Our lunch stop in Orofino was at Becky's Burgers, a place full of gag jokes
and antique toys--you can also get a huckleberry milkshake.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Cabin #3
Matthew is standing outside Cabin #3, where we spent the night at Lochsa
Lodge in Powell Junction, ID. We got the last room at the lodge, and lucky
for us, it had indoor plumbing!
Lodge in Powell Junction, ID. We got the last room at the lodge, and lucky
for us, it had indoor plumbing!
Bikes4Indo
We met Michael Wong (from Atlanta!) on his way into Missoula. He's raising
money to help Tsunami victims in Indonesia. Check out his website at
www.bikes4indo.com.
money to help Tsunami victims in Indonesia. Check out his website at
www.bikes4indo.com.
Play Ball!
Matthew and I attended the final regular-season game of the Missoula
Osprey. They won, and are heading to the playoffs.
Osprey. They won, and are heading to the playoffs.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Bookend Climbs
Monday, September 11. Clarkston, WA to Dayton, WA
As soon as we left Clarkston, the uphill climb began. At first, a gentle slope, a nice warm-up for a beautiful early fall morning. At about 15 miles into the ride, the climbing began in earnest, and at 20 miles, we reached the summit of Alpowa Pass. The day was now hot; I haven't sweated like this since Kansas! Now, when I climb for 20 miles, I expect to have a 20-mile descent. And for the next 10 miles we rode downhill ride into Pomeroy, where we stopped to have lunch. Fortified with carbohydrates, we began the second half of the trip by riding 10 miles downhill to Delaney, and then another 10 mile descent beyond that. At about the 50-mile mark we began the last climb of the day, on our way to Dayton, WA. The smoke haze from the Columbia Complex fire that is burning near Dayton burned our eyes and throat, making me wonder what we'd find once we reached town.
This part of Eastern Washington is farm country; a lot of grain is grown around here. The area is hilly, but not mountainous. Even so, it's wild to see that the grain crops are planted on the hillsides, and harvested by driving around the hillsides' contour lines. The farmers plant several different crops in an area, a practice called "Strip Cropping", which helps to prevent soil erosion from wind and water. Because the crops are different colors, it creates an interesting landscape. At this time of year, the crops have been harvested, leaving furrows in the hillsides where the long grains have been cut off.
The wind today was sporadic, and between the noise of the wind and the haze in the air, conversations were almost impossible. The road we were on alternated between new, smooth asphalt and new, shake-n-bake asphalt. Fortunately, the majority of the first 5-mile climb had been on smooth asphalt with a 4-foot wide shoulder. There were a couple of times when I felt surrounded by quiet. No traffic noise, just the sound of my own tires. It took me more than a little while to realize that it was the absence of wind that was causing all that quiet!
Ten miles outside of Delaney we finally summited what we thought was our last peak, and began a quick downhill roll. Just around the corner, though, the road took a sharp turn upward, and we had a short scramble to the top. After that, a 5-mile downhill ride took us into Dayton. It was on this downhill that we had a close call. The road was smooth with very wide shoulders, of which we took full advantage. Matthew was ahead of me on the descent, and had just turned the corner around a hill. A pickup truck with a "Wide Load" banner passed me, and in my mirror I could see the flatbed behind him carrying an enormous piece of farm machinery. What I could see, that the flatbed driver couldn't, was a semi approaching us in the other lane. The wide load gave me a wide berth, and I hugged the far edge of the shoulder, but I couldn't do anything about the oncoming traffic. The wide load saw him as he came around the curve, and swerved back into his own lane. I was behind him at this point, but he came within a foot of swiping Matthew. Fortunately, Matthew had seen what was developing, and was watching out for himself.
Because Dayton sits in a little valley, the air was actually clearer there than it had been anywhere else. The town's businesses all had banners posted on their windows, thanking the fire crews for their work on the Columbia Complex fire. Burning since August 21, the fire has consumed 103,000 acres in the Dayton area. About 1500 firefighters are working the blaze, which is now about 80% contained.
