Day 61

Calm morning on the lake.

Ma and I had a fine pancake breakfast and then started splitting up stuff. This was mine, you take this, I could use that, and so on. She left me with a couple days worth of good too.

Teary-eyed, she watched me go. Don't know why it was so emotional- not like I hadn't already gone 2,500 before I met her... but once a mother, always a mother.

I was aiming for Republic. Not a big day, but I figured the first day with gear again I could take it easy. So I rode out and onto highway 20 again and started west.

I was in the middle of the Colville National Forest, the Kettle range. About two hours went by and I realized it hadn't done anything but uphill the entire time. Something must be up... Looked at the map again. I was in the right spot. Then I looked at the elevation profile, something I hadn't done yesterday.

Well that was why. Sherman pass. Maybe it was a blessing I only realized when I was already halfway up.

So I chugged and I chugged. Pouring sweat. Logging trucks ripped down the road next to me, but other than them, there was hardly any traffic.

The forest was gorgeous, no doubt. Took a rest at an old CCC camp. There was the remnants of a cabin and a sign that read "Little America." They had been working to build a dam on Sherman Creek to create a lake for a Campground they would build, but when 1942 came around, Lumber became much more important and they abandoned the camp. The dam was taken out in 2006. Sherman Creek looked happy to be flowing freely again.

I trudged some more and finally about 2:30 I made it to the top.

Not incredibly scenic but a relief nonetheless. This climb makes the Sun Road and Logan Pass feel like a walk in the park.

I had done 3800 vertical feet in just under 20 miles. And of course the elevation that had taken me four hours to go up took me only 40 minutes to go down. The thrill of flying down a mountain pass will never go away. The speed feels so well deserved. I did stop however to take some photos on the way down. There's so much more to look at when you're not staring at the pavement in front of you like while cranking uphill.

So I came to the bottom, bone-dry after having been completely soaked at the top. Hadn't been able to find water towards the top so when I saw a gas station just outside the town of Republic, I pulled over. There were two other bicycles loaded up outside the front door. I went in and got water from the bathroom, and found the other cyclists sitting in the conjoined Cafe. They were a South African couple, middle-aged, and had ridden all the way from Fort Lauderdale, Florida. They'd been on the road 11 weeks. We commiserated on the climb, and how  unflinchingly steeping it been. They said they were headed for the fairgrounds tonight in Republic, so I said I might meet them there. I really didn't have any plans and figured there wasn't a whole lot in Republic for me, so when I saw the fairgrounds I rode in.

There was a big open Barn for the fair, and a rodeo stockade across the creek. The grassy lawn had some other trailers already there. I found a shady spot near the creek and investigated more. The bathhouse had showers. 25 cents for 3 minutes of warm water, but cold was free, so I washed myself and washed my clothes down by the creek.

Bathroom had some great body-affirming graffiti.

The South Africans pulled in and found a spot on the other side a little later. I waved.

Around when I was pulling my stove together, two hikers walked in with big backpacks. My hair was still wet from the shower and I was wearing nothing but my shorts, and I walked up to the younger man and said hey. He spoke with an Australian accent. They had hiked from Olympics and we're going all the way to Glacier. He looked tired and a little bewildered. I wasn't surprised, it was hot. So I let him be while they set up camp. Later, after I cooked myself dinner, I went over again. I was curious. They were the only long-distance hikers I had met so far. I walked over with my dinner pot in hand and said "mind if I chow here and ask you about your travels?" The woman obliged gladly, and offered me a swig of whiskey. Her name was Jeannie, a middle-aged woman who was the aunt of Toby, the guy I had spoken to before. It had been her idea to walk to her sister's wedding in Montana, and convinced her nephew to come along. They had really loved the Olympics and Cascades but had had to take a detour because of forest fires and all the smoke, which is how they ended up here. She had been an environmental lawyer for 30 years and we chatted for a while about that and what it's like to go on an adventure like this. She said something which I immediately agreed with, though I had never thought of it that way myself. She said, "People always say you're crazy when you want to do something like this, but what they don't realize is that they could too, they just can't get their mind around it. If you free your mind your ass will follow, ya know."

