Week ending August 23rd 2009

We arrived at a nice campsite in the small town of Republic, a lovely little place with wooden buildings reminiscent of the early C20th. Dave, a chap who we met at the campsite had been following our route for some time, and had finally found us. It must be noted that he left the east coast at least 5 weeks after us, and managed to catch us before we made it to the west coast.  We had breakfast the next morning with him, and he pedalled off into the hills in a cloud of dust. Joff had another round of toast.

Our next challenge was Wauconda Pass, a breeze in comparison with Sherman. Stunning views west, where the mountains laid back a little, to allow for a better appreciation of the scenery, followed by a 52 mile downhill, which found us in a huge arid, almost desert-like valley where the trees were sparse, small and sometimes brown in colour. Irrigation was the big thing here. Farmers and gardeners ran sprinklers all day and night. We stayed at the campsite in the county fairground in Okanogan and copious quantities of water was sprayed over the grass (not crops or flowers) from the moment we arrived, at about 5pm, to the moment we left at 9am the following day. The whole of this broad valley was quite literally a reverse oasis, as the verdant life all around us vanished, only to be replaced by brown brush and dust.

Okanogan was however a delight, and we met Dave there who we found pushing his bike to the bike shop. He had to replace his chain:- too much effort on the cranks, I suspect - wouldn’t happen to us….all that effort…..

Day three, so it must be Loup Loup Pass, which we had anticipated to be somewhat easier than Sherman and Wauconda. WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. It was the hardest and most surprising climb of the week. The vertical face of tarmac began as soon as we began pedalling. Maybe we were just tired. But in any event, it was a tough climb, which lasted 4 hours or so. The down wasn’t quite what it should have been either. The descent doesn’t always seem to repay one’s efforts… except perhaps in terms of the scenery, which remained beautiful and wild.

Day five of the passes, and we were somewhat exhausted. We pedalled around the village of Twisp, where we had stayed at Scot’s place the night before. He couldn’t make it as he was off walking, but he left the door open and a note lay on the table saying that we were to help ourselves to whatever we could find! What a kind chap. A cup of tea and a sit down sufficed.

From Twisp we visited the ‘Smokejumpers’, whose hangars were situated on a runway in between Twisp and Winthrop. These men and women are trained to parachute into small forest fires in the wilderness and put them out by hand, before they get too large. Once they have stopped the fires, they have to walk out. Sometimes it takes them two days to get back to civilisation, so they have to carry food, water, sleeping bags, tools - oh, and their parachutes….

They jump out of the aircraft at 1500ft, with a box of tools following them to the ground. They jump over California, Washington, Idaho, Montana and Alaska. Though they usually have a cuppa in between.

Winthrop, a modest distance from Twisp, saw us in the library emailing people and cooling down. Joy began chatting to a chap called Rob, who happened to have cycled across the country earlier this year, and had been in conversation with some of the people that we met en route. As they were chatting, he asked whether we had anywhere to stay that night. We said that we were not sure, and he promptly invited us to stay! Marvellous. His house was even on route. Mazama, a small village in the Methow Valley, was enclosed by some very tall trees and even larger mountains which peered at us from rather close quarters.

We had a lovely evening, where we found out that he was once a kayak guide on the west coast, and happily advised us of the best places to visit and camp. We slept on the lounge floor, which was great. Had we camped in his back yard, as we had intended, we were assured that we would have seen cougar and bear…. so a big Thank You to Rob for letting us stay indoors

We had tackled four of the five passes and it was now time to crack the last one: Washington (and Rainy, which together make one, apparently). We set off at 8.30am and found to our glee that it wasn’t actually as difficult as the others. Whilst we had to climb over 3,500ft, it was less steep and less hot than we had envisaged. But maybe we were just superfit.

Hoorah!

As we went over the top, the greenery re-appeared, as if by magic, and sheets of vivid green lichen clung to the tree trunks. The humidity came back and even though we whizzed down the hill on the other side for miles and miles, we were still hot and sticky by the time we stopped for a drink.

We followed a wonderful verdant gorge for more than a dozen miles, along the Skagit River and past three dams which offered great views across lakes and mountains. The roads twisted and turned but the traffic was light and generally quite slow, so we could appreciate the views without worrying about the roads.

For days end however, we pulled into a small village called Marblemount and a rather dismal RV park where a night with the local wildlife (in their trailers and rv’s) and a grotty shower cost $15…!!