Matthew had called ahead to the Weinhart hotel, and we checked into the historic, refurbished hotel right around 6:30pm. Jacob Weinhart was a well-known, well-to-do resident of Dayton in the late 1800's. He had finished his apprentice work at a brewery in Portland, OR, owned by his uncle, Henry Weinhart, and came to Dayton to seek his fortunes. He soon took over ownership of the local brewery, and it became well-known throughout the area.
We'd had our first taste of Henry Weinhart's back in Walden, CO. About the only carbonated drinks that I like are ones that are orange-flavored, and I loved the Weinhart Orange Cream Soda served at the Moose Cookhouse in Walden. Matthew had a Weinhart Root Beer, and just the smell of it made me want to taste it. I had enjoyed root beer as a kid, but thought I had lost the taste for it. Weinhart's Root Beer had the exact taste that I had loved as a kid--smooth and creamy, no bitter taste. Made me want to have a root beer float.
Anyway, Jacob Weinhart apparently just made regular beer, no sodas. According to Shelly, the hotel's hostess, Jacob had no one to leave his brewery to. His son left the area and became a cattle rancher; Jacob forbade his three daughters to marry. (One of them did, but she had to wait until Jacob died, by which time she was in her 40's) So there is no real legacy in Dayton of Jacob Weinhart. He owned 6 different businesses in town, but only the hotel remains today.
The Columbia County Fair just ended Sunday, and most businesses in town aren't open on Mondays, anyway. The new and highly recommended Manilla Bay restaurant in town was closed by the time we arrived at 7:30pm, so we had to make do with bar food from Woody's. Not bad, but we had already smelled the garlic and ginger aromas emanating from Manilla Bay. We just beat the crush of firefighters to the bar, and finished up the evening at the coffee shop attached to the hotel. Shelly told us a story about the enormous elk head mounted in the hotel's lobby: There was a group staying at the hotel from the magazine "CEO", and they were enjoying some coffee in the lobby. One of them said "Isn't that moose head huge?" His co-worker replied "That's not a moose--think Rocky and Bullwinkle". To which the first one replied "That doesn't look anything like a squirrel".
And We're Outta Idaho!
Sunday, September 10. Kamiah, ID to Clarkston, WA. Today's ride was only 70 miles, not like yesterday's near-century ride. Continuing our downhill tour of Idaho, we rode alongside the Clearwater River the entire day. Today was an almost perfect early fall day; warm and sunny. Seemed like a good day to risk our lives on Hwy 12.
The primary route through this area, according to the Adventure Cycling map, is a route that involves a 3,000 foot climb in about 10 miles. The alternate route along Hwy 12 is shorter and much, much flatter. The map clearly states that "riding on Hwy 12 is not recommended by either the DOT or local cyclists AND WE CONCUR". There was some language to the effect that we'd be voiding the warranty on our lives if we were foolish enough to attempt to ride this treacherous road. Couldn't wait to get started.
We hadn't just decided willy-nilly to ride Hwy 12. We had a plan. The narrative mentions that the traffic on the road is heavy, and that logging trucks use the road as their primary route to Missoula. Our plan was to ride the 96 miles to Kamiah on Saturday, so that we'd be on the "death highway" on Sunday. We were hoping that commercial traffic would be non-existant on Sundays. Fingers crossed, we set off.
Traffic was very minimal early on, and it was a gorgeous day, riding next to the river. As we rode along, the roadway reminded me of our ride in Yellowstone Park--with better sight lines and fewer RV's!
We passed the turnoff to Hwy 11 and the town of Greer, ID. Hwy 11 is an historic byway in Idaho, part of both the Gold Rush Trail and the Nez Perce homelands. There's a road to be ridden and stories to hear, but they'll have to wait for another trip.
At around lunchtime, we arrived at Orofino, located just across the river off Hwy 12. We pulled into Becky's Burgers, a converted gas station and garage. The place is filled with practical jokes, antique toys and photographic memorabilia. The best part was the larger-than-life,wooden cutout of "Becky", beckoning one and all to the cafe. One arm was motorized, and rocked up and down in a mechanized wave. The best part was the loud chunking noise coming from the arm's motor. It seemed to me like a good omen on Hwy. 12.
After lunch we passed the turnoff to Lenore, and continued with fingers crossed. After a couple more hours on the road, we stopped at a beautiful rest area with a lush green lawn and a half-dozen picnic tables. A snack of trail mix and beef jerky made for a nice break.
About 14 miles before Lewiston, the map directed us to take old Hwy 12. Even though the road was posted as closed to through traffic, we forged on ahead. Road closures mean nothing to us any more.
After a couple miles of rolling hills, we came on a barricade into a park area. According to the map, we were just supposed to go around it. They figure that if you've been dodging logging trucks on winding roads all day, the small matter of a barricade isn't going to be a problem. And they're right. We slid around it easily and then were on the grounds of the Spalding Mission, now a National Historic Park. The Spalding's brought religion to the Nez Perce Indians in the area, and began a small mission on this site. The Spaldings taught the Indians that everything they knew was wrong, everything they did was evil. (Even so, the Nez Perce did not kill them.) The current museum has a wonderful collection of Nez Perce artifacts used in daily life. Shortly before we entered Lewiston, ID, we passed the 6,000 mile mark. Today marked 20 weeks on the road, including 20 rest days. We've only got another 600 miles before our trip is over, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. It took me a while to really get the fact that we were making this trip, so I guess it will take me some time to realize that it's over. Ask me again when I'm sitting in the hot tub on the beach.
We rode into Lewiston, and decided that we might as well cross the river and go on to Lewiston's sister-city, Clarkston. There were a couple of rolling hills at the end of our trip--but only to get across the river into Washington. The day ended safely at a Quality Inn on the river. We'd survived the "treacherous" alternate route on Hwy 12, and ended our 3-day tour of Idaho by riding downhill almost the entire way!
Monday, September 11, 2006
New Friends
From Saturday morning, at breakfast at the Lochsa Lodge.
The man Nancy had spoken to last night as I got us registered was there with his wife, having breakfast, when we arrived to eat this morning. We all sat together at a table to talk.
John Cunningham and Bess Pinon live in Portland, and they are bicycling from Lewiston, ID, up to Whitefish in Glacier National Park; once there, they will load the bikes onto an Amtrak train, and load themselves into a sleeper car, and twelve hours later (or maybe a couple days later - with Amtrak you never know), they will arrive at Union Station just a block from our future home in Portland, on their way home. John is also a registered Professional Engineer, and a Civil Engineer at that (he works in soils); Bess works for the library system there in Portland.
John and Bess are an interesting couple; we exchanged contact information so we can catch up with them later once we get settled in. We're excited to have already met people who live in our new town and who share our interests! We got a picture before they had to leave, so we will post that when we get to a computer on which some overzealous IT person has not blocked USB port access.
The Longest Day
Saturday, September 9. Powell Junction, ID, to Kamiah, ID.
After studying the maps last night, and even taking into account the notoriously inaccurate elevation profiles provided on them, we decided to go for Kamiah, since it looked like it was downhill all the way. For once, the profile was mostly right. Today's ride would be along the Lochsa River all the way to Lowell, and then along the Clearwater River until we got to Kamiah.
Spectacular. Awesome. Incredible. Breathtaking. Ultimately, when trying to describe the almost monotonous beauty of the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness, words are inadequate. Mere words, intended to articulate and connote some relative sense of what is being described, simply cannot instill the slack-jawed awe to which visitors succumb when they see the thickly forested ravines, the clear water and rocky riverbeds, and the impossibly arranged rocky outcrops that are situated along US 12 in north-central Idaho. The terrain is unlike anything most people have ever experienced, let alone even seen in pictures. Even photographs fall short, worth only a measly thousand words. A thousand photographs would only begin to convey the spectacle that is this wilderness.
