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.
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