After I did dishes and left them, she brought over to me a packet of 'Nido', a Mexican powdered milk she believed to be superior to the average brand. I took it gladly.

Spend the evening listening to the creek beside my tent. Think I can make it to Okanagan tomorrow? We shall see.

Day 60

60. Dang.

Things got going early in Ione. Most of the trailers unloaded thier sleds and headed to the river pretty early. I was up with them and began walking towards the road when I saw a big group of other cyclists fly by on the road. That's funny, I thought. Later, as I rode through downtown again, past all the ruckus and over to highway 20, I saw signs reading "bicyclist on roadway." Pleased to pretend they were there specifically for me, I pedaled with gusto up in the hills.

The first hill of the day was pretty sizeable and I began to run across more cyclists. They had jerseys on, rode fast roadbikes, and had numbers pinned to them. As more and more passed me, I realized I was in the midst of a race. I let some more pass me politely, then began to think, "I've been training two months on this bike. I might as well see what I can do." So I kicked it up a notch and started passing people. After the big hill, packs began to form and I hopped onto the back of one and use their draft. It was pretty fun and I guess I fit right in because I had on my neon green shirt and was keeping up with them.

Eventually I asked a guy who was falling back some "What is this shindig anyway? How many of you are there?" Fella said it was a race across Washington. They do it in under a week, and there's about 250 of them. Today was thier first day.

There came a lovely looking falls right on the roadside. I stopped to look, and so did some of the other racers (it wasn't intensely competative).

Got to talking to some of the racers at the falls. After a short conversation I went and sat on the guard rail for a rest. When I was getting ready to go, they came back over and said "We were just talking about how much we'd like to do what you're doing right now." I said "Do it. It's the ride of a lifetime." And I meant it.

Eventually I got tired of having all these bikers on the road. Guess I'm spoiled from having ridden on so many empty roads.  So I took a side road off highway 20, where I assumed they were going, and got into some really pretty country (or perhaps just started noticing it).

Got so into the scenery I got kinda lost and off track, but I ended up on the highway and rode it into Colville. Found the park and rested. A bluegrass band was practicing "I like the Christian Life." I sang along from my picnic bench not far away. Made some phone calls to friends and studied the maps of the road ahead. When I was satisfied and my spot was no longer in the shade, I rode through downtown Colville.

Had an excellently punny store...

The ride from Colville to Kettle Falls was pretty easy. Hot in the early afternoon but I was enjoying myself.

Then proof that I was really in Washington afterall came before me. The Columbia River. Though dammed in this spot to make Lake Theodore Roosevelt, it still felt important coming across it. Rode south off of 20 to a funny forest service campground a little out of the way. The weekenders were gone and it was quiet. Wasted no time getting in the water. Mama cooked up burgers later on. Glorious. Decided she'd be heading home tomorrow and leaving me on my own again. A good time having her along.

A fine day all in all. July is almost gone.

Day 59

An easy day, not by design, but by chance. Love it when that happens.

After the scramble to find camp last night,  decided to call around and book a spot for the night ahead of time. One less thing to worry about. And good thing I did, the town I was aiming for (Ione, Washington) was having its summer festival: "Down River Days." Typical of lots of little towns, they roll all the summet hoopla into one big weekend to get everybody from the local and sometimes regional area to come out. But I'll get to this more later...

First thing I did was go back to Idaho- just for a minute. Crossed the Pend Orielle River and found a smaller road that paralleled the highway that would take me all the way to Ione. Within a mile or two I was back in Washington.

These back roads never have very good "Welcome to so-n-so" signs, but the county-line sign is good enough. Was feeling a lot more ready for this occasion after being rested and coming to terms with being in the final state of the journey last night. Yesterday's entrance into washington was less than ceremonious...

So I began. The road was pleasant. Quiet and pretty tame. Consistent pavement and good shady pines lining both sides with occasional views of the river. Pretty hills rising here and there around the shoreline. Flipped on a podcast and learned all about the rise of the ancient Persian Empire while I glided without trouble down the road.