Never mind. Next day saw us pedal the short distance along the rapidly widening Skagit river to the town of Sedro Woolley. The road had flattened out as we had by now descended from the Cascade Mountains; but the route equally pleasant. Dappled light from the old growth trees, both deciduous and coniferous, and the narrow twisty road and fast river added a Tolkienesque feel to the journey. Thankfully the Auks remained hidden, but several of the truck drivers who thundered past us could have passed as film extras.

The town was average in both size and attractiveness, but the fact that it was only 35 miles from Anacortes was a blessing. We stayed the night and cycled off the next morning happily towards the coast. The route was flat and from 15 miles away we saw the sea. We rode alongside it for some distance before crossing over a bridge onto Fidalgo, the island on which Anacortes sits. We rode across the sound on a dedicated pedestrian and cyclist bridge to enter the town.

....and the massive crowd goes frantic as they see the pair pedal into town.

We saw no ‘welcome to Anacortes’ sign. Bit of  an anti-climax. We pedalled into the downtown area and half-expected to be met by cheering crowds and photographers waving their arms as if directing the action. No such luck. All was normal. No film crews and journalists. And absolutely no-one wanted our autographs. Astonishing.

We remained anonymous as we ate lunch. Then we met Dave again. He had ridden over the last pass and had been resting on his laurels for the past two days, in anticipation of our arrival. Not even Dave wanted to take our picture.

We felt elated to be here, but at the same time, it wasn’t as exciting as we had expected. All things come to those who wait, we assured ourselves. Part of the problem was that Anacortes wasn’t Bar Harbor, the quaint little town on the Maine Coast from where the US part of our trip had begun.  It appeared to be a working town, rather than a holiday destination (It is in fact a holiday destination, but it just didn’t feel like it). There were not enough pottery shops and art galleries to give a real sense of a place where we could relax.

Over our umpteenth cup of tea, we reflected on the trip to date. For a couple of middle aged office workers, we were quite pleased with ourselves: 4618 miles, 105 days in total, 89 cycling days, 1 puncture, 4 days of rain, 6 days of unnecessary headwind, 10 US States and 4 Canadian Provinces. Marvellous.

We stayed with a lovely couple in town that evening, Art and Lexi, who welcomed us warmly into their home. We had dinner and fun conversation with them and their friends, and then apologetically pottered off to bed:- Joy had planned that we get the 8.15am ferry next morning to Orcas Island, which forms part of the San Juan’s, to meet some people who were having brunch on the sea shore. This extended holiday thing is not all hard work, y’know…..

Week ending August 16th 2009

The Cabinet Mountains Wilderness, on the Montana/Idaho border, and known by citizens of the US since time immemorial, was an absolute revelation to us. Heavily treed, pristine, more approachable in their scale than Glacier, and utterly quiet, it was one of the best day’s rides we had had the privelege to experince (along with ‘the day of the Osprey’, immediately before it). No wonder the area is not heavily advertised. Why make it a theme park?

The Cabinet Mountains

The flat bottomed glacial valleys, good for cattle ranching, lead us into the sleepy little village of Clark Fork, just over the Idaho border in which we met a fantastic cafe owner who sighed when we said we wanted to sit outside rather than in the dingy interior, and called us to collect our food rather than bring it the additional 3 yards to deliver it via the fully functioning front door. But the food was fab, so that was alright… Her tip was not monetary, but included the words ’smile’ and ‘or retire’.

Paula, whom we had made contact with via the warmshowers website was very kind and, along with her kids, welcomed us into their home in Sandpoint in the central area of the ‘panhandle’ in Idaho. It was a great place to take a breather, wash our clothes and collect our thoughts. We picked huckleberry’s on Schweitzer Mountain, a winter wonderland by all accounts, and in the evening went to Eichardt’s, a very cool pub in town which hosted a great funk band from Brooklyn. You might be pleased to hear that dancing was not on the agenda…

We continued west on a rather lovely, and very quiet rural road, to Priest River and Newport. The mountains reduced in scale but followed us. The trees remained with us. The sky was grey, as clouds clung to the hill tops. The air was cool and it felt like we were approaching the Washington border, the Cascade mountains and a volume of rainfall more reminiscent of England.

We found an RV resort which turned out to be a place where those with RV’s can buy a patch of land, and stay in their vehicles, but there are no facilities for campers. The chap by whose RV we found ourselves sheltering just as the rains came, offered us a drink, somewhere to shelter and a towel to dry off. The trees bent double, the sky went black and the lightning flashed around us. It eased off within half and hour so as we had no alternative, we rode on. Thankfully, as we’re having a few short days at the moment, it wasn’t much of a hardship to ride another 4 miles.We stopped at a rather informal campsite behind a gas station on the edge of the Pend Oreille river and got into our little tent just in time to avoid another major downpour.

The Pend Oreille river valley wends its way north west and we pedalled the emptier of the two flanking roads on the north eastern side. Houses dotted the route across the water, but on ‘our’ side it remained quiet and rural. We were now in the Kalispel Indian nation and the Wellness Centre and Council headquarters overlooked the valley. Then the rains came. They remained with us all the way to Ione, where we treated ourselves to a motel - in order to dry out, wash stuff and sleep properly.

From here, we began the first of five mountain passes. Today, it was Tiger Pass. Lots of ascent, heavy rain and some well deserved downhills on the other side brought us to the base of Sherman Pass, the biggest and steepest of the five climbs we had between here and the Pacific Coast.

Before we began the day’s ride, we had built this climb into something quite big - and by days end were satisfied that it was indeed something quite big…  The scenery remained wonderful, as the forests lined the roads and followed us up the pass. The whizz down the other side was almost worth the 5 hours of struggle.

Week ending August 9th 2009

We stayed the next night in Cardston, after all the wheel problems we’d had. It was a lovely town and comfortably gave us enough to do.

Next morning at 6.30 am (yes, exactly….) we were off. We had only intended pedalling to Waterton, on the Canadian side of the National Park, but we arrived to discover, at the gate into the park, that there was no camping available - as a long, holiday weekend, all places were fully booked. Oh well. We had little option but to cycle over Chief Mountain Pass, and back into Montana. The wind was in our faces, it was hot, and we had to ride up to 5500ft (up a vertical rockface, according to Joy). Not that we actually minded too much. Except that I had to push Joy’s bike occasionally.

The scenery was breathtaking, the sky clear and the whole route completely Grizzly bear-free. Half-way up however, things took a turn for the worse. We came across a motorbike accident, in which the bike rider had died. We were allowed to walk past the scene, with the poor chap still lying half under a white sheet. His helmet lay to one side, he had a boot ripped off and he lay awkwardly. We took our bike helmets off as we passed, and pedalled off silently down the road (and up the road) to the border. Joy hoped that he had really enjoyed his last ride, and that he’d had a good night previously. All I could do was thank our lucky stars that we were ok.

The bitter taste in our mouths lasted for quite some while. Today, 5 days later, we still think of him and the poor car driver into whom he rode.

We met up with Lisa and Kyle, a pair that we first met in Cut Bank. We cycled together for a while and then said our farewells. We were sure we’d be seeing each other again. We rolled into the KOA campground in St Marys, a nice site with good showers and an on site PIZZA DELIVERY…… so while we sat admiring the views of the rapidly increasing number and scale of the mountains which surrounded us, the chap at the other side of the camp site (at least 50 yards away) cooked and brought to us - in his golf buggy - a couple of marvellous pizzas.

Having ridden a long way the day before, today we decided to ride a short way. Rising Sun campsite is set at the base of a mountain, and opposite St Mary Lake. It was also officially in Glacier National Park. Notices about Grizzly Bears were posted in various places including the campground where we had chosen to stay. Oh good.

A welcoming signpost, this one was actually seen on the route up Lake Koocanusa, several days later.

Apparently, Grizzlies aren’t after us, and don’t really eat much meat at all (according to the Park Rangers).

Now, I’m no scientist, but I was wondering whether the Grizzlies 3″ long claws and 1.5″ long fangs were designed entirely for use in tearing the skins off blueberries and huckleberries….? I thought not.

Large, lockable steel storage chests were strategically placed around the campsite into which all food, toiletries and cooking utensils had to be placed - in order to prevent the bears from becoming accustomed to humans (and, as an aside, to help prevent us from becoming bear food). We were meticulous about storing stuff away. Bears have a sense of smell more than 100 times more powerful than a dog’s. And large fangs. Did I mention that..?