Between Powell Junction and the tiny burg of Lowell, there is nothing but the wilderness and a few trails. Every twist of the road is another beautiful revelation; every turn in the river, a wonder of nature. We pedaled, to be sure, but for the most part it wasn't really necessary. We both, repeatedly, were thankful that we were heading west, and thus downhill, rather than east, and up what amounts to a three-day climb.
Lowell was our first bail-out point, and reaching it in the early afternoon compelled us to go on (after eating lunch there). We had already covered over 65 miles, more than we ride most days; another 30 seemed like a walk in the park. Lowell, which you'd miss if you weren't paying attention, is situated at the point where the Lochsa River meets the Selway River, forming the Middle Fork Clearwater River; it is this meeting of the waters that is Lowell's raison d'etre. Kind of like Manaus, Brazil, where two rivers meet to form the Amazon, only smaller. Much smaller. Like two motels and a convenience store small, such that one of the motels is also the restaurant. On the sign welcoming you to Lowell, the number next to the population, 24, has been x-ed out and a 23 has been painted next to it. It was also curious to note that the elevation marked on the sign was more than 500 feet lower than the elevation noted on our maps; one more gross inconsistency in the profiles.
We reached the bridge into Kooskia (KOOS-key), the point where the Fab Four would have turned on their route towards Florence, OR, maybe a week ago, and formally left the portion of our route that was the same as theirs. From this point on, we were seeing territory they had missed; it was a little like a second, belated goodbye, and the tear in my eye was as much about that as the soreness of over 80 miles on a bicycle seat. Kooskia is the place, like Lowell, where two rivers meet; in this instance the Middle Fork and the South Fork of the Clearwater River meet to form, what else, the Clearwater River. There is no sign anywhere on our maps of the North Fork. It seems to have been misplaced.
Arriving in Kamiah felt like a triumph. We had covered over 96 miles, at an average speed of over 14 mph; it was our longest day (in terms of distance), by more than 18 miles. We both felt fine, if a little sore; and we were tired, fortunately for the only pizza place in town (and fortunately for US, they deliver). Relaxing in the air-conditioned comfort of our room at the Clearwater 12 Motel, munching on some surprisingly good pizza (Nancy had Pesto-Sun Dried Tomato-Garlic with Artichoke Pizza, and I had the Chicken Fajita Pizza) was a satisfying end to a satisfying day. We felt we had successfully set the stage for taking the River Option tomorrow, all the way to Lewiston, perhaps as far as Clarkston, across the state line in Washington. With our bikes safely locked away in the conference room, we slept soundly this night.
Lochsa Luck
Friday, September 8. Missoula, MT, to Powell Junction, ID.
This morning, after we had lolled around in the comfy bed until almost 9 (!), we turned on the Weather Channel for a forecast. At that time of the morning, it was 50 degrees with 54% humidity. The forecast was for ESE winds, 15-20mph. Ridiculous. That would mean a tailwind. It couldn't possibly be accurate.
We left Missoula and headed back to Lolo on our way to the pass (can't miss Lolo Pass). While there, we had to stop at the Post Office; Suzi and Jim had sent us another package of snacks and about 14 lbs of trail mix. We didn't have room for it all, so we took one bag and then packaged up the rest of it and sent it ahead to ourselves for pickup in Walla Walla. Then it was off to the pass; we would decide on the way if we could cross over the pass today, or if we would have to stop at Lolo Hot Springs and make the climb tomorrow.
At about 29 miles, we stopped at an historic marker at the side of the road; normally we can tell what they are about and can make a rolling decision about whether to stop, but this one was far enough off the road, (and besides, both our posteriors were asking for a small break), that we went in for a closer look. It was all about the name Lolo, including some speculation about where it originated and some history of the various things NAMED Lolo (Peak, Hot Springs, Creek, Pass, and the town of Lolo, among others). One theory is that it was named after a French fur trader who lived in the area before the Lewis and Clark expedition came through, whose name was Lawrence Rence; and, since the Indians who lived in this area did not have an "r" sound in their language (it came out like an "L"), he was nicknamed "LouLou", later bastardized to Lolo.