I saw a sign for the Kalispell Indian Reservation. This one looked a hell of a lot nicer than some others I've gone through
 Pretty small though...

Wondered how you say the name of that town:

Was it Usk like husk? Or Usk like "oosk"? Settled on Usk like "You-sk." Sounded the most natural.

Snapped out of the ridding daze when I saw a sign for Manresa Grotto. Don't really know what a grotto is, and I don't know who Manresa is so I figured it was worth checking out. There was a picnic bench under a pavilion, and a pit toilet (which was horrific inside...). Pulled Breezey over to the table and had a snack. While munching I looked down and who should I find but this little fellow staring up at me.

It was as though the table had known I was coming and had made a perfect caricature of me. A skinny mess of hair and beard, riding wide-eyed into the future. I felt lovingly mocked.

After I ate I went to find out west this grotto business was all about. Found a trail that lead to a set of stairs up a short slope towards a rocky cliff.  Then I saw this:

It lead into a large cavern inside the cliffs. Acousgics were phenomenal. Some stones had been assembled into benches and a table or altar of some sort built at the front. Looked like a great place for ceremonies. Too bad I had nothing in particular to celebrate.

The soft stone had been carved by visitors for quite some time it looked like.

Some just by the wind.

Hopped back om Breezey and made great time for another twenty miles. Took a lil snack n drink on the side of a dirt road and pushed on to Ione. Crossed a bright red bridge and found main street all decorared for the festival.

Found camp at the rv park which was filling quickly with trucks, motorhomes and trailers of all shapes and sizes. Many had snowmobiles in tow, which seemed odd for the middle of summer. But I found the reason when looking at the schedule of events for the weekend posted on the bulletin board:

(It's worth skimming if you haven't read it yet). Tomorrow morning's main event is the Snowmobile Water Cross competition. I guess they ride thier hogs across the water? Sounds reckless- who knows, maybe it's a good ole time. Either way, I'll be out of here by then.

After I had a shower in the bathhouse I did go for a walk downtown to check things out. Town was mostly comprised of 4 different bar & grill establishments facing off down the main street. A phone booth stood by a bench and I picked up the reciever. Still had a dial tone!

Down at the city park there was a bouncy  house and pool, and many vendors selling the average fried or chilled treats, and then lots more selling crafts and goods of various kinds. The townsfolk were mostly by the river cooling of in the shade (it was almost 100 today) or wrestling in the water (all ages were participating). I had a feeling the whole town would be good and drunk tonight (If they weren't already). Had some ice cream and put my toes in the water,  and then walked home. My tolerance for many people had decreased significantly on this trek. Prefer to have my dinner in peace,  maybe play some cards, read, and go to bed early. Aren't I a troublesome teen?

Gabe, the owner of the RV park had won a snowmobile in the raffle. He was so excited he was red in the face when I talked to him. Meanwhile the Lions Club was having a banquet on the lawn and several of the men were wearing kilts. Later, they pulled put the bagpipes and howled for a bit (they had been a main feature in the parade earlier today). Kids ran around the lawn playing and thier parents ate and drank and listened to Bruce Springsteen in circles under the awnings of the trailers. Just another night in America.

Day 58

Helluva day.

Today I crossed the entire state of Idaho. The panhandle, but still, I woke in Montana, rode, and I'll be sleeping in Washington.

Broke camp kinda early and rode west on Montana 200. Construction and more traffic than usual. The weekend... So I took an alternate route off the highway onto what looked like a better road, from Heron, Montana towards Clark Fork. Started out swell, crossed an old bridge and then some railroad tracks and found the road, but it shortly turned to gravel. Darn. I was getting stared down by some cows, thinking about what to do, and the flies that were swarming over them started to move over to me when a truck came down the road. I waved him down. I asked, "How long's this gravel go for?" The truck looked pieced together, the man wore a black truckers cap, a gray beard, and had something brown and wet sticking out of his mouth. He said soft and slow, "weull... from where it starts, goes about three miles and does a lot of this" (he made a wave motion with his hand). "This'll be your biggest hill" (he nodded left). I says fine and thanks and then he left me in the dust.

