There are a few things I have learned thus far:
Yelling at the wind is futile
Rain comes when it wants too, and only then
Any meal can be made with a base of instant mashed potatoes
Yelling at the wind does not make it stop
Wind.
We have been dealing with a lot of wind, winds that would make a grown man cry. Headwinds, crosswinds, and then the ever welcome but ever evasive tail winds. Riding a loaded bike in the wind is like riding a boulder. Well, maybe it’s not that bad, but panniers do catch wind like a sail. It takes a lot of arm strength to keep on the road, and a lot of care to read the wind gusts around corners, and anticipate the gusts of traffic, especially as trucks pass. (Every driver thus far has passed us with care)Yesterday we headed south and got pushed 40 miles by the wind, but then we turned to the east/northeast and got blasted by some of the most gnarly cross winds I have ever faced.
But back to Missoula–after a glorious morning at Jack and Cindi Babon’s, we rode back to Adventure Cycling Headquarters because it is a great place. We also took some time to walk around downtown Missoula, where Beefy was mistaken for a ferret by a ragamuffin fellow.
Picture or a picture Greg Simple took of Liz and Beef at ACHQ
Leaving Missoula by bicycle is a tricky affair if you are trying to avoid freeway but we were able to do so with the help of a kindly gas station attendant and some brain power (and a little harmonica). We were trying to make it out to Nimrod Warm Springs, but were unable to find it. I wasn’t feeling too enthusiastic about hitting the road again but was quickly encouraged by the corns on the cobs that Lizzy had somehow acquired.
We were trying to make it out to Helena, then to Bozeman, Livingston, and Northgate Yellowstone, but traffic was weird and there were so many people telling us so many different ways to get from A to B that I got a teensy bit overwhelmed. To top it off, most people told us that we would be safer on the freeway here in Montana, which was a big bummer to me and, as it turns out, a falsehood. We did take hwy 12 to Drummond (America’s bull shipping Capitol) but when we got there I took another look at the map and found a new way using hwy 1.
The man who ran the store at Drummond was extremely nice and kept trying to give us grapefruit and coffee. There was also a home spun Frosty Freeze where I bought the most fabulous ice cream sandwich I have ever eaten, and to which all future ice cream sandwiches will be compared, I even let Lizzy watch me eat it (she can’t eat dairy).
When we left town, we ran into a lovely little art exhibit. A rancher named Bill Ohrman had become a local celebrity for his insanely detailed and accurate metal sculptures, and his paintings and poems all symbolizing the need to care for animals in a respectful and compassionate way.
We left there in a rainstorm which persisted throughout the evening. We ended up in a little town called Phillipsburg. After debating whether to push on or stop for a quick loiter, we were approached by a man named Jim. He was an Easterner who moved to Helena, and was building a ski home in Phillipsburg. He had just put the roof on his home and offered the cover to us for the night, we couldn’t resist. He also told us to stop in the town Brewery, which closed at 8. I went into the Food Farm grocery store and found a delicious looking pizza in a bag which I barely had the strength to pass by. Lizzy suggested that we ask a local to see if there was a real pizza place. After a quick investigation, we learned that the best pizza was at “Friday Night Pizza at the Laundromat, right at the four way, almost out of town,” which was confusing for us out-of-towers. It turned out to be a pizza order window at the town laundromat building, and it was called Friday Night Pizza, which was open even on Thursdays, lucky us. The woman who ran the business was a former tourist herself and offered to drive our pizza to us at the brewery free of charge.
The Brewery was the only happening place in town, since I don’t drink I can’t comment on their brew, but I was given a delightful handful of caramel corn which I shared with Beef. We did stay at Jim’s that night, and in the morning he showed up with steaming cups of coffee for us. He too was a cyclist and had toured all through Ireland and some parts of Bolivia. We accepted his coffee and took off to climb the steep pass out of town. During that climb, we met a Corvette Club. It was kind of comical, them with their Vetts all lighted up on the side of a mountain in ranch-hand no-where, and us, two dusty ladies and a rat. They took a picture of us so that they could prove to their friends back home that we were real.
Out of Veiw–Corvette club
That afternoon turned blustery and I got a good taste of some hail. Funny stuff, painful. We rode into some serious mining country and headwind, eventually making it to Butte, which we promptly named “Butt,” and for good reason. We did however meet some good folks at the McDonalds who were wearing Bible Quizzing shirts. They were driving through the area from Minnesota, and gave us $ 20 for healthcare!
