Day 15. Columbia Falls to Apgar Campground (Glacier National Park), 23 miles

Honestly, I’ve been dreading this post a bit, because my experience of Glacier was so-so, which was a bit of a letdown. Not its fault! But it was not my favorite part of the trip by any stretch.

Today started early, with a reluctant 6:45 departure from Mel and Asher’s lovely haven. The ride into Glacier was beautiful: quiet, cool, verdant, and relatively flat. I wish I had been able to slow down and enjoy it more–I was rushing to get to the park by the 11 am cut-off and make sure I got one of the hiker/biker sites.

I arrived just after 9; the park wasn’t yet busy, with traffic just starting to pick up, and I had my pick of the three available sites. My campsite was really nice: wooded and a bit lower than and set back from the road; the ranger recommended it over the group site in the other loop, and when I saw it on my way to the showers there (only two, yikes!) I understood why–it was big and open and right on the road.

Soon after I got there another pair of cyclists showed up. They—Katherine and Tom from NC—are doing a stellar-sounding extended Northern Tier tour, with lots of stops for hiking and exploring. We chatted and shared notes for a while, including some well deserved shit-talking about US 93.

Settled in, I sat down with a map of the hiking trails. The park is enormous (3 miles from the entrance to my campground, which has its own “village” of stores and restaurants); I don’t think I had a sense of the scale of the thing. I got a bit overwhelmed trying to find a trail I could reach, park my bike at securely, and hike around, particularly given that I foolishly did not bring any sort of backpack. And biking on much of the main road—Going to the Sun Road—is prohibited for cyclists between 11 and 4. I talked to the rangers, who told me the campground near a trailhead out to a rocky outcropping would be a good spot to leave my bike in the ranger station.

Off I went! It was a few confusing miles to the nearby campground with park traffic now in full swing, but I found the ranger station and they were like “nuh-uh, we don’t hold bikes.” The ranger was kind enough to let me stash the bike in the netted employee break area across from the entrance booth and assured me someone would be in it at all times.

Glacier is beautiful, stunning. I bet one of the longer or more challenging hikes or a trip with a backcountry permit would be phenomenal. But my experience of it was … lesser. The trail was crowded, with occasional traffic jams near the best spots, and the chatter inane to annoying. “Oh was that the view? Not that impressive.”

It really harshes your mellow, you know? I found a few quiet moments, but they were brief. Some kind folks did, after happening on me trying vainly to commune with nature, offer to take my pictures, so we have this proof I was there. I made a loop then headed back to my (still there!) bike.

dork

The quietest place at that time of day was the campground itself, so I enjoyed the tranquility for a while, then made my way to the showers, and did some bike cleaning and maintenance.

The wind was pretty stiff by late afternoon, and Katherine and Tom decided to delay their trip up Going to the Sun Road until the next day. I had already mentally nixed it; I admit I was not excited about—this is going to sound strange—riding up a mountain for fun.

The creatures—birds, deer, chipmunks—are so cheeky and bold at Glacier! They fear no man; while Katherine and I were chatting a chipmunk nearly ran across her foot, and a deer wandered into my site at some point to sample my foliage and seemed annoyed at the incursion when I returned from the bathroom.

sorry, bro, I live here today


Dinner was a new addition to the beans and rice routine; at Andrew’s recommendation I tried Chef Boyardee for the first time. Yum! So much sodium! I bedded down with my Kindle and was out almost immediately. The library e-loan approach is not going to work if I can’t get through a book before it’s due.

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Day 14. North Lake Dickey Campground to Columbia Falls, 50 miles

Today was a day of mostly terrible riding and stellar everything else. It did not start auspiciously. I’d set my tent up in a lovely spot chosen for its view of Dickey Lake; I noticed that the site was exposed to the chilly headwind that had hindered the last third of my ride, but since I was just going to be getting into the tent it didn’t seem like it’d be much bother. Now as I woke up, that same frigid wind was rocking the tent and making getting out of the sleeping bag a truly unappealing proposition. I could also hear across the lake the early morning roar of US 93 starting up, which was a double bummer because that was the road I was to be on for a good stretch of the morning. But the road don’t care and the weather don’t care, so I packed up my current life and was on the road at 7.