Rode the 3 miles and sure enough, just as I crossed the sign for Bonners county it went back to pavement. And there I was, in Idaho. Montana sure had to stick it to me one more time before it could let me go.

Riding that first stretch of Idaho pavement I crossed paths with another cyclist (which has become a rare sight the past couple days). Her name was Martha. An older lady with a fully loaded bike. We exchanged info on the road ahead and behind, and then chatted some more. She had been aiming for Montana as a goal, but now that she was there, she wansn't quite sure where was next. She had very straight-cut bangs of white air underneath her helmet.

First town was Clark Fork. Had to wait behind some large machine of agriculture being driven on the main road before I got into downtown. I passed it and got a facefull of hay flakes as I did. Town seemed nice, but I didn't stop.

Just past town, the great Lake Pend Oreille came into view. That was worth a stop.

Continued to ride around the lake for much of the rest of the day.  Finally, a natural lake.

On the northern side,  I crossed the Pack River Delta, an area where tribes of Eastern Washington, Idaho, and Western Montana would gather seasonally. Now, two small towns inhabit the area: Hope and East Hope.

Rode around thw lake and came upon Kootenai, then Ponderay, and Finally Sandpoint, each of increasing population,  though Sandpoint was still only around 7,000. It being the weekend, it sure felt like a lot more. Found my way to the city park by the beach and watched the vacationers recreate while I ate my sandwich. Tried to get on a bike path to avoid the city traffic, but I had to cross some railroad tracks to do so, and those railroad companies make it real hard to get anywhere near thier property. Found the "bike path" that was a two-track jeep trail through a dry field. Amazing what some towns call a bike path.

In Sandpoint I rode around town for a minute to see the sights. Seems like a cool spot. But being on a budget and having decided not to spend money I don't need to, downtowns like this suddenly feel kinda empty- nothing to do without paying. I did stop at a bike store to use a chain stretch tool. Wanted to know how the one I put on in Minneapolis was doing. I still had some to go. Mechanic asked if I was taking the Northern Route, I said yep, and he goes "just a coupla hills and you'll be there!" I laughed. Never heard someone call the North Cascades "a coupla hills."

Took highway 95 south across a long bridge and then turned off onto a smaller road. Still a decent amount of traffic. The road went for a long ways, lots of little ups and downs, and eventually found its way to the Pend Oreille river, going west towards Washington. I took a break below some cedars by the riverside.

Getting pretty tired of heat all the time. It only cools down around 8, so I'm sorta stuck with it all day. Dry enough to make my mouth all cottony from panting.

Went next to Priest River.

Didn't cross the bridge into town, but went instead to a campground. It was full. So I went to another campground, 4 miles down the road.  Also full. Frickin weekenders. I would've camped down on a beach by the rover somehwere and hid away but mom wanted to meet me somewhere to camp the night with the trailer, so we had to push on another 3 miles. Next town was Newport, divided right in half by the state border. Found an RV park with some spots and some friendly folks. The state border literally runs through the campground, and we chose a spot on the Washington side.

Long day for me... 75 I think. Very tired, but here I am, in my home state.

Day 57

Slept in. Roused myself eventually and had a look at the maps. Odd mileage towards sandpoint and not much camping in town. Looked long distance and figured I actually had more time than I thought to make the miles I have left. There's really not much to go... bittersweet.

So I decided to take a short day and throw in a hike to break it up. Decided on Berray Mountain, not per the advice of the ranger but more for my own devices. It's not in the Wilderness Area, meaning less people, and it is a retired Forest Service Lookout, guaranteeing a solid 360 degree view. Sounded like a pretty good way to see the Cabinets in one hike.

I rode 10 miles south on 56 and found the turn off, where I was warned of sheep.

Right on cue, a big bunch of them were milling around on the road as I turned onto the gravel.

