On the Edge of Cascadia (Day Fourteen)

Descending from the forested campground, we went for a quick, refreshing, and warm (comparatively) swim. Back on the main highway, we continued south out of the 
Missoula valley towards Lost Trail Pass and the Continental Divide. But only a few miles passed before we came upon the small town of Darby, another historic ranger station, and the gazebo that would be our home for the next few hours. With picnic tables and electrical outlets, it was a great place to make tuna sandwiches and catch up on blog posts from the many days without phone service along the Lochsa River. 

Just as we were finally ready to shove off and head out again, dark clouds rushed in from the south and the now brisk wind shifted 180 degrees (turning tail wind to head wind). A quick look at radar let us know that the edge of a heavy rainstorm to the south was only sideswiping our current location, and would soon be out of range to the east. With this information, we struck out. The next few miles held windy gusts and sporadic large rain drops, but the sky soon cleared and we were back with only the sun, our constant companion and challenger. 

A snack stop near friendly horses and mules gave us the fuel to begin the ascent to 
Lost Trail Pass - a grueling 7 miles and 4000 feet of elevation gain, thereabouts. Late afternoon, Lost Trail Hot Springs came within range as a steep gravel path down to the right. Curious and tired, we made the descent. 

A tremendously tall wooden person greeted us before we rode through the assemblage of various wooden buildings. Unimpressed by the hot-springs-fed swimming pool and slightly spooked by the Deliverance-esque atmosphere, we climbed back to the highway and continued churning towards the pass. 

Sun sinking lower, still three miles from the crest, Kevin heard a brook calling from a bend in the road. Low on water, we dropped our bikes and worked down the steep, thickly forested roadside to a cold, clear stream. 
Dark under the doghair thicket, the forest floor was mostly bare save for baneberry, some unknown herb with deeply serrate edges, mitrewort, and one flower wintergreen growing lush and bright along the water's edge. Rosettes of rattlesnake plantain scattered themselves over the deep litter in the darkest places. Letharia, a dry side lichen, grew alongside more familiar Hypogymnias.

Finding the deep woods enchanting but too spooky to spend the night, we found a perch on a long pile of sand and rocks, likely left from highway construction.

In the Wake of Disaster (Day Seventeen)

Again drums persisted until the sun stood well above the hills. We rolled out of our nook back to base camp. The forest was beginning to clear out even more as the festivities subsided. A new air had fallen over the valley. Tired and tried people packed up and shuffled towards the end of the valley. Camps dismantled and scattered. Trash piles mounted and were slowly taken to the distant mouth of the valley.

We grabbed our food bag and headed out of the oppressive atmosphere for a quiet breakfast. Upon a tall hill, reflecting on the experience we decided we had had enough. Bikes packed we joined the exodus; reminiscent of refugees escaping disaster.

The post-apocalyptic scene was completed as we reached the end of the long valley. Trash peaks dismantled and sorted. A foul burn pile emitted the stench of burning plastic and synthetic fabric. The stranded lined the road, hoping for a lifeline out of the chaos.

We faced the dreaded gravel though luckily a kindly pickup driver gave us a lift for the majority. Back on the smooth asphalt we were grateful to have two-wheeled freedom. Jackson Hot Springs caught our attention not long after. One Cobb salad later and a brief conversation with some other cycle tourists we headed out.

After roughly two days without riding we cut through the stiff headwind. Soon enough we came upon the two bikers we had just met and constructed a four person draft column. Hank and Terry had already completed two passes that morning in the dreadwind and were happy to have us help pull them into Wisdom, MT. We exchanged some photos and parted ways. Back across the strange grass and sagebrush landscape we left Big Hole behind.

The sinking sun grew larger as we rolled into the May Creek Campground. There we quickly met Nancy, another cyclist. She is riding the Lewis and Clark trail in reverse - check out her blog! We talked into twilight and finally ate the roadside score of tiny shrimp. The temperature dropped as rapidly as it had risen. We settled into our bags with a mere 9 miles before crossing the Continental Divide back into Cascadia.

Return to Cascadia (Day Eighteen)

The dawn broke and the mosquitoes returned for their blood tax. The coming pass seemed less intimidating knowing that we only had a couple thousand feet to climb from this side. We chatted with Nancy again while preparing a pot of power gruel. Parting ways we continued over the flat and tightening valley floor between wooded hills.

Soon the grade steepened and we took a page from Michael and Jack: stopping at each mile marker for a quick break. The pass was over in no time. We had forgot that the descent was a mere 2.5 miles.

Over the Continental Divide and we were back in Cascadia. Again we stopped in at the Lost Trail Pass visitors center to see Chris. This time we dropped into the Idaho side of the Bitterroots onto the Salmon River. Countless miles of winding, forested descent greeted us with little traffic. It was our two-wheeled kingdom.

We hit the lower elevations and the forested slopes gave way to sagebrush and imposing rocky cliffs. Temperatures sky rocketed as we hit a new layer of air coming out of the lowlands. Two dollar delicious cones in North Fork were taken in before continuing our ride, now slightly gaining elevation as we began to follow the Salmon River upstream. Willow trees in the Red Rocks area, famous for Bighorn sheep, soon presented a needed shady retreat from the midday heat. The Salmon River looked turbid (due to an upstream disturbance, we learned later) but still offered cool respite.