Another theory was that the Indians called anyone who transported goods over the mountains, or anything that was so transported, Lolo. Nobody knows the actual answer with certainty, apparently.
Just as we were leaving this roadside attraction, we saw a bicyclist coming from the opposite direction. This turned out to be Michael Wong, from Atlanta! He grew up in Snellville, went to GSU as an art student and now lives in Decatur. He is riding across the country in support of the project he founded, Bikes for Indonesia. The URL is www.bikes4indo.com. He had spent some time in that region in the relief effort following the Boxing Day Tsunami of 2004, and saw that the basic mode of transportation, the bicycle, needed help, and realized he could bring some of his expertise to bear on it. So, take a look at the site; if you know anyone with a spare bike, or if the local pawnshop has too many to store, put them in touch.
On we went, up to Lolo Hot Springs, where we stopped for lunch. I suppose I was expecting more; the name Lolo Hot Springs seems to connote such luxury and opulence, that coming up on the decidedly downscale collection of buildings was a bit of a disapointment. We elected to go on, since it was only 7 miles to the top and then 13 miles down.
True to form, the last 4 miles to the top were the hardest, but waiting for us at the top was the Idaho state border and a bonus hour, since we would enter the Pacific Time Zone there.
At the top, we realized that we were now irrevocably on the Pacific side of the country. It was fun to dance across the line, back and forth, gaining and then losing the hour, and then finally regaining it for good. But at the top, over 5000 feet, it was cold, and the upcoming descent was likely to exacerbate that coldness, so we put on layers (and I put on my gloves). We didn't think it would rain, despite the thunder we could hear, but we put on our new Patagonia rain jackets anyway.
Of course, the sprinkling started almost the moment we lost sight of the pass behind us. It was light, though, so we were able to enjoy the long, 5-mile, 6% grade, doubly so because not a single vehicle came up behind us until we passed the bottom of the grade and it lessened to a more gradual slope. All the way down, we enjoyed spectacular views, as far as we could see anyway. The mountains rose up on both sides at angles not typically seen in nature.
Speaking of views, I should note that we had ridden through spectacular landscape all day--beautiful forests, (great pine scent), and the Lolo River on the Montana side; the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness on the Idaho side, the Crooked Fork and Lochsa Rivers running beside the road on the way down; and in the riverbed, lots of rocks, rounded by time and water.
At 5 miles from Powell Junction, the rain started in earnest. Neither Nancy nor I had not put on our helmet covers, so before long our heads were drenched; Nancy had also neglected to put on her amfib pants, so her legs got soaked, too.
The rain continued until we reached Lochsa Lodge at Powell Juntion, where we got their last room--a cute little log cabin of a place with an orange shower. At least it had a shower and toilet; some of the cabins are "rustic" - meaning the showers are over there near the convenience store and the outhouse is a little closer. We tried the TV provided in the room; it got channel 4 and channel 6 (really fuzzy, though), and that was it. Neither one was the Weather Channel, so we did without.
The bonus hour gave us time to clean up before heading over to the main lodge for dinner. For a place out in the middle of nowhere, it was surprisingly crowded; many of the people there had been coming for many years. The lodge dates to 1929, but the original burned down in 2001; the place that exists now is a replacement, and no less an oasis in the wilderness than the original. Walking the short distance to the main lodge, we met three guys there for the weekend fishing, including one who had lived in Portland for 7 years; he knew where we were going to live when we described it. We chatted with them briefly before going in.
When we had arrived, while I was taking care of the registration, Nancy met a man in the restaurant who is cycling with his wife from Lewiston to Whitefish; they live in Portland. We made arrangements to talk later, over breakfast, since they were just finishing dinner. Then, at dinner, we sat next to two guys, one from Beaverton, one from Ashland, who were there fishing for the weekend as well. It came out during the conversation (when we revealed our ultimate destination) that they watch football together in Lincoln City during the one weekend in the playoffs when there are two games on Saturday and two more games on Sunday. I couldn't tell where the cabin was that they rent, but it sounded like it was in the Oceanlake area, near the northern end of town.