Bighorn sheep, that is. And not very timid. I walked my bike right around them.

Snooped out the trailhead. Didn't look like a popular one.

Locked breezey under a shady cedar and got ready to go. 5 miles one way to the lookout and 3700 vertical feet. I was feeling up to it.

Trail was overgrown, but luckily, overgrown with all kinds of fruiting berry bushes. Juneberries lower down, then tons of thimbleberry, and finally up high, huckleberries bigger than blueberries, leaning out into the trail, saying, "pick me! Pick me!" An outright breadcrumb trail of tasty treats leading me along. Just look at those suckers!

The one sign on the trail was covered in moss. I have a feeling more sheep used this route than people.

Higher up the underbrush lessened and was replaced with tall grasses amongst loose rock. Got covered in grass seed. You got to hand it to those grasses. Respect for evolving to the point where they can cover my entire lower half with thier seed just by my walking past.

Lightening-strike burn high up on the ridge. Must have been recent, within a year or two, only bright pink lupine had grown back.

Finally the lookout appeared.

On rickety stilts like a tall clown at the circus. I climbed gingerly up the creaky steps to take in the full view.

Made it to the bottom pretty quick.  Did the whole 10 miles in 4 and a half hours.  Feeling a little superhuman but I'm not gonna let it get to my head. 

On the bike again,  I was aiming to ride another 8 miles down to the Clark Gorge, and camp. On the way, a lady in a subaru pulled up beside me,  and told me out of the window, "This isn't a good road to bike on!" I thought about all the worse roads I've been on.  This one actually seemed pretty ok. Then she said "If I had to choose to veer and hit a semi or you, it would be you, ya know!?" At this point,  her young son who was in the front seat became embarrassed by the exchange,  and put his face in his palm. Not knowing what to make of it myself, I said "Thanks for the tip," and she sped off. I guess she was trying to be helpful, but her phrasing could use work.

Camp was good. Bathed in the outlet of the Bull River, and later talked to the camp host who had a mountain bike he had added a battery power motor on to. Pretty nifty. 

Hot night. Last one in Montana. These mountains may have even made up for the torture of the rest of the state.

Day 56

Sunrise through the pines.

Ten more miles down the old TR road. Utterly quiet this morning.

Finally came upon the cause of all this lake business: the libby dam.

A fairly impressive structure, but what struck me more was the eerie observation decks posted about the area. Concrete structures of early 70's modern architrcture with an industrial touch, paired with the silence of the morning and the signs of neglect made it an odd scene.

The incandescent lights hummed even in daylight. An unattended bathroom was tucked in a bunker. Yellow tiling. The lights were on and the vintage fan hummed away though I was sure I was the first person there in days.

After the dam I crossed over the river, looking much more lively and free in its unimpounded state.

From there to Libby I enjoyed a quiet road running alongside the railroad tracks with hardly a soul to be seen.

Approaching libby, I could see the peaks of the cabinet mounains rising above the town's bordering ridges. I've heard of these mointains, and was curious to find out what they held.

Libby was nice. Stopped at the public library but didn't stay long as some folks began setting up for an outdoor play on the lawn. Didn't stay but I'm sure it was a smashing performance.

Dropped by the ranger station I  the way out of town and asked about some hiking. Got some tips and had some things to mull over while I rode the next leg. Ranger told me if I wqs taking highway 200 west I should absolutely stop by Kootenai falls. I was, and I'm glad I did. Funny how exciting rushing water can be.

Now this is how a river should look! Walked across a teetering rope bridge to the other side where I had lunch on a rocky beach. After a soothing vreak by the riverside, I exited and passed by a large family of Mennonites, speaking thier language. 2 women in bonnets and full dresses, and young men all in suspenders. Thay must be darn hot on a day like today.

The rest of the way was plain, but hot. It wasn't without achievement however:

Camped on Bull lake. Had a short swim, but this lake is full of millfoil, that incredibly pervasive stowaway found on the hull of motorboats. A damn shame.

Gave Breezey a deep clean. That thing deserved it. It's the real Mr. 3000, not me.