Idaho to Montana

The Idaho panhandle is pretty narrow. Two cycling days and I was in Montana. Kaboom--like that! But, Lawdy, Lawdy, Idaho is soooo Purdy!!! I left CdA on the morning of Thursday, June 13th.  Cloudy, cool weather greeted me as I emerged from my tent. The road up the next set of hills was rolling, with a gradual ascent over many miles. Again, I have to give the interstate engineers of Interstate 90 a big hand---they managed to cross the upper range of the US side Rockies with a gradual grade, no worse than 6%--and that is more of a rarity than a commonality. Most of the interstate rolls through river valleys, between the mountain ranges. Again I wondered, “what had I been afraid of?”

Back in New Mexico, so many well-meaning folks had given me dire warnings of how impossible it would be to ride HD over the Lagunas, Big Sur, the Pacific Northwest, The Cascades, and The Rockies. Big Sur was actually the hardest, then the coastal mountains of the Pacific Northwest, then the Lagunas. The Cascades and The Rockies have been a relative piece of cake with the interstates and nearby highways wisely following through the best passes and bordering river valleys. Ask the water, I thought, The Water Knows!! 

I also have noted that I am becoming more and more fond of Henry David, my trusted companion. He is surprisingly sturdy and reliable. 

It is like becoming one with the machine. Here’s the funny thing. We are all made of the same stuff, whether animated or not (I know of some people that are particularly un-animated!! Oops, did I say that?). Down at the core, there are a few differences that make me a human and HD a cycle. 

Of course, those differences might be considered HUGE from a “spiritual” standpoint. But maybe not so different from a “quantum” view. We are both forms of energy with electrons spinning in an endless space.

Back to the Journey. The ride on the interstate was very nice---winding through the mountains and bordered by rivers and trees. I took a break in Kellogg and drank Mickey D’s coffee while I consulted my iPhone maps again. Osburn was a short ride ahead so I meandered that way and stopped in town. Osburn was very, very small and had no actual grocery store. The RV and tent campground was open but I didn’t even check it. I kept seeing signs for Wallace, the next town up the road. Also, I knew that there was a bike trail--the Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes. So, I hopped on the trail in Osburn and rode through picturesque river country into Wallace. 

Wallace! Now, THAT’S a town!! I fell in love with this tiny mining town that was extremely proud of its heritage. I stopped at the Visitor Center/Chamber of Commerce and met “Diane”. She is an effervescent young lady that looks and acts a bit like my lovely niece-in-law, Teresa. Diane exuded energy. She runs the CoC with verve and dedication, training volunteers and taking time off when she can. She moved to Wallace a few years ago from Los Angeles, happy to get away from the big city. AHA! I thought--I recognized that California ENERGY. She has taken it to Wallace and is a fantastic spokesperson for this cute town. She pulled out maps and brochures and talked with great animation about her town and the spots “not to miss”. Apparently, this weekend was a special weekend, with a carnival taking up 3-4 streets downtown, a drinking parade scheduled on Saturday night, and general fun. The Chamber had posters of movies that had been filmed in the area, one of them is Dante’s Peak. I really liked that movie!

Wallace is known for its Silver Mining and is still a world mining area for that metal, as well as other metals. It is known at the Silver Capital of the World and 1.2 billion ounces of silver have been mined since 1884. Over the years, mining practices have improved and the area has regained its pristine beauty, through careful and conscientious mining .  Every downtown building is on the National Register of Historic Places. Thus the interstate had to go OVER Wallace rather than through it. It was crazy looking---so impressive--with the Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes on the edge of town and this huge Interstate bridge spanning the edge of town so as to leave it all undisturbed. There are some great mining museums in the area. 

So what industries thrive in the mountains of Idaho and Montana? Logging, mining, and numerous small ranches and farms.

Diane pointed me to the campground that is connected to the City Limits Pub & Grill, right next to the Trail, and truly on the Wallace “city limits”. I pitched my tent next to a rushing creek and enjoyed the rather loud white noise all night. It was quite chilly, but I slept well with my sleeping bag, space blanket, and the rushing waters. It even rained, but it was so very cozy. 

