That was our second day on the Idaho Hot Springs Mountain Bike Route (IHSMBR) this past August/September; a trip that was decidedly a practice run for the Great Divide next summer. I really wasn't sure if I was having fun.
The days would continue on like this, where the mood lifted and fell like sharp slopes of the Sawtooth Mountain Range of Idaho. It was almost guaranteed that if we had a morning of blissful, cool riding, we would be punished for the entire afternoon by dusty, slogging uphills under a relentless western sun. But today giant snowflakes are falling in Minneapolis and it brings me right back to waking up at Redfish Lake, outside of Stanley, to see that the mountains had gotten their first substantial snow of the season overnight, meaning that even on our sixth day in Idaho (and 2nd visit to Stanley, actually) everything was new and different again. And it was fun. It was the kind of fun that whispers to you in the middle of a boring meeting or an uncomfortable forced interaction over the holiday season and says, "Remember cooling your muscles in a trout stream after a long day of riding? Remember the weightless feeling of riding from the top of a mountain into the valley below? You're gonna have that again. Not today, but soon."
Below is the story of one of our best adventures yet, as told through excerpts from my memory and journal entries.
Journal Entry: Thursday, August 27. Left Minneapolis after work today. Drove to Jamestown, ND where the Hampton Inn is swankier than one would imagine. Don't think Aaron was too pleased about me insisting that we unload the bikes from the car rack and bring them in the hotel, but I wasn't ready to let our preparations go to shit by having our bikes stolen. Things we enjoyed: a king bed, a hot shower, free hot breakfast, crappy cable TV.
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| Loaded up and ready to ride/drive! |
Journal Entry: Friday, August 28. Ate ourselves stupid on giant slabs of beef almost immediately upon crossing into Montana. God Bless America.
Drove all the way into Bozeman, Montana today. The last time we were here we were en route to meet my family for a good, ol'-fashioned family vacation to Yellowstone National Park. It was August 2012, we had been engaged for all of two weeks, and we signed a purchase agreement for a house in Minneapolis from our cell phones in the lobby of the Bozeman airport. Today we headed straight for the whiskey distillery (Roughstock Whiskey). Aaron asked to do a tasting, which essentially amount to 5 shots of whiskey in less than 5 minutes. #YOLO?
Set up camp in the Gallatin National Forest and drove into Big Sky for dinner and beers at Lone Peak Brewery.
When we were in Yellowstone in 2012, we stopped for a late lunch/early dinner at a kitschy joint called Buckaroo Bob's (or Buckaroo Bill's). We had been hiking and sightseeing all day, and my hunger had turned to anger hours ago. We sat at a booth near the front of the dining area, and the waitress said, "Do y'all wanna sit in the back?" and I was in NO MOOD and snapped, "Nope. This is fine." We had an unremarkable meal and were about to leave when Aaron got up to use the bathroom, which was through the back room. He came back with this strange look on his face and said, "Did you SEE the back room?! You need to LOOK at the BACK ROOM." I pulled back these curtains with a cowboy on them and feasted my eyes on a low-lit, sunken room. In the center, a fake fire pit and taxidermied diorama of wolves hunting a small buffalo. Around the edges of the room, each table was fashioned like a covered wagon, full of happy diners feasting by flickering light. It was kitschy. It was magical. It was... not ours, because I insisted on staying put in the formica-filled front room. This has remained one of the gravest mistakes of my adult life. This background will also help the following journal entry make a lot more sense.
Journal Entry: Saturday, August 29. Hit the road before 7AM in hopes of getting into West Yellowstone to have breakfast at Buckaroo Bob's (Bill's?) to make up for the Most Egregious Error of 2012. Buckaroo Bob/Bill's not open for breakfast on Saturdays. Lesson: If a restaurant says they have a covered wagon room, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SIT IN THE DAMN COVERED WAGON ROOM!
Ate breakfast at Ernie's, another West Yellowstone favorite, and hit the road. Hoping we get to Sun Valley early enough to take off on the bikes this afternoon.
I knew we were in a strange and special place almost as soon as we entered the state of Idaho on the highway. The landscape was so different from anything else I have ever seen. And we drove through a giant research facility (the Idaho National Laboratories), which had my spidey-senses tingling after binge watching X-Files over the summer. We stopped at Craters of the Moon National Monument, because those are the kinds of things you do on a road trip.
