Idaho Hot Springs Mountain Bike Route: "It's Not an Adventure Until Something Goes Wrong."

Sunday, August 30, 2015: Kate, after struggling to pedal up a mountain slope filled with fist-sized rocks, bordered by a drop-off that no doubt has a name like 'Broken Neck Gulch,' gasping at the thin air, stops to exclaim, "Is this fun? I mean, not sarcastically. Like, are we actually having fun right now? I can't tell if this is fun. This is not the most straightforward fun I have ever had."

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. 

Loaded up and ready to ride/drive!

Wildfires were burning all over in the Western part of the US and Canada, particularly in Oregon and Idaho, making the air through North Dakota and Montana extremely hazy and making the drive through North Dakota more boring than I think even God intended it to be.

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 a bar the bar in Idaho City, HD's Hideout. This ended up being a great mood-lifter and maybe one of the best parts of the trip on what was otherwise my worst day. We chatted with the bartender, owner, and several locals about bikepacking, Idaho culture, the town, etc. 

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.

Idaho Ho!

T-minus 48 hours until Aaron and Kate tally forth westward to spend a week backcountry mountain biking in central Idaho!  Bikes are ready, SPOT tracker is blinking, whiskey flask has been filled, and all systems are go!

Race Recap: The Lutsen 99er, or How I Learned to Love My Bike

Hello adventurers,

In January, Kate and I took a little ski holiday up to Lutsen Mountains.  I hadn't skied Lutsen in quite some time, so it was nice to get into some larger terrain, and it's a good intermediate step between Welch Village and the Rockies for those in our party who are still gaining expertise.

Anyways, when we were having coffee at the excellent Moondance coffeehouse, right off Highway 61, we couldn't help but note the large wall plastered with photos from a mountain bike race held every summer known as the Lutsen 99er.  As you may imagine, this involves racing 99 miles up and around the Sawtooth Mountains.  Being in the general spirit of newness that always accompanies a new year, I declared my intention to complete the race, thinking "well, it can't be that hard," and that it would be good prep for the Great Divide.

I did do some due diligence.  I asked my brother-in-law, who works for Erik's Bike, and another relative who is way into mountain bike racing, their thoughts on the race, and if my rigid Salsa Fargo Ti would be an appropriate steed.  In both cases, I was told, more or less: "Oh yeah, you can do it, no problem.  That Fargo is a great bike for this race!"  I think we all shared the impression that the race was primarily on unmaintained gravel and forest service roads - nothing to sniff it, but also not super technical.

I was relieved to hear this.  People get oddly emotional about bikes, and oddly attached.  Once you come up with a name for your bike, you know you've reached a good place.  The past year, I've done most of my riding on my All-City, which is a fantastic all around bike that I have dubbed the "Duke of Orange" (pronounced "orahngshe").  After I purchased a fatbike this winter, I went to town riding that thing out and about.  Right now, I have it named "Fatty!" - with the explanation mark.

Left behind in the shuffle has been my Fargo.  Objectively, it's the nicest bike I own, and when I would tell other bike people that I own a titanium mountain bike, their eyes would widen with jealousy.  But for whatever reason, neither that beautiful silvery sheen, nor the fact that I specifically purchased it for the grand adventure that I am always dreaming of, has led to the type of love I thought would have surely developed by now.  It didn't have a name.  Something had to spice things up.  So to try and help our relationship, I decided I would ride it in the Lutsen 99er.

So in the meantime, I did a couple century rides, did the Almanzo 100, went down in the river bottoms and screwed around, yada, yada, yada.  To be clear, I am not a good mountain biker.  I don't know how to navigate rocks or other obstacles, and actively stop to walk over them most of the time.  I just don't have the confidence.  While I wasn't so naive to think that I wouldn't encounter some bumps on the 99er, I had no expectation of long stretches of singletrack.  While I wouldn't say that I DIDN'T ride, I wouldn't say that I trained either.  But I figured, "It can't be that hard - I'll just take my time."

The Race

The Friday before the race, we took a leisurely drive up to Lutsen, stopping at one of our favourite northern Minnesota breweries, the fabulous Castle Danger Brewing in Two Harbors.