After dinner, while perusing some books in the lodge library, we met 8 women from Spokane playing Spite & Malice (a card game that looks remarkably like a game Nancy and I play called Dumb Dora). They call themselves the Spokane Bridge Club, but they said if we are ever in Spokane all we have to do is ask for the "crazy bridge ladies" and anyone can tell us where they are. They get together to play cards when it's dark, but during the day they go out HIKING. Did I mention that these women are in their 60's? They were out hiking in this area today, rugged area I don't think I'D go hiking in. I like these chicks.
Afterwards, in our room, we looked at what lay ahead. One of the options available for us once we reach Kamiah (pronounced KA-me-eye) is known as the River Option, which avoids the nearly 2500-foot ascent to a plateau and the cities of Craigmont and Winchester. However, the map notes that the River Option, following the Clearwater River all the way to Lewiston, is not recommended by the ACA, local cyclists OR the Idaho DOT due to heavy comercial traffic, winding roads, and limited shoulders. We are thinking that if we can get to Kamiah by Saturday night, we stand a good chance of being able to take the River Option on Sunday, thus avoiding a lot of the commercial traffic. We decided to try for Kamiah, a distance of over 96 miles, for that reason. We have some bailout points in mind just in case, but that's the goal. We'll see!
Friday, September 08, 2006
Missoula!
Wednesday, September 6. Conner, MT, to Missoula, MT. Rest day, September 7.
Missoula. The name was just a distant target many months ago, a foggy image of the place where the Adventure Cycling Association was headquartered, and where we would stop to tell them of our many exploits, the way we had cobbled together so many of their published routes, and what we had found that should be added to their maps or corrected.
Yeah. Then we decided somewhere in New York that we wouldn't stop there, since it was 13 miles out of the way. We figured the ACA wouldn't be very interested in our trip, since they undoubtedly see hundreds of other cross-country cyclists each year. We'd just be two more faces.
Then my drivetrain began to fail, and competent help seemed available only in Missoula. That, and one more package was waiting for us there. So we would go there after all. We would have to ride our longest day to get there; fortunately, Montana was fresh out of mountain passes, having hurled three of them at us in the past two days.
Leaving Conner was difficult - not because of the terrain, but because of the big, comfy bed Tom and Char had provided us in their guest house. True to form, we woke up just before 8 and joined our hosts for a good breakfast of cereal and bagels before leaving. They were a delight, and treated us tremendously well, all as they prepare for an open house on Thursday. Yes, the ranch is for sale; and it can be YOURS for the right price. And, if you have to ask . . .
Their place is a prime 32 acres located on the West Fork Bitteroot River and comes complete with a guest house, main house and tipi with fireplace. There is also a resident moose nearby. If you are interested, let us know and we'll put you in touch.
We made very good time on a clear, warm morning to Darby; we went through Hamilton, Corvallis and all they way to Stevensville before stopping for lunch. We found to our amazement that we had been averaging over 14 miles an hour over the 45 miles there.
Arriving in Stevensville, Nancy initially pulled up to a place she thought would be good for lunch, but they were not open. Rolling up to the next intersection, we pondered where to go; and as we did, a woman walking by stopped to ask us about our trip. We answered her questions, and then asked her if she could recommend a place for lunch. She was happy to help; she pointed out two places, but said that she would choose the Old Coffee Mill and Eatery just across the street. That turned out to be an excellent recommendation - we had a very satisfying lunch there, including a fine dessert (oatmeal raisin cookie for me, chocolate-covered peanut butter bar for Nancy) and a relaxing hour or so.
In the restaurant, numerous framed photographs hung on the walls, photos taken by a couple of locals (19 year old boys, we were informed). Some of the pictures looked remarkably like the Oregon coast, and so we asked about them - and found that they are indeed from parts of the coast that we might actually be pretty familiar with. Quite a coincidence, I thought. But then, the Oregon coast is a really remarkable and beautiful place, so perhaps we should not be surprised to see photographs of it placed on the wall as artwork. It IS art.