But, before hitting the hay, I spent a delightful evening at the City Limits Pub & Grill. They offered several vegetarian dishes and I ate like a queen, with leftovers for breakfast! I played on the internet while I sat there, looking up educational choices for my future. I do not plan on being on the road forever...

The next morning, I awakened to cloudy, cool skies and the plan to go over Lookout Pass and land in St Regis, Montana. My brief sojourn in Idaho was about ready to close. 

I cycled the Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes to Mullan, Idaho. Apparently, the trail started in Plummer, Washington. I had sadly missed most of the trail, but I certainly can’t complain as the roads I had taken had been very nicely maintained and the views were beautiful, whether on the interstate or the bike trails. The only roads I don’t always relish are the city streets with traffic and stoplights---which is my bane as I have to get off the interstates when they cross cities. Some of them, however, give you side roads to neatly sidestep the traffic. On these edge-of-town roads, you see the industrial market at play: tire stores, farming and ranching equipment lots, mills, auto and tractor repair, etc. It reminds you that the business outside of town is often what makes the town viable. 

After exiting the trail in Mullan and entering the interstate, the road’s ascent sharpened to 6%---still quite doable and not that far, actually. Or maybe I’m getting stronger. I guess that’s a possibility.

At Lookout Pass, which is the Idaho/Montana border, I stopped at the Info Center and purchased coffee and a snack while I tried to warm up. It is apparently quite the ski area in the winter, with a ski school, ski lift, rental ski equipment, etc. You can also hop onto the Trail of the Hiawatha there and you can rent a mountain bike to do it. This is a popular graveled road---an old railroad service road---that families can enjoy for many miles. You can ride slightly downhill and then take a bus back. Very, very cool. 

A note on trains. The history of the train services through the Pacific Northwest is fascinating. As is all train history. From a cultural standpoint, sociological standpoint, political standpoint, and economic standpoint. The libraries are full of train stories. And don’t we still get a thrill when we hear a train whistle? It beckons of adventure. 

BUT---the ENGINEERING of the entire system is phenomenal. I didn’t know this before this wonderful trek through the northwest, but train tracks cannot ascend or descend more than 1.7%!!!! Can you imagine what this means? That is such a minimal grade, that you have major construction and problems to solve to lay any track. Bogs had to be drained manually, dirt and rock built up or taken down, bridges every where, tunnels cutting through mountains when you can’t go around them, because you can’t go over them with a 1.7% grade. 

The service roads for the trains, therefore, have the same grade. For the northwest planners to make them into hiking and biking trails is a fantastic thing for travelers, vacationers, tourism dollars, and to delight the local residents as well. 

I just love trains. Many people bled and died to connect the east and west. Natives lost their lands and Chinese labourers lost their lives. Fortunes were made and lost as our country heaved and groaned and laboured to build a nation. 

Back to Lookout Pass. It was chilly at the pass, about 40 degrees, and my fingers and toes were complaining and tingling. I fished out my gloves, a bit late I’ll warrant, and donned them to make the descent.  The rapid descent from the pass was indeed chilly. OK, it was damn cold. But, with each 100 ft drop, I could feel a substantial change in temperature. Within about 6 miles, I could feel all my digits again. 

I cycled to St. Regis and pulled into the St Regis Campground, backtracking up the frontage road to get there. I met the owner, a spunky little lady about my age named Lisa. She had me laughing in seconds--actually the moment I walked in the door. She had seen me cycle up the gravel driveway on HD and wondered who the heck was crazy enough to do that?? She and her husband Mitch own the campground, which is open 6 months of the year. In fact, that is what I have found to be the case for most of the campgrounds, even the KOA, in the mountains where the winter becomes severe. The managers and owners of these seasonal campgrounds love this feature. They work 6 months of the year. Then, in the frigid winters, they hole up in their homes or take off on vacations to warmer climes. Lisa, however, is alone most of the winter as her husband has a winter job that takes him away for several months. 