Journal Entry: Saturday, August 29. Pulled into Ketchum around 1PM. Had lunch and ran errands (groceries, fishing license). Parked at Sun Valley Lodge, loaded the bikes, and took off around 4:30PM. Did just 10 miles today to acclimate and just be on the trail. The thin air is noticeable and I am battling allergies-- not exactly the specimen of fitness I hoped to be.
Campground hosts have the 10 Commandments posted at their campsite. Welcome to Idaho!
At that first stop we ran into another cyclist who had just finished the route. He asked us if we knew about the road washout at the southern edge of the route. We did not. He turned out to be one of the most critical characters we would encounter on this trip.
Journal Entry: Monday, August 31. Yesterday we drug our tired carcasses into Stanley after a hell of a day. Technically, we met our mileage goal for the day, but we were totally wrecked.
The morning push up Galena pass was more than I bargained for and drained all of my energy by 2PM, with still 40 miles to go. In the afternoon we realized this trip could only be enjoyable if we cut our mileage and take the Lowman Cutoff Alternative Route. We decided on a night at a hotel, a hot meal, a dip in the hot springs, and some beer. A fresh start today was exactly what we needed.
There were some highlights from yesterday: A gorgeous view from the resort hot springs, riding through a herd of sheep, and-- of course-- the part where we didn't quit.
Today the riding was easier and thus the moods were higher. There was a substantial amount of route that seemed to pass through the highest concentrations of cow shit in Idaho. 32 miles of paved downhill riding was righteous. Stopped for a Coca Cola (nectar of the gods!) at a gas station in Kirkham. Out front, a large confederate flag waved in the hot breeze. In bold letters printed right on the flag, "Heritage, Not Hate." Welcome to Idaho!
That was my last journal entry while on route, but I did write a bit more about it immediately after vacation.
Journal Entry: Tuesday, September 8. On Tuesday, Day 4 of the ride, we finished the Lowman Cutoff into Garden Valley where we dined on Donettes and Gatorade for lunch. We took advantage of an electrical outlet and cell service as well. From there we had a pretty challenging series of climbs on our way to Idaho City. At times, it was defeating for me to still be struggling with the riding.
We made it into Idaho City wishing we had had a better day, wishing Idaho City had more services, and then learning that the road between Featherville and Ketchum (our final leg) was still washed out and would remain impassable. The Adventure Cycling Association and the Forest Service were incredible resources and did provide us two alternative routes, but by that time we were mentally out of the game. I spent a lot of time crying about this on the dusty boardwalks of Idaho City.
I emailed my parents that evening to let them know plans had changed, and ended with, "The trip has been much harder than we anticipated. We have still met so many of our goals, but the riding is so different... we have struggled at times. Still, we feel we are thriving in Idaho and as Aaron always says, 'It's not an adventure until something goes wrong.' Well, we are on a hell of an adventure!"
Mom answered almost immediately with, "I have been faithfully following your beacon/signal and happy to see your progress. You should be so proud of yourselves." So, then I spent some more time crying.
(Journal entry continues). We decided to drown our sorrows at
We never quite shook the air of defeat that night. Our plan was to bike into Boise and rent a car to drive back to Ketchum, but we had two route options. One was to continue to follow the route over Bald Mountain (a huge summit) and take 2 fulls days into Boise. The other was a one day trip along the highway. Neither felt good-- the 2 day trip still promised to be arduous and yet the highway route felt a lot like quitting.
Wednesday morning we found ourselves investigating the map once more and realized Forest Service Road #377 would keep us off the highway for a large stretch of the route to Boise but also save us the misery of the Bald Mountain summit.
Well, Forest Service Road #377 is not a road. It is a dry streambed labeled as a road. Followed by a deeply sandy uphill with a trench worn down by the water running down the center of the trail/road/thing. Much Hike-A-Bike was had. We were thusly rewarded by 20 miles of downhill, 'round a giant reservoir, and another lunch of donuts.
We rode right into the Boise airport, rented a car, and drove back to Ketchum.
We spent the next few days bumming around Ketchum and back up to Stanley. We ate a lot of beef and potatoes (God Bless America) and I had "the most delightful bubble bath in the history of bathing." We fished, we camped, we hung our at some of Ernest Hemingway's favorite places, and we spent a night in the Tetons before loading it all up and heading back to Minneapolis.