The road from Stevensville to Lolo, highway 93, is paralleled by a bike path the entire way, making that portion of the trek pretty stress-free. We did not meet another cyclist until after we went through Florence, and they were locals, not touring; they did not stop to talk with us, anyway.
Rain threatened off and on all the way to Lolo, and when we finally had to get on 93 for the last 13 miles into Missoula, it did sprinkle a bit; but it was too little to dampen our spirits. We had a wide shoulder and little wind, which, had there been more roads to choose from, might have caused us to question whether we were on the right road.
Missoula is a city that is alive with cyclists, even away from the U district on the east side of town. Paths line both sides of the Clark Fork River where it flows through the downtown area, with spurs that radiate off in various directions; but not only that, many of the main thoroughfares have bike lanes delineated on them. Bike parking abounds. It almost feels like Portland. Our arrival was too late to visit the ACA offices (or the post office, for that matter), so we got checked in to our accommodations and set ourselves to the necessary tasks of laundry and blogging. Nancy would post pictures tomorrow while I got my bike fixed, after we visited the ACA offices in the morning. It was a good plan.
After a very good night's sleep on the fluffiest bed we've slept in since, well, last night, we set off for breakfast and the post office. Char had provided us with a map of Missoula, a very good map produced by Discovery Map that looked like a cartoon aerial view of the city, with many specific businesses identified (including the bike shop where I will go for repairs). I love maps like this because it helps me visualize where things are more easily. So I planned to guide us to a cafe called Hob Nob Cafe on Main Street before going to the nearby Post Office; but, when we reached the spot where it should have been, it was not there. We stopped at the next intersection to discuss it (sense a recurring theme here?).
A man walking by asked if we needed directions somewhere, and I told him what we looking for and showed him the map. He took one look at it and said "Oh, that's an old one. Here, I have the latest edition. I'm the publisher." This turned out to be Kevin, and he actually is the publisher of the Discovery Map of Missoula; he had a portfolio full of the 4th edition (the one Char gave us was the 2nd edition). Don't you love coincidences like that?
He recommended a place nearby, the Shack Cafe, for breakfast, so there we went, and then off to the post office before going to the ACA offices. Unfortunately, the downtown post office is NOT the place where they handle general delivery - that is farther away on Kent Street. Hmph. We got some postcard stamps so the trip wouldn't be a total waste, and then walked over to the ACA offices.
As you enter the Adventure Cycling Association offices, on the left, there is a large corkboard with pictures of the cyclists who have stopped in this year. Each photo has the name of the cyclist and the date they stopped in, and also where they came from and where they are going. We looked them over and saw pictures of people we had met, including Kim, Luke, and Blaise; the Chris's, headed to Denver from Anchorage, AK; and Bunny, Jordan and Katie, whom we had met outside Riverside, WY.
We got our picture added to the wall, and I took advantage of the computer they make available to check e-mail (and attachments); and while we were there, the ACA staff photographer asked to take our picture in a more formal fashion, such as they might publish in their monthly magazine Adventure Cyclist. I don't harbor any beliefs that our pictures might be published, but it was fun to have them taken anyway.
The ACA staff was not exactly ebullient, which I must admit was disappointing but not really a surprise. I was just happy to add our image to the board, with the longest itinerary I could find there. That's something, but it was not the goal of this journey, of course.
We set off for the bike shop, and when they had set to work Nancy took off for the post office where they DO handle general delivery. When she returned, since my repairs were not yet complete, she took the opportunity to look around; and she found a bargain on the last two Craft lightweight thermal jackets in the shop, marked down 40% and in our sizes. Was it a sign? I think so. We got them both.
Nancy left again, this time to get some pictures posted (at last!) while I continued to wait for the repairs to be finished; and when I took a test ride, the tech said that the frame might actually be flexing enough to allow the chain to come off the gear in front. That means I will not be able to exert the full force I am capable of exerting on the pedals, which actually is a good thing - it means the chain and the rest of the drivetrain might actually last longer. It also means I will probably have to get a new bike when we settle in Portland. Gunnar, any advice? I already know the answer to that.
I took a spin out on the paths along the river and found myself at the baseball stadium for the Pioneer League team here, the Missoula Osprey. They are a farm team for the Arizona Diamondbacks, and their last home game of the season (before the playoffs, that is) is scheduled for tonight. Seems like a good diversion - and the first opportunity to catch a ballgame since we left Lawrenceville.
We walked to dinner at a mexican place near the hotel, and then walked through Caras Park and past the carousel that was installed in 1995. We watched as a girl on a multicolored horse repeatedly grabbed plastic rings from the mouth of a dragon as she whooshed by. After the carousel stopped briefly so more people could get on, she continued to gather rings until, at last, there were no more.
We got to the ballpark in the bottom of the second, and the Osprey were already leading 3-1. We had no sooner sat down when one of the Osprey players pounded a long home run to extend the lead to 4-1. Before the end of the third, the lead was 6-1, and although the visiting Helena Brewers posted 3 in the fourth, the Osprey went on to win it 6-4. The between-innings activities included ushers hurling bags of Cracker Jacks and Peanuts into the crowd, a young boy leading the crowd in the YMCA dance, and a tire rolling race. Also, everyone entering the park received a numbered team photo, and prizes (mostly gift certificates to local businesses and signed, game-used memoribilia like baseballs and broken bats) were awarded based on the number on the photos. We didn't win anything. We also bought some 50-50 raffle tickets to support a local middle school - and didn't win that, either. Still, we did find out what the giant L stood for on the mountain next to the mountain with the M on it - it stands for Loyola High School. One mystery solved.
Tomorrow we set off for at least Lolo Hot Springs, and perhaps farther. It remains to be seen whether we can climb all of Lolo Pass in one day. We'll see!
Thursday, September 07, 2006
The Formal Portrait
The "official" picture, on the loading dock of the Adventure Cycling
Association offices. Their copy is a black and white, non-digitized
version. Both were taken by a professional photographer, Greg Siple.
Association offices. Their copy is a black and white, non-digitized
version. Both were taken by a professional photographer, Greg Siple.
A Kodak Moment
Outside of the Adventure Cycling Offices in Missoula, MT, an informal
picture for this year's wall of touring cyclists.
picture for this year's wall of touring cyclists.
Tom & Char
Our hosts at River Dance Ranch in Conner, MT, just outside of Darby. We
enjoyed their company, their guest house, and their resident moose.
enjoyed their company, their guest house, and their resident moose.
Guest House
Tom and Char graciously invited us to spend the night at their ranch--little
did we guess we'd have such posh accommodations!
did we guess we'd have such posh accommodations!
Sarah and David
After smoking my brakes a little, we're able to stop on the downhill slope
of Chief Joseph Pass to talk with Sarah and David. They live in Essex,
England, but love to cycle in the US.
of Chief Joseph Pass to talk with Sarah and David. They live in Essex,
England, but love to cycle in the US.
Chief Joseph Pass
At the top of Chief Joseph Pass we make our final crossing of the
Continental Divide. For the remainder of this trip, we're on the Pacific
side.
Continental Divide. For the remainder of this trip, we're on the Pacific
side.
The Innocents
A notorious gang of criminals would rob stagecoaches and other travelers on
this stretch of road in Montana, then beat feet back to Robber's Roost.
This building isn't the original Robber's Roost, but is built on the spot of
the original and did serve as a stagecoach stop until the trains made them
obsolete. Turns out that the sheriff in Ennis was the gang's leader. No
mention if he was also the coroner.
this stretch of road in Montana, then beat feet back to Robber's Roost.
This building isn't the original Robber's Roost, but is built on the spot of
the original and did serve as a stagecoach stop until the trains made them
obsolete. Turns out that the sheriff in Ennis was the gang's leader. No
mention if he was also the coroner.
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