Benjamin, a chap form Germany, who was touring the National Parks on his bike, turned up the following day and, as he’d recently bought a fishing rod, we went to the lake and spent a few hours fruitlessly thrashing about on the water. According to a native American lady I overheard, the lake is full of monster fish that the Indians apparently won’t fish for. No such reverence for us, we fished for them but just couldn’t catch ‘em.

In the afternoon Joy and I took the shuttle bus 12 miles to the top of Logan Pass, at 6646ft above sea level - unhitched our bikes, then whizzed back down to the camp site. The scenery was as expected. Huge vistas, glaciers, snowcaps, tree lines and an array of amazing wildlife - all in one 12 mile ride. We saw Bighorn sheep, a Mountain Goat, Ospreys and Chipmunks and Joy even saw a Black Bear. Thankfully, from a distance. And no Grizzlies.

The time had come. We couldn’t put the inevitable off for any longer. The following morning, Benjamin, Joy and I cycled up Logan Pass. As we had built it up into something really rather momentous, it was thankfully quite simple to ride. Steep, but simple. We had a lot of stops to enjoy the views (at least, that was my excuse), take photos and revel in the fact that the scenery really was as grand as everyone had said.

A view from the western side of Logan Pass looking down the valley into which we rode

The pass itself was a mass of people at the visitor centre, (where we were amazed to discover no cafe) but the views down the other side were even more spectacular than the side up which we had just ridden. Jagged teeth, rough tops and snow caps abounded. The treeline was clearly defined, above which the mountains were too steep and too cold to cultivate any growth and the valleys below dropped miles away. The road down was long, steep, rough, old and frankly rather too narrow in places. But, given that it was being repaired, and traffic was held up sporadically by the road gang, cyclists were given free rein for 25 miles of white knuckle descent. Wheeeeeeeeeee….!!!

After Apgar, a small seasonal village in the Park, we said goodbye to Benjamin and pedalled onto Whitefish, which has a bit of a holiday-feel to it. We had left the Park, but were pleased to see that mountains stayed with us. With white water rafting, canoeing and fishing located nearby, and the spectacular backdrop of the Rockies now behind us, but with other ranges all around us, creating an ampitheatre of rock, the town was overpriced but attractive and as an early birthday present Joy bought me a fly fishing rod. - I was determined to catch as few fish on this continent as I had done over a period of 30 years in England…..

The scenery remained beautiful and wild, as we arrived in Eureka, a lovely little town with a great restaurant and a tidy little park, which had a shower block, accessed by a key, given to us by the city’s police department. Both of them. The town had a really pioneering feel to it, partly because of the range of single storey buildings lining main street, with flat fronts behind which sat the pitched roofs; and partly because of the number of trucks that we saw. The ratio of truck to car had noticeably changed in the last couple of days, but the stetson count remained steady. There were no leather ones to be seen, which I had expected, but several white straw ones. I was very tempted to buy one, but wouldn’t be able to carry it - and as a crash hat, its effectiveness remains to be proven.

A constant theme for us as we rode the route between Glacier National Park and Idaho was our surprise at the beauty and quiet grandeur of the scenes that unfolded and the places we found. Quiet, next to the scale and majesty of the NP, with its advertising, its whitewater rafting and its bus loads of tourists; and quiet, as there was literally no-one on route between them. We pedalled a route 80 miles long, many of those miles down Lake Koocanusa, a man made lake which runs north-south, and stretches into Canada. Its name derived from the ‘Kootenai’ tribe of Indians, who used to call the area home, ‘Canada’ and ‘USA’. It was built during the depression years of the 1920’s and 1930’s in order to boost the local economy, and some historians even claim that it helped to speed up the end of the war (along with a couple of other dams constructed in this part of the US.

The Libby Dam

On that day of half a dozen cars and stunning mountain scenery, we saw 29 (separate) Ospreys, 5 Bald Eagles and as many nests.

Bald Eagle

We also cycled past an inquisitve coyote - which we thought was a fox, until we saw a stuffed one the next day in the local library at Clark Fork…! Joff particularly takes pleasure in reporting an entire lack of bears, despite seeing at least 2 large signboards along the rather desolote stretch of highway warning travellers of potential meetings with such large omnivores. - I have to admit that for the first 10 or 20 miles, the sighing and heaving of the metal safety barriers along the edge of the road as they expanded and contracted with the heat of the sun, did keep me on my toes….