Spoiler alert: the headwind was not so bad at all, likely mostly wind off the lake; US 93 was deeply unpleasant. Generally speaking I keep my eyes on the road in front of me (for debris, obstructions, cracks, shoulder drop-off, etc.) and my ears on the road behind me. The latter isn’t available on downhills with the wind rushing in your ears and on busy roads with the constant approaching and receding roar-whine of traffic; you have to rely entirely on the drivers behind you–just grit your teeth and try to ride steady. So I did, even though I think we all agreed that me being there was not in anyone’s best interests. And after 20+ miles of that, as we neared Whitefish. I was rewarded with a seven-mile turnoff to the less trafficked Farm to Market Road, presumably named for its earlier function. More on that in a minute. I took the first chance to have a sit by slow-moving Stillwater Creek and enjoy some snacks (dried apricots, mini frosted fudge pop tarts, hard-boiled egg) and the relative quiet.

Stillwater Creek being relatively quiet

When the mosquitos got too interested in me I moved on and quickly learned why there was more heavy traffic than I’d expect from a detour: real estate boom. The once farms were being torn up, earth-moving equipment everywhere, and houses and townhouses being erected in clusters and luxury singles. I wonder what it will look like in five years.

I spotted my first yellow-headed blackbird (that’s both a succinct description and its name), which was very cool—such a striking bird!

Back onto US 93 for a miserable few miles, and then I rolled into Whitefish and stopped at the first cute cafe I saw and got a fancy omelette with the potatoes AND the greens. LUXE.

what a view

The lovely server let me sit for two hours and charge things and write a post and catch up on texts with folks; I hadn’t had real service for days and mostly had my phone in airplane mode to save battery. Shelby’s friend Mel had invited us to stay with her and her family in Columbia Falls–about another 10 miles on–and was kind enough to keep the invitation open when Shelby couldn’t join. It would get me closer to Glacier, which I needed to enter by 11; cyclists aren’t permitted on much of the main road through the park between 11 and 4. And Whitefish was a little overwhelming: traffic, license plates from all over, enormous campers, so many people. So having refreshed my spirits, I jumped back on the road for a much quieter and more pleasant ride to Columbia Falls.

And then I was at Mel and Asher’s house and met Fuzzy, whom I loved immediately and who loved me (and any attention-giver, I subsequently learned) with equal ardor, and several cool backyard chickens. Mel and Asher have the most lovely home and a perfect, cozy guest bedroom. I was ready to ditch the trip and beg to move in.

chickens are such dorky little cuties
Fuzzy loves me
stinking up the place
my room for the night! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

Then they came home with their adorable son Theo, and they made dinner and we sat on their back deck and talked and drank beer, and it could not possibly have been lovelier. Like with Steve and Judy, it felt like meeting friends. We stayed up past my bedtime and then I got into a bed with a cat curled up at the foot. Sometime in the night he went to be with his real people, but around 4:30 he came back in and snuggled in my arms until I had to get up a bit after 5. DREAMY. Did I mention shower and laundry? The whole evening was so fun the two usual standouts paled in comparison.

🖤

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Day 13. Koocanusa Marina & RV Park to North Dickey Lake Campground, 65 miles

It was hard to leave the campground this morning! Maybe it was the tequila; maybe it was trying vainly to dry my tent in the cool early morning from the brief light rain I’d woken to around 11:30; maybe it was emailing with Andrew as I tore myself away from the wifi. (Tech mystery: why can’t I text Andrew over wifi?) Also the sunrise was lovely. In all cases, I didn’t get out of there until just after 8.

I continued north up Lake Koocanusa for the first half of the day, with lots of long but not terribly steep climbs and some pleasant downhills—the sort you can enjoy while taking in the scenery.


I took a break in the late morning when the sun came out to dry my tent and eat some snacks at the entrance to Peck Gulch Recreation site.

While I was sunning myself and my things, the camp hosts came up the road headed out to town; they were kind folks from Bellingham, WA who shared at some length intel about the “gnarly” ride I had ahead of me, including a detailed recounting of each climb, descent, and re-climb I’d be experiencing today. ”And then there’s a nice long downhill to Sutton Creek, but you know how that goes…”

One of the hills they referred to as Climbers Hