. I figured my grandson, Ronan, might get a kick out of the combines since there is a scene in the Pixar movie Cars where a combine gives chase to the protagonist in the film, “Lighting McQueen.”
The terrain was mostly flat with an occasional 200-foot (70-m) steep climb, just to keep things interesting.
The wide-open spaces out of Grangeville, Idaho.
Then came the descent down to Stites, Idaho. I don’t have the stats on the descent but it must be several thousand feet over about two miles (3 km). I’m a seasoned mountain bike racer and have no fear of going down a rapid descent, but this was quite another thing. My bike weighs about 30 lbs (13.6 kg) and the gear and panniers add about another forty lbs (17 kg). If you know anything about bicycle brakes, they’re just two little rubber pads on each wheel and are operated by a small cable to each wheel.
Note Stites, Idaho, at the bottom of that drop on the right.
I was going down grades that would easily allow me to get up to about 60 mph (96 kmh)! I could just envision those little rubber pads turning into molten rubber smudges on my bicycle rims. It wasn’t so much the speed but the fact that there were turns at the end of a steep downhill run that were posted 10 mph (16 kph) turns. Going into a turn such as that with melting brake pads didn’t appeal to me. I stopped at least five times on the way down to cool the brakes. The descent was insane.
If you miss that turn, it is a long way to the bottom.
At the local pizza place in the town at the bottom, Stites, I asked if they ever have any problems with people losing their brakes on the ride into town. The gal behind the bar didn’t recall any. I was amazed.
I ordered a rather nice pizza and couldn’t eat but half of it. I asked if she knew anyone that couldn’t afford a pizza and if she could box it up and give it to them, and she did. I hate to see perfectly good food go to waste. That was nice of her. Score one for the Stites Pizza parlor.
When I arrived in Lowell, Idaho, there was talk of temperatures in the mid 30’s F (2 C) so I wimped out and got a motel room. The thought of a hot shower, warm bed, and the Internet was just too compelling. Of course, as was often the case across Idaho, the Internet connection was a myth. There was hardly any signal in the room. I went sniffing around for the WiFi router and found it at the end of the building. Even standing next to it, with five bars of WiFi signal, the connection speed was abysmal. Smoke signals would have been quicker.
Idaho, being the potato state must be using a copper and zinc rod stuck into a potato to power the WiFi routers, I can’t believe how weak the signals are.
The sign lies; the old route actually goes up higher, maybe another 300-400 feet! Old route takes a right at the sign.
21 Miles. Only 21 miles and I was spent. It all started out well enough. I slept in the White Bird, Idaho, municipal building. I slept until about 04:00 am and then there was a very loud “bang.” I figured somebody was just shooting a rattlesnake somewhere and went back to sleep.
What I didn’t notice was everything was very dark. From the school house, I had seen some street lights when I went to sleep but didn’t pay much attention. The loud “bang” was a pole transformer blowing out. Not long afterwards, a crew showed up to repair things. I awoke to voices and flashlights, very powerful flashlights, shining everywhere. There must have been six or so people working on replacing the damage. It wasn’t an easy task, the pole isn’t on the road and is halfway between the highway above and the main road I was on.
They had to manually lug all that equipment up there to make the repairs. With all the rattlesnakes in the area, that must be a joy. I had considered going up to the local swimming hole before going to sleep but was warned that the area is crawling with rattlers, especially around sunset and I opted to avoid a confrontation.
The pole that needed repairs, in the dawn light.
Breakfast was not an option. The one cafe that does serve breakfast didn’t open until nine and the convenience store was not opened on the previous day, so I couldn’t stock up on anything. I set out as the sun was rising, hoping to make it over the pass in good time.
The climb up to White Bird Pass is long, arduous and hot. There is almost no shade at all and the sun just pounds down on anyone exposed to it. I started around sunrise, but by 10 am, it was stifling. I did have a good quantity of Gatorade and water, so at least I had liquids.
In spite of suffering the heat, the views were breathtaking.
Looking back from whence I had come. This is about a third of the way up the climb.The schoolhouse I started from is in the upper right-hand corner of the photo.The road just keeps going up and up. The new modern highway is way off in the distance on the upper-left of the photo. At one point this road joins it for about a mile. Add 100+ degrees F to really enjoy this.
In all, I spent about six hours climbing. I ended walking for about the last 1.5 miles (2.5 km), it was just too steep in my weakened condition to pedal. The new, modern, highway is an alternative, but it so busy with tractor trailer truck traffic and speeders that this older road is the better alternative. As it is, the old road does join the new highway for about a mile, and it is no joy.
I rolled into Grangeville, Idaho in mid-afternoon and made a beeline for a Mexican restaurant. I still wasn’t that hungry but knew I had to eat. I can recommend the Palenque Mexican Restaurant as an excellent place for a hungry biker. I must have looked a mess, yet they treated me with kindness, caring and lots of cold drinks and the food was very good. I had Arroz con Pollo (Rice with chicken) and finished it all. I ordered from the luncheon menu, hoping for smaller portions, but it was still huge.
I decided, once again, that I just wanted to be indoors tonight and opted for a hotel. I’m going to break the bank, but the heat is killing me.
After a shower and nap, I walked into town for a milkshake, I’ve been yearning one. I had one at a place called Yummies. The fellow that runs the place told me he has been thinking about expanding into something to go along with the ice cream business. I suggested he think about an idea that my father-in-law had, the late Roger Veilleux. Roger was from Maine and thought that a fast-food business based on beans and potatoes would be a winner. I agree. So many people like beans and baked potatoes. The trick would be to come up with a cone-like container for beans and a convenient way for someone to walk away with a ready-to-eat baked potato. Idaho, being the Nation’s potato capital could easily fill that bill. I could see the young man’s gears in his head whirring. If he tries this and succeeds, you heard it here first.
Grass-fired steam tractor.
One of the great things about hiking and biking, as I’ve mentioned before is getting to see the local towns through a different lens. As I walked around Grangeville this evening, I took in many of the historic markers around town and this tractor caught my eye. It looked big, heavy and powerful and ran on burning dried grass, or wood when they could get it. It was impressive looking and I could just see them out in the fields sweating away, feeding fuel into this monster to keep it running.
Not far from where I am staying there is a museum of Mammoth bones that have been found in the area. This area of the world is known for its mammoth finds. As much as I should spend some time seeing all this, I will head out in the morning. It is essentially a long, gradual climb to Missoula, Montana from here and I could be there in a few more day, it is about 166 miles.
After a good night’s stay, with a really decent motel, good WiFi, and good sleep, I was ready to go. The evening meal the night before was just so-so. I went to a BBQ place and had the smallest plate of ribs, baked potato that I could find. The food was okay, but the service was terrible.
Outside my room there were two chaps from California that were seeing the country on motorcycles, one was riding a Triumph, and the other, a Suzuki. I was surprised that they’re still making the Triumphs in the UK, I figured by now it would just be in name only.
Anyway, I digress. After an egg and sausage sandwich (obviously a frozen thing cooked in a microwave and not very good) from the motel, I was off. I was looking forward to today, the profile map showed a mostly downhill ride to White Bird. The first thirty-five miles did not disappoint. I hardly had to pedal. On the other hand, the weather was cold, so much so, that I had to put on all my warm clothing and had to stop about every ten miles to let my hands warm up, even with good gloves.
I recall at one stop the cows all stood in the field and just looked at me. Like so many of the cattle I have seen along this ride, they just don’t know what to make of me. Am I a weird looking predator? Do I have a treat? They look at me with a wary eye, yet something else is there in their gaze. The young bulls eye me up as if daring me to jump over that fence and the females with calves seem uninterested and the calves view me as something they could frolic with. A few even jump up and down and romp around.
I’m getting closer to the North Pole, I wonder when it will start getting cooler?
I could see the breath from all the cows and they seemed relieved to have a break from the hot sun, we all did.
As I was flying downhill for a change, I came upon some sort of ruckus on the road ahead. I could see a few vehicles and motorcycles pulled over in a rest spot and then realized that there was a crashed motorcycle off on the left side of the road, a big motorcycle. It was a shiny and new looking Harley Davidson full dresser. It appeared the driver had lost control in the turn. The machine was really messed up, the front wheel was hanging off, but the rider was limping around and appeared to be relatively unscathed. He was lucky, those turns around there have thousand foot drops on one side and walls on the other.
Riggins, Idaho, considers itself the White Water Capital of Idaho. With such a dry season this year, it wasn’t too “white.”
I stopped along the way to watch the white water rafting, it looked like fun, but the water was a little tame with all the drought this year.
There are dozens of signs warning of stock and game animals. I can attest to running into dozens of deer.
I get a kick out of the hunting channels on TV. They make it sound like the most difficult thing in the world to bag a deer, yet this old geezer on a bicycle could have bagged about twenty so far. What gives?
As I travel eastbound, I am seeing many riders going west, finishing their cross-country rides. They make me feel so inadequate. I’m only approaching my first 1000 miles (1660 km) and they’ve already done three or four times that. I ran into a group of fourteen young people today, a group that is riding an Adventure Cycling Assoc. ride from the east coast, to the west. I hope to hear from them, they took a photo of me and I wish I had down likewise.
It made me proud to see all these young people out, walking-the-walk, so to put it. These rides are difficult and trying, and here they are out facing one of the toughest challenges of their young lives. More power to them, they’ll carry this experience with them forever.
Old gold mine along SR 95 out of Riggins, ID
I ran into a gold mine just out of Riggins, ID. It was right next to the road, across from the Salmon River. Oddly, few people see it as they whiz along at 80 MPH. I stopped and poked around. I guess somebody found a huge nugget of gold here at one time, maybe 1875. The area had several gold rushes.
The results of hydraulic mining. All for some gold.
I stopped a little further along and viewed a historical marker that described hydraulic mining. I wonder how much gold they actually found?
This is the beauty of traveling by bicycle, as tough as it can be. By slowing the world down you find things that you’d never see flying along.
Bar in the Mac’s Supper Bar. One fellow told me the bar has been there since 1873. The bar itself was built in St. Louis, MO and shipped there.
Mac’s Supper Bar in White Bird, ID is a mostly, family-run business. I was just about totally dried up and parched when I arrived there. I didn’t even want anything to eat. The heat was just so oppressive. The bar keepers, Jason and Asher, kept the liquids flowing. They then filled me on on the town, it’s history and where I could camp for the night.
They also pointed out several bullet “ricochets” in the bar. I’d bet there are some stories behind those.
Mac’s bar ricochets.
The camping choices were across the street from the bar, on what they called the “park,” really just a small lawn with a very nice veterans memorial, or up at the school. After cooling down I went to check the park, and would have stayed, however, it lacked any sort of bathroom facility and the electrical outlet on the side of the building had no power. They did have running water.
Note my camping spot for the night, where the bicycle is.
The school is no longer an operational school, it is just used as a municipal building. It has a nice playground next to it and green lawn. The problem with green lawns as any hiker/biker knows is: if everything is brown in the area and the grass is green, there must be sprinklers. Many sprinkler systems are timed to run during the night. Not wanting to risk getting soaked, I opted to sleep in the vestibule to the building. As it turns out, the sprinklers never did run, but at least I didn’t waste time putting up a tent. With my sleeping pad, the concrete is not as bad as it seems.
