I'll Pass

Monday, September 5. Dillon, MT to Jackson, MT.

Even though today's mileage would be less than 50 clicks, we'd be climbing two mountain passes with only a 13-mile gap between them.

We're now in the Bitterroot Mountains--these mountains stood between the Discovery Corps and the Columbia River. They're a rugged range, with velvety foothills and craggy peaks. Smoke haze from Montana's various wildfires are veiling our views of the range, and roughening our throats as we roll along.

Before I even think about climbing a mountain, I have to have breakfast. We could, of course, have breakfast in camp, but our uninvited guests are still sleeping it off in their pickup truck, so we opted to break camp and find someone else to make us breakfast. Just on the outside of town we find Sparkey's Garage--fortunately, they're serving breakfast. And just what can you get for breakfast at the garage? Weak coffee, for one thing. Sort of surprising, really. I always thought that motor oil was really just coffee that had been left on too long, Nevertheless, Matthew got the "Standard Service"--ham, eggs, hashbrowns and toast. I had my perennial favorite--french toast. If I can't get the caffeine I need, then I make do with a sugar high.

By the time we finished breakfast, the sun was warming up the day. I was actually looking forward to climbing the passes. Not that I've become some kind of hill-acious addict; I have just come to realize that I can do these hills. The mountain ranges in the West have manageable grades, unlike the painfully steep grades found in the East. So, while I know it's going to take me a while, I do know I'm going to get to the top. And now that Matthew is handicapped thanks to his damaged middle ring, I can sometimes beat him to the top.

As we leave Dillon, we ride by newly-mown hay fields. The smell of the timothy and rye grasses drying in the sun is one of my favorite smells. Apparently it's also irresistable to the local deer population, because the fields are filled with several hundred deer. They're too far away to tell if they're pronghorn deer or just the garden-variety, but they do look very domesticated, lounging on top of the soon-to-be-baled hay.

Badger Pass is our first climb, 19 miles outside of Dillon, 6,760 feet high. We're already at 5,200 feet, and I'm hoping that the 1600 feet of climb will be a gradual climb. Of course it's not, and the last 3 miles to the top are slow, slow, slow. It's now 1:00pm, and we stop for about a half hour to rest. After stretching our legs and having a snack we roll back down to about 6,000 feet, and then start the next climb.

Big Hole Pass is at 7,360 feet, so we only have about 1300 feet of climbing left. Just like Badger Pass, the last 3 miles are the worst, but at last we make it to the top. It's just 4:00pm, but the next 11 miles are a downhill slope to Jackson. We make it there in under 45 minutes.

Jackson has a population of 50, and just a couple of businesses are located on Hwy 278, the main drag. The Jackson Mercantile and a garage (one that services cars) are across the street from the Jackson Hot Springs Lodge. This is a home-grown, real-Montana-rustic place. The majority of cyclists on this route stop here, if only to camp. The fee for a patch of grass out back includes use of the hot springs. We're here for a room, though, and tonight we're in luck. The Labor Day Weekend traffic has all headed home, and rooms are readily available. This is not to say that the place is deserted, though. I was surprised to see the lodge's restaurant fill up with dinner guests. There were a number of cars outside cabins and rooms, and the rooms on either side of ours were both occupied.

As we were checking in, a couple arrived wearing leather motorcycle chaps. We nodded hello, and to my surprise, the man asked how we liked our BOB trailers. He said he'd just gotten one, but hadn't had the chance to use it. We'd meet this couple in the restaurant a little later, and find out they had been out for a drive from their ranch in Conner. While they had a beer, we chatted about our trip. When they found out that we were heading to Darby, he drew us a map with directions to his ranch, and invited us to spend the night with them. We accepted, and it was only at this point that we introduced ourselves. Tom and Char wanted to pay forward the courtesy and kindness shown to them when they've been bicycle touring--we were the lucky recipients.

The restaurant at the lodge was a complete surprise. In this one-horse town, I thought the best I could get would be a grilled cheese. But the lodge has a complete dinner menu, including a salad bar with spring greens, garbanzo beans and five varieties of fresh fruit. Matthew had chicken breast stuffed with feta cheese, spinach and sundried tomatoes on a bed of saffron rice; I had a 3-cheese pasta with cherry tomatoes and green snap peas that tasted so fresh they must have been picked while I was watching the deer grazing.

While we were having our salad, two women came in and sat at a table near us. We struck up a conversation with them, and soon found out that they were visiting Jackson from Missoula. We also found out that they had both lived for some time in Portland, OR. Ann Mary had been a Portland city commissioner; Diane is now running for a legislative seat in Missoula. We hit it off with them right away, and enjoyed their take on life in Portland and Missoula. They also gave us a heads-up on the Nez Perce Battlefield National Park just ahead of us on the way to Darby, and a good book store in Missoula. We probably won't see them in town; they don't plan to be back until after we've gone. Dessert and coffee (real, rich coffee) gave us an opportunity to continue our conversation, and we talked about Yellowstone Park (they visit the park a lot), moose sightings (us-0, them-lots) and grizzly attacks (Diane lost friends). Maybe we'll catch up with them on a visit to Portland--Diane mentioned that her brother lives in Tuallatin.

After dinner we toyed with the idea of finding the elusive hot springs at the lodge. Really, it's the whole reason the lodge is there, and yet we couldn't find any sign of it (them). I'd been reading a Montana Magazine write-up about the lodge, and discovered that the hot springs are nothing more glamorous than a cement pond. And while you'd think that after climbing two mountain passes we'd both be ready for a soak in a hot springs of any kind--we both took a pass on the pond. And passed out in bed a short time later.