As we left Butte, we met a cyclist who gave us directions to a campspot, and then further down the road, a man stopped his car, jumped out, and forced cookies and beverages upon us. Ok, maybe it wasn’t forced. . . He said he was a baker/chef originally from Seattle, and after trying 830 times he created a pie called the, the-I don’t remember but it was a really long name and it sounded really delicious.
The next day we crossed the Continental Divide without knowing it. Lizzy is a quicker hill climber than I, so she generally passes me and meets me at the summit of long grades. But for some reason, when I got to the top of this hill, I didn’t see her. I figured that she had ridden on without me because the road was nice and we were both listening to our music and such. I don’t know why I thought that. Anyway, I took chase after her for miles and miles, not realizing that she was behind me trying to catch up to me. It was a comedy of errors, but we got a lot of quick miles out of it.
We headed south toward Twin Bridges and got about 40 miles of tail wind. Fantastic! I can’t get over how big and beautiful Montana is. I don’t even have a metaphor for it. It kind of just is. We kept riding through Twin Bridges instead of stopping for lunch because the wind was so obliging, but right as we left town, the road swung east and we were blasted by obnoxious cross winds.
We knew that there was a town coming up called Virginia City, and that it was merely 23 miles away, so we went for it. But 23 miles in a cross/headwind is really not 23 miles. It felt like we were riding forever and we might have been. At one point, I simply gave up on the side of the road. Well, actually the wind blew me off the road and I just didn’t get back on it.
We had been riding through some country that had been heavily mined in the early 1800s, and then for copper in the 1920s if I got the story correctly. Either way, the side of the road was inundated with heaps upon heaps of rock. It made for an erie waste scenery, but sure enough a little creek was trying to cut its way through, and slowly but surely there were birds and other living things creeping around. When we stopped, we couldn’t get out of the wind and it was a very cold wind, so we decided to go one more mile and see if the town was around the next bend. Lo and behold, there was–but it was not the town on the map! We were crushed to find that we had wheeled right into an 1840s living history gold miner’s town with no wifi, gas station, or anyplace warm for windswept, weary, road beat cyclists and a rat. We tracked down a man who told us that the real town was only another half mile away, so with dreams of gas stations in our minds we hopped back on the bikes. A windy mile up the hill later, we found ourselves in yet ANOTHER touristy gold mine town, but at least this one had a pizza shop.
Grumpiness aside, it might have been fun if we had kids with us, we’re driving an RV, and had loads of cash to spend on tootsie rolls and lemon drops cherry picked from a fishbowl in “Ye ‘Ol Sweets Shoppe,” but we are cheap and were freezing off our own tootsies. We did buy a slice of pizza from a pizza place, but more for the sake of being in a warm, not windy building.
We did find a place to free camp by a lake outside of town, where we soon discovered during the cooking of our dinner, that many Ye Olde Dogges had been using as a bathroom. It was at the very least wind blocked.
We left in the morning knowing that we had a steep 3-4 mile climb out of there, and into Ennis, which we knew had a gas station at the very least. We’ve been categorizing towns from small to big as: 1) post office, 2) gas station, 3) McDonald’s, and 4)Walmart. Ennis is a larger scale gas station town, it even has a library. Anyways, right as we rolled down the mountain into town, about 14 miles from our start, I realized I had left my wallet at Virginia City. Don’t ask, and don’t say it. I asked a lady running the drug store if she knew the phone number for any churches around because I figured I could ask someone to drive me there and back again if I paid gas. She instead called up her son, who drove me there and back, and delighted me with conversation about Montana beauty, and the politics of fracking. Thanks Ken and Esther sooooooooooo much! Without them, I’d probably still be climbing out of that terrible phony town–and on a break day too!
Meanwhile, Lizzy was entertaining some small children in the park, who had been left there by their mom. They were quite taken with Beefy, and thought it was hilarious to pretend to sleep. Not sure where they came from, not sure where they went, but at least we don’t look too crazy homeless scary or I’m sure they wouldn’t have been allowed to hang with us. Some locals did ask if they were ours, and looked questioningly at our bikes–no, we aren’t traveling with kiddos.
We also met some fellow bike tourists who gave me a great map of Yellowstone. I think we might have scared them a bit because we were full of energy and they had just rolled into town against a horrific headwind. Of course, I told them all about Ian Hibbel’s bike since they were planning on stopping at Adventure Cycling Headquarters. I’m pretty sure they had no idea who I was talking about. Poor people.
We are now preparing to take on Yellowstone, it should be cold, windy, miserable, but beautiful. And most of all, worth every stroke. Thanks to everyone for your support!
PS we are experiencing technical difficulties, and that is why we have few pics posted.
So, we’ve been out in the boonies for the last few days, worrying our parents sick, but now we’re back in civilization AND in a whole new state!
Let’s see where we left off…
We entered Idaho!
tripods are for the weak and the well-prepared
We biked up several miles of 7% grade in Lewiston, Idaho to get some drugs for Beefy. He’s had wheezy old rat man breathing for awhile now, and my vet figured we should try him on another round of antibiotics. The ride up to the vet’s office here was a true test of our love & patience for the smelly little dude. But, he sounds a bit better, so, worth it in our eyes.
After we sped back down the 7% (by the way, downhills like these are the bomb) we scooted on out of Lewiston & into the soggy wilderness for what seemed like a whole week. We camped about 30 miles out, next to a river, and at 7:30 the next morning as we climbed out of soaked tent, packed up, and mounted our cycles to roll ever on, a rancher man tending his cattle across the road commented on how tough WE were! I couldn’t believe a real life rancherman said this to us!
Stink’s new commuter. (this is for you Heather)
We biked on for 73 miles in the rain and eventually got to Lowell, and, tempted by the sight of greasy burgers, ate our first restaurant meal of the road. I literally had a burger with all the fixings, sans the burger aspect. Totally worth it. Thank you to our friends & family who insisted we take their monies, as we used this fund to get a good meal in.
That night, we camped in the rain again, but awoke to sunshine, in what appeared to be back home in Oregon again. We laid out all our crap to dry, did a quick trip back to town for water, did some bike maintenance, then rolled off again.
waking up with a “suite” view
We were traveling along the Clearwater & Lochsa Rivers, and got to see lots of folks riding the rapids, and even surfing (somehow!!) the waves. The road was winding, windy, and had a narrow shoulder, but we carried on.
the Lochsa River being all purty & stuff.
home sweet gravel-y home.. for the night
BeeEifs!
That night, we camped behind a mountain of gravel in a road maintenance station, and cooked up some schlup, endearingly called “The Dinner”. (Winco bulk dehydrated refired beans, instant mashed potatoes, quick rice, nutritional yeast, and a last minute, but very necessary addition of a carrot. Eaten over matzo crackers, with ketchup……..). Then, time for bed again, and zonked out.
“The Dinner”
The morning was (surprise!) chill & windy again, and our monumental task of biking 34 miles, then 12 more up and over Lolo Pass, then the remainder of our daily 55, loomed large over us (literally). But, we packed up, got warned by a cop of the dangerous roads, and trudged on.
I counted miles to the lodge/gas station that we would find 12 below the pass, and when we finally arrived, some fool man was grinding & cutting his way through concrete making a complete rucus! I was ready to relax before the big climb! He was totally just doing his job, but I enjoyed having something to grump about.
We staked out a picnic table out back, feasted on all the snacks in our bags (seriously feasted), then packed up, plugged in our headphones, and rolled out. I blasted Built to Spill (of Idaho origins) in one ear, and left the other open to listen to Stink’s comical grumblings and protests against the prevailing headwinds. (“Wind! If you don’t stop, I’m gunna punch you right in the face!!” *the wind uninterestedly continues, and Stink defiantly punches the ambivalent air in front of her*)
But alas, after what felt like, and probably was, hours of slow climbing, we reached the pass! There was a ranger station up there, and we parked the bikes, excitedly guzzled free coffees (I was so happy!) and got to chat with a few different folks who stopped to stare at our tricked out mobile homes.
Lolo Pass – Mountains of Fun! …nooot.
Among these, we met John, a motocyclist, who will soon been riding all the way down to the tip of South America, and a couple, David & Melinda, who were on their way to the Lolo Hot Springs. I said that if it was free and along our way, that we’d assuredly be soaking it up. We then walked off to check out the minimal (but still existent!) snow, and by the time we got back to our bikes, found a note & gift of hot spring entrance money from them! Those sneaky dogs were too nice!
I’m pretty sure this is taken straight from a old highschool German textbox. Seriously. Check out those angles and that major 90’s-ness.
We finally rolled out, got our obligatory “new state” picture in front of the Montana sign, and speed down our well earned downhill. About 7 miles in, we reached the hot spings, and went in awe to the doors. We checked in, showered the grime off our staaanky bodies, and proceeded to soak our achey knees/bums in 105 degree waters. Niiiiice.