We pushed the last twenty miles into the town of Salmon, quickly checked into the nearest motel, and cranked the AC.

*Sorry no pictures, both phones were dead

Big Sky, Big Hole (Day Fifteen)

From out secret base camp along the Lost Trail we packed up and prepared for the remaining 3 miles and thousand feet. After a few stops along the winding alpine path we had reached the Lost Trail Pass. A rustic visitors center drew our attention. There was another bike parked in front! Soon we met Chris, the host. We rested, exchanged info, and prepared for our final ascent to the Continental Divide at Chief Joseph Pass (~7200 ft.) 

A quick mile later we lunched on the Divide and flew down the forested road into the Big Hole Valley. Bubbling brook turned to roaring river, tight packed slopes flattened to riparian swale. The river valley exploded into a wide plain and the sky expanded exponentially. Surrounded by mountains on all sides the Big Hole's floor contained a curious mix of sagebrush, grasses, and wildflowers.

Shade and air conditioning drew us to the Big Hole National Battlefield center. Cooled and pleased by a more compassionate, balanced treatment of the tragic events than expected we continued on to Wisdom, MT. On the way we caught up to Michael and Jack whom we had met on The Lochsa days before. The brutal heat forced us into a local tavern for some delicious veggie and anchovy pizza before resupplying. People trickled in from the Rainbow Gathering to restock, we knew we were close. 18 miles of asphalt and 8 or so of gravel lie ahead.

The final push started out well enough but soon turned as a previous patch on Kevin's back tire failed due to weight and the boiling pavement. As soon as we slowed They came. They surrounded us in lancing swarms. Mosquitoes! Monsterous, hairy, unrelenting beasts flooded the air. Struck down, ten more rose to fill the space. Under impetus the flat was fixed and we escaped the swarms at a brisk pace. The unforgiving road took its toll as we ran low on water and drive. The last 5 miles seemed to stretch on.

Parched and pooped we rolled into the Jackson Hot Springs Resort to guzzle iced tea and cooled geothermal water. Rewatered the trek continued to our turn-off towards the Gathering. Hundreds of cars had beaten the rough gravel into submission yet it fought back as fist-sized rocks exploded from their dirt prison under the rubber assault. From good to bad to ugly the road threaded its way through low hills and pasture. Great billowing dust clouds rose from the exodus and influx of motor vehicles. Soon the road took its revenge on Kevin's thin road wheels, a pinch flat. Tires swapped and tubes patches the journey continued.

Tents and cars appeared, the grueling gravel was near its end. We crossed over a small bridge and swooped into the outskirts of the massive encampment. Not long after arriving a voice called out to us from a backcountry kitchen, "You guys must be hungry from the ride, Welcome Home!" Our strength was bolstered by a hearty meal of beans, rice and cabbage stew. The sun sunk low and we left the gravel road, pushing our bikes along a worn path to the crest of a hill. We were met by a stunning sunset and a view of the valley below.

Smoke hung low over the sagebrush depression and people milled about between the Main Circle and various camps distributed across the vast valley expanse. Drums echoed and voices carried. The path took us to a foot traffic highway along the floor to the grand
Rainbow arch. Crowds grew and we pushed further into the growing darkness, fires flickerd through the trees. Not far along the wooded path we were greeted by Tori and Chris, fellow cycle tourists from Washington. Tori eagerly led us to their modest encampment. A nearby fire and acoustic guitar drew us in before we grew too tired. Amidst the ecstatic chanting and rising beats of the drum circle echoing in the distance we laid our heads to rest.

The Bike Path, The Lake, and The Burning Sphere of Plasma. (Day Thirteen)

We arose early, said our goodbyes, and rode out of Missoula hoping to take advantage of the morning cloud cover. Just outside city limits Kevin's rear tire lost a battle with a staple and we pulled off to repair.

Trekking back into Lolo we discovered the glorious bike path that we would follow for nearly 40 miles south. Paralleling the main road, it added hills and curves the ironed highway didn't have. While car traffic still ambushed our senses, the path gave us distance from it that made the journey seem shorter and more enjoyable.

Then Kevin spotted a familiar portrait of a viking, indicating we were passing the Hidden Legend winery. Open even on the fourth, we went in to enjoy samples of the mead made with knapweed honey. Legendary!

Billboards for the Super 1 Foods Store enticed us in to a buying bonanza in Hamilton. Hungry, excited by the high quality and low prices (like the child of a Whole Foods and a Winco), and with only a few miles to our evening camp, we loaded up.

Mostly quiet Como Lake was a good backdrop for deep sleep after corn roasted on the fire an delicious local Wildwood brewery beer.

Rest Day in Missoula (Day Twelve)

Though it was rest day we had many things to accomplish. We found long-sleeved, light-colored shirts (sun protection) at Goodwill and mailed back extraneous gear; we had lunch with a friend and ate ice cream. We attempted to visit the Adventure Cycling headquarters but were minutes too late - guess we'll be sticking with our own improvised routes.

Back with the Millers, we shared our gear and stories with the rapt children. After enjoying dinner with them once again, we bedded down on the giant trampoline.