Once we finally arrived, there was a great atmosphere at the Lutsen base village where I went to pick up my race materials.  Lots of people on mountain bikes, lots of cheerful looking cyclists drinking beer, lots of northwoods vibe.  Such was the feel-goodedness that Kate expressed on numerous occasion how sad she was that she was not doing the ride.  "Next year," I replied.

Oddly cheery at the start.

I did not lack for blind confidence.

The first inkling I had that something was about to go seriously wrong was the next morning, as I lined up at the start with the other 99er participants.  Around me were hundreds of men and women with high-tech, full suspension MTB rides.  A handful of people were on fatbikes with the tire pressure dialed way down low, but the vast majority were on bikes specifically built for singletrack riding.  While my Fargo is a beautiful machine, I was the only person that I could see with a fully rigid, non-suspended bike, and certainly the only person with long distance style drop bars.  The drop bars are ideal for long days in the saddle, but don't afford quite the same control over rough terrain.  I thought quizzically to myself - "I wonder if this is going to be bumpy?"

The first ten or so miles were on pavement, and went easily enough.  I was feeling strong, the weather was beautiful, and I snickered to myself as the more efficient Fargo sped up climbs past the MTBers on their inefficient full suspensions.

And then, the pavement ended.  And the semi-maintained forest service road I had expected did not appear.

Instead, I found myself riding over what I would best describe as a scree field - the unfortunate summertime underpinning of all those delightful northern Minnesota winter ski and snowmobile trails.  The type of trail that I would never ride recreationally, for fear of not being able to navigate.  For those of you unfamiliar with bicycle suspensions, the purpose is generally twofold.  First, the suspension helps keep the tires on the ground, which of course increases stability, efficiency, and performance.  Second, it improves rider comfort by damping the impact of going over so many bumps, thus saving the rider from any number of ailments in his/her hands, arms, back, legs, etc.

I was devoid of any of these benefits.  While punctuated by brief respites on gravel roads, the next 50 or so miles consisted of myself and my bike flinging ourselves headlong down narrow, winding singletrack covered with rocks the same way barnacles might cover a pier.  I can honestly say I was terrified.  When I did have a few merciful miles of gravel, I simultaneously contemplated the sorry state of my existence, while dreading the pink arrow directing me back into the woods.  Physically, I was exhausted, not so much from the pedaling, but from the brutal bounce of my bike over the terrain, which jackhammered from my wrists through my entire body.  Mentally, I was beyond fatigued from trying to read the lines in the trail, to best navigate the obstacles without hurtling myself over the handlebars.  Emotionally, well, let's just say I regularly shouted out strings of expletives cursing those who I deemed had wronged me, or led me through 99 miles of apocalyptic hellscape on such an ill-equipped bike.  Spiritually, I questioned why the good Lord would let His children suffer in such a fashion.

At mile 60, I stumbled into a rest stop in what I think is the worst condition I can ever remember being in - some sadistic combination of what felt like the worst hangover I've ever had and a full body ache that was akin to a constant electric current.  I have little doubt that if I had been given the opportunity, I would have quit then and there.  That option not being available, I sat in a heap, forcing stale PB&Js down my throat while desperately trying to glug as much gatorade as I could.  Slowly, painfully, I straddled my bike and pressed on.

Blessed gravel section

I wanted to blame the bike.  After all the money I had spent, how could it treat me so unkindly?  How was I supposed to love a machine that was actively causing me so much misery?  Slowly, as I regained some semblance of humanity between miles 60 and 70, I realized that the bike was as unhappy as I was.  Like me and my lack of training, it lacked the preparation to travel over such extreme terrain.  Like me, it was doing its best.  Despite all the punishment I had inflicted on it, the mud sprays, the rocks, the grass stuck in the derailleurs, the bike had not quit.

At this point, I resolved that I would not quit either.  I would finish the race.  Whether it was some misguided sense of pride, or the promise of free Fulton beer at the finish, or some sort of cosmic "fuck you," I pressed on.  It wasn't easy, as I dealt with at least 10 more miles of singletrack, an extreme bonk around mile 90, and a grueling 250 foot climb to the finish line.  But, nearly 10 hours after I had departed, I finished.

Yay.

Dirt Tan

I was told later by Kate that when they saw me coming up the final hill, I looked as if I had been suffering with pneumonia for days.  There was active curiosity as to whether I would survive.  Once I finally got the long awaited beer, I was so exhausted that I promptly spilled it all over myself.  I wasn't hungry, wasn't thirsty - I just wanted to collapse.

The Aftermath

It turns out I unwittingly turned myself into something of a folk legend - at Voyageur Brewing in Grand Marais post-race, I actually overheard a table of racers talking about that guy that was doing the 99er on a rigid Salsa Fargo, and what a BAMF he was.  Also, about how much he must be hurting.  I coolly acknowledged to them that I was, in fact, the rider in question, and yes, I was in fact hurting.

It is true that I was unprepared.  It is true that my Fargo was not the ideal bike for me to ride.  But like I alluded to, despite the adversity, both myself and the bike pulled through.  We held it together.  While I was trying desperately to navigate in and around the rocks on the trail, I was reminded of that scene in The Empire Strikes Back, where Han Solo pilots the Millennium Falcon through the asteroid field outside of Hoth, trying to evade the Imperial Fleet:


I won't claim to be as good a pilot as Han Solo, but at long last, I came up with a name for my Fargo.

The Titanium Falcon.

On to the next.

Megamoon

Hello adventurers,

A fantastic website Kate and I have come across - Bikepacking.com - recently posted this short film about an English couple that decides to bike the Great Divide for their honeymoon.  As the (estimated) one year countdown until our expedition has passed, I'd highly recommend the 19 minutes out of your day to share in their story.



Hoping to have more content posted on a regular basis in the next couple months.  In less than a month, we're road-tripping out to Idaho to spend 7 days bike touring in the Boise and Sawtooth National Forests!

Back on the Bike

Hello adventurers,

Aaron here.  Well, it appears more than a year has passed since we've posted an update on our Great Divide preparations.  Now, lest you assume that our plans to tackle the GDMBR have been cast aside by work, so-called adult obligations, or other such silly ideas, let me respond to that with an emphatic "NO!"  

2014 - The Year That Was

2014 was an interesting one in terms of GDMBR prep.  It lacked the new car smell of 2013, what with the gleaming pair of Salsa Fargo Ti's shimmering in our garage and the initial burst of excitement that comes with any foolhardy idea.  The GDMBR was still out there, but very much in the back of our minds rather than the forefront, and to be perfectly honest, we did not prioritize any multi-night, or even overnight, bike trips.

I think we prioritized cycling in other ways.  In April, we took a trip to America's self proclaimed "Bicycle Capital."  We simply had to compare.

If you have to paint it on a building, isn't there some insecurity here?

Much biking was had.



We watched some football.

Go Thorns!

Futbal, not football.

Beers and donuts were also consumed:

Voodoo.

Blue Star

Deschutes Taproom.

So let's be real here - we did pretty much the same things on a weekend in Portlandia as we would in a weekend in MPLS.  Is the bike infrastructure impressive?  Sure, it is - gotta give credit where credit is due.  Is it superior to that in Minneapolis?  I think that's debatable.

On my end, I had a job change in midsummer, and my new office's location in downtown Minneapolis has made it incredibly easy to more fully commit to commuting by bicycle.  I'm pretty proud to say that over the first two months, I only drove my car once or twice - the rest is by bike.  Along with commuting, I tried to be more intentional about using my bike as a vehicle, and to prioritize trips around the city by bike.

Clearly, the work commute demands a more stylish helmet.

At that same time, I lost a little in terms of riding for the sheer sake of riding.  While I did partake in the 100 mile Fulton Gran Fondo last May, that was my only significant ride of the year.  

Sold my Trek road bike this year, so the Space Horse is doing double duty.

I did some mountain biking in Lebanon Hills in June, and as is my wont, traveled much faster than I probably should have on a level of trail I probably shouldn't have been on.  The highlight would probably be the fleeting moment of flight that I experienced hurtling through the air, untethered from both earth and machine, before landing in a bed of thistles.  Unfortunately for public decency, the scene proved rather macabre, and more than one frightened onlooker glanced at me in horror as I biked back to my car with my left shin consisting of a pulsating mush of torn skin, dirt, and thick red blood.  Oh, you wanted to see the scar - sure thing!  