While there, we started chatting with this nice man Steve, from Beaverton, about his son’s extensive bicycle travels around the U.S. & Europe. His style of dumpster diving & sneaky camping jives quite nicely with our own. After a bit, Stink & I headed to the outdoor pool to cool our rapidly boiling brains (don’t worry, I made sure we drank lots of water for the duration of the soak!) and Steve came out and told us he’d like to pledge two cents per mile to the patients of Watsi, and to meet him at the restaurant next door & he’d buy dinner for us!! Woah! Generosity overload in Montana!
We finished up with another soak, rolled next door, chatted with a couple local kids about Beefy and all things rat, stepped inside the restaurant, and lo-and-behold! There was David & Melinda! Our hot spring providers! We had a great conversation with them about fibonacci numbers among other things, and then went over to join Steve & his parents at their table.
They had just finished eating, so his parents headed back to their cabin, but Steve sat & talked with us as we wolfed down a philly steak sandwich and a taco salad respectively. Then hugs & goodbyes and we left under cover of night to camp in a ditch just down the road.
Once again, morning was cold, wet (condensation wise), & windy. We walked back to the cafe for potty usage, and saw a fellow bike tourist roll past. Then we returned to our stealth spot (having a bit of trouble finding it ourselves…), packed up, and got ready to roll out, when we noticed that my kickstand had mashed in & was rubbing my back tire (quick fix) and that Stink’s rear wheel wasn’t, well… wasn’t really attached to the bike… Wonder how long we’d been traveling like that for…
Anyways, mounted up, and rolled 27 windy miles to Lolo, and got our first cell reception in days! Blew up a McDonald’s for their free wifi, and sent out some cards in the post office next door. (By “blew up” I do not mean that we literally blew up McDonald’s. This term refers to the remarkable speed and nonchalantness in which a bicycle tourist will take out every single item from their bags and have them scattered on every available surface within moments of pulling to a stop. This is also called “getting our loiter on”).
Somehow, we spent like 3 hours there, catching up with worried family, writing journal entries (that I can never seem to catch up on), and attempting to contact Missoula press for an interview so we can spread the word about Watsi. (By the way, I was quite succinctly informed that Missoula gets hundreds of tourist riding through every year and they do not print such frivolous stories in their newspaper. Sorry, that sounds sassy… I’m being a bit sassy about that.)
check dem handles out, yo.
We then FINALLY headed out to do the last 10 or so miles to Missoula, first to visit the Adventure Cycling headquarters (which folks had been urging us to go see) and see if the rumors were true about the free ice cream…. And they were! We were greeted at the door by displays of bikes from history that had done long treks (with their owners) and, most importantly, off up and around a corner, Stink caught a glimpse of a bike she instantly recognized as her cycling hero, Ian Hibell’s. It was actually a really beautiful moment & I thought she might cry. A man stepped forth and explained how Ian’s bike had come rest there at the headquarters (he had known Ian personally back in the days of their transcontinental touring) and gave us a personal tour of the other cycles on display throughout the building. This man, Greg Siple, has also created, and continues to create a collection of photographs and essays about the bicyclists who’ve passed through their doors since 1982. He had us write about what we were doing, and why, and the most unusual thing we were bringing along (my pet rat Beefy for me, which Greg said was a first) and then led us out back to take our portraits to join the other cyclists of history.
This is Ian’s bike. Stink was in love. Straight up.
After we finished up, Stink gave a call to her pastor’s wife’s parents (the Babons), who live here in Missoula, and we started heading their way. We arrived to friendly faces and a welcome home, with dinner, showers, laundry, beds, and best of all, really excellent company. Cindy & Jack have a great dynamic, love their kids and grandchildren, and have a loveable old dog named Jäger, who for unknown reasons, refuses to walk on hard floors, unless he has at least one foot on carpeting at all times. This baffles me, and I love it.
But okay, this is a very long winded post (wherein I do actually talk about the wind quite a few times) and I’m up at one in the morning writing it, so I’m now drawing it to a close. We’ll add pictures & post it in the morning, but for now, much love from Stink, Beef, and I, and to all a goodnight!
P.S. We’ve renamed Meriwether Lewis & William Clark to Billy Clark and Mary-Lou. Please enjoy, and use responsibly, by which I mean, anytime you think/read/see the names Lewis & Clark ever again.