This is a gutsy woman. 

She loves to sew and to read--great wintertime activities to relish with a cup of coffee and a nice fire. She joined a quilter’s club and loves the older, more experienced quilters who are teaching her the intracies of this art. She says, in a whisper and with a quick look around, that she loves “old people”. This is handy, I think, as the RV campers are generally seniors who are enjoying the spending of their childrens’ inheritance. Yay for travelling seniors!!

Yay for travelling, period!

The St Regis campground was very nice and I was planted on a grassy patch. The bathrooms were immaculate and the shower hot and welcome. 

The next morning, I tried to get it together early and got back to town by 8 am. But, by the time I drank coffee, consulted my maps, and talked to a few folks, it was about 9:15 a.m. 

There at the major travel center in St Regis, I met Andy. He is a disabled vet, likely in his mid to late 60’s. He has a bicycle with a little motor on it, which helps him get up hills. This is his mode of travel and he travels “aimlessly wandering”, as he puts it, camping on the way with an occasional motel stay. He was friendly but maybe a bit on edge. When I asked him what gave him joy or what does he love, he got a bit aggravated. But I understand that this is usually because most people don’t stop to ask themselves what they love. They don’t pursue their joys. They wander “aimlessly” through life. Eventually, he answered, “traveling around”. He has done his share, both on a typical bicycle, and now on his semi-motorized one. We wished each other safe travels and I headed up the hill.

Unfortunately, it was the wrong hill. I had pointed myself in the wrong direction and cycled for 45 minutes uphill on a country road . But, it was NOT the highway I was supposed to be on. I turned around and reached St Regis an hour after I had started. So, I pointed HD toward hwy 135 with the intent on cycling the “Ninemile Rd” almost to Missoula, until it was supposed to connect to hwy 93/200. 

I say “Supposed To”. LOL!! This road appeared to be a gravel county road going over the mountains. I changed my mind when I actually saw the dang thing, and stayed on hwy 135 till it connected to hwy 200. So, the 78 mile ride to Missoula turned out to be a 95 mile ride to the Muralt Travel Center, about 6 miles west of Missoula. 

Hwy 135 and Hwy 200 meandered next to rivers. Hwy 200 ran next to the Blackfoot River, known for its famous flyfishing. It is the area filmed in “A River Runs Through It”. Really gorgeous. 

There are no real towns along this stretch of the highway, on 135 or 200. My body was seriously fatigued by about mile 55. I was climbing again out of the river valley and, in order to keep from getting weepy and hopeless, I took on Drill Sergeant Joe role and yelled at myself and HD to push, Push, PUSH and show what we were made of, dammit! I shouted some obscenities, in a good natured way, making myself laugh, and then I scolded myself until I reached hwy 93, where I turned south toward Missoula. Right at the intersection was the little burg of Ravalli. Not much there, BUT there was a little cafe, so I stopped in, thighs screaming and body shaking. I ordered a huckleberry milkshake. I had seen these advertised all the way through Oregon, Washington, Idaho, and now Montana. It was about time. The waitress was kindhearted and friendly and encouraging and her sweet smile was like manna. 

And damn, was that shake good!! Little purple huckleberries, still whole in the lavender cream, were sweet and tart. I was revived, with over 30 miles to go.

I headed south toward Missoula and was greeted by a long, slow grade. I saw several billboards advertising Muralts’ Travel Center and that became my Holy Grail. “If I can just get to Muralts’, I will stay in the Days Inn”, I repeated to myself over and over. Then, when the descent toward Missoula began, I sped the last 6 miles downhill, made one last uphill climb at the end, and rolled up to the Inn and checked in at 9:30 pm. Whew! I was sooo happy to be there. 

And, oh so tired. The restaurant was closing in 30 minutes and I knew I couldn’t get my gear into the room and back down to the restaurant in time, so it was trail mix and fruit and bakery leftovers from St Regis for dinner. I knew I was going to need a day to rest.

Funny how the most difficult things, once faced and conquered, become the happiest of accomplishments.