Tis' but a flesh wound.

I eventually got back on the bike, and spent a great afternoon exploring the MN River Bottoms:

I got dirty - trust me.

Just need to keep breaking it in.

Kate and I met my good friend Benjamin and his spouse for some Nordic-festing and bike riding around Decorah and along the Root River Trail in southern Minnesota.

Fun!

I bought a fatbike.  I'm not going to apologize about it.  I love this thing.

In the River Bottoms, below Cedar Ave.

Thug life.

Ride down frozen Minnehaha Creek.

The fatbike also lets you catch winter sunsets such as this:

Here's the thing about the fatty - it has opened doors for me to types of riding I would never have done otherwise.  Commute in the snow?  No problem.  Singletrack mountain biking?  No problem.  Riding over those logs, rocks, curbs, small children, just because you can?  No problem.  It's slow as hell, kind of awkward to handle, super heavy, and you can't wipe the grin off your face pedaling it.   

For her part, I think Kate wished she would have spent more time astride the saddle.  Instead, she focused much more on her running activities, and as I understand it, was quite pleased with herself.  At the same time, Kate is MILITANTLY opposed to driving of any sort, so it was fairly predictable which way she would go when I suggested we either (a) bike or (b) she drives.

2015 - The Year That Is And Shall Be

2016 = GDMBR

2015 = Now

2016-2015 = one year

As the calendar turned to 2015, its slowly been dawning on us that the time is nigh to get real.  Next summer, we're riding 2,700 miles from Canada to Mexico.  We better figure our shit out, fast.

So that's what we're doing!  The highlight is most assuredly going to be our weeklong tour of the Idaho Hot Springs Mountain Bike Route in September!  Maps have been purchased, dates have been set, methods for shipping bikes investigated, and we're stoked to do some serious Divide prep.  We're treating the IHSMBR as the proving grounds, in effect, for our Divide trip in 2016.  Similar terrain, similar altitude, and the goal is to take the same bike setup out to Idaho that we will set out with from Banff a year hence.  We're going to see what works, what doesn't work, how far we can bike per day, if we don't kill each other, etc.  Plus, the IHSMBR has the benefit of crossing multitudes of hot springs and some of the best trout streams in the country.  So yes, a fly rod will be in my kit!

What else has been going on?  Both of us are committed to more long distance riding.  I am signed up for the Fulton Gran Fondo for the second consecutive year.  Kate and I are planning to do the Almanzo in May, which is a 100 mile self supported gravel ride through southern Minnesota near Spring Grove.  And, in a moment of "better me!" styled new year hysteria, I signed up for the Lutsen 99er, which is (you guessed it) a 99 mile mountain bike race through and around Lutsen, MN.  If you can't ski, you may as well bike, right?

We've also been stocking up on gear and pimping out our bikes.  We bought a SPOT tracker device, which is a GPS beacon to help folks back home track our progress, and also can be used to call for help in case of an emergency.

We're investigating different gear setups, and deciding what other sort of bags we may need.  I think the two of us are planing on upgrading certain components on our bikes - for example, upgrading to carbon bikepacking forks and going to a tubeless tire setup.  Kate got a Salsa Anything Cage HD for Christmas, so she's totally set!

Basically, our plan is to get all Xzibit on this and PIMP OUR BIKES!!

The Ride

The Divide is still out there, approaching ever closer.  One thing that has been helpful is to read accounts of others who have done the GDMBR, either racing the Tour Divide or otherwise.  A few books we've enjoyed thus far:

• Eat, Sleep, Ride by Paul Howard
• Be Brave, Be Strong: A Journey Across the Great Divide by Jill Homer
• Dividing the Great by John Metcalfe
• Cycling the Great Divide: From Canada to Mexico on North America's Premier Long-Distance Mountain Bike Route by Mike McCoy

It's helpful to read how other people deal with and react to the Divide and its many challenges, but ultimately, this journey is our own.  I am excited to see where 2015 takes us.