P.P.S Here is a video of Stink playing an elephant piano named Mary in downtown Lewiston, Idaho:
John and his monster cat Cougar, owner of Waitsburg Mercantile
Someone in Dayton, WA, made this jumbo Green Giant, it reminded me of the Silver Chair
The other day, as we pulled into Walla Walla, a man and his wife whipped off the road to chat with us. They turned out to be Bob and Emma, our hosts through Warmshowers. Robert fired out an entire clip of complex directions to his home and drove off with us tailing along behind. Robert and Emma were the bests hosts ever. They did our laundry, fed us pizza, gave us use of their internet and showers . . . Also, Emma is from the Philipeans and uses this banana sauce instead of catsup, so Lizzy had a new condiment to add to her vegan hot dogs (also provided byBob). We even got to play with their lab pup Millie. It was quite fortuitous that we ended up there for the above mentioned reasons, but also because we awoke to a complete downpour. Bob let us stay in the basement and gave us an entirely accurate account of the roads ahead. We eventually left around 3:00. Bob, who was driving back to Walla Walla from Pomeroy, met us again on the side of the road and we had a final chat. That night we ended up in Waitsburg.
This Waitsburg building had some super horns. I forgot to ask what they were for
Lizzy and I were both blown away by Waitsburg. It is the only town in Washington that is still operating under its original territorial charter, and is celebrating its sesquicentennial this weekend. There will be a parade, performance by the men’s quartet, and I’m sure an appearance by Izzy, the town’s camel–because every town needs a camel! I found a brand new, unopened, fresh bag of Cheetos in the park too, something I take as a sign of greatness. We camped by the river and decided to get coffee from the local grocer the next morning.
Stink feasting in Waitsburg
lizzy’s sister camel, izzy
Most of the buildings in the town are original structures, and are really well maintained. We chatted with several of the locals and got to watch the installation of several bronze statues that will grace Main Street for years to come. While we were sipping coffee, I noticed an animal adoption sign across the street, so of course we had to check it out.
The animal adoption facility was part of the Waitsburg Heardwear and Mercantile, and is run by a wonderful man named John (he gave me a post card and a maple bar!) The store has been in operation for 103 years. John bought the store ten years ago, well before that he lived in Salem and ran milk samples in McMinnville.
His adoption set up was squeaky clean, which he says is the only way to do it. He had a 28 pound monster cat named Cougar, a blind cat, and even a cat with stub legs. Not sure how to describe it other than that. Seriously, the cat was full size with 3 inch legs. He called it the munchkin kitten. Cats aside, the store was awesome, just a little bit of everything you could need. He even had an entire isle for sturgeon fishing bits.
We left Waitsburg begrudgingly and pedeled out to Pomeroy. We were a little knee sore and bum-hurt by the time we got there. We stopped a terrible, outdated forestry service informational sign. We also stumbled upon a man’s private enamel sign collection/Pomeroy museum, and then a mini mart where we got ice for our achy knees.
sittin on our butts, giving our knees a break in pomeroy
We met a man there who told us to camp in the city park, which we did. When we got to the park there was a young military man doing excercises in jeans and combat boots with three highschool kids. I’m fairly certain he was showing off his strength for us, but what he didn’t know is that Lizzy and I were laughing hysterically at the situation. . . At one point he asked us to tell them what type of exercises to do next.
There was this fabulous pagoda that we decided to camp in. We didn’t take note of the fact that the main light fixture in the pagoda was full of water, or that there were puddles in the pagoda, or that we couldn’t find any dry grass for Beefy to nest in, or that all the acres upon acres of grass that we’d been riding through the past eight hours had all been scratchy dead and that we were in a lush, green park.
So it was that 4:00 this morning we were all awakened from out deep slumber by a torrent of water upon then tent. Honestly my first thoughts were: “that’s funny a storm blew in that quick,” then, “how wet would are stuff actually be if we slept through it. . .”, and though I’m not proud of it, “I’ll just let Lizzy get the bikes.” Tempting as sleep was, commercial strength sprinklers in the face at 4 am prevent snoozing. We popped up and moved everything to the next covered area, and just as we we’re climbing back into the tent, another sprinkler went off. Up we got again and moved everything one more time.
Now we are in Lewiston ID, our third state. Everything is dry, Beef Is getting his prescription filled. We met a fellow cyclists who told us a horrendous story about how his body absorbed some of his foot bones and they exploded(he was explaining why he only had 1.5 feet, though we didn’t ask) I’ll spare the details, but I’ll tell you this: SICK MAN!!!
The knees are feeling much better, thanks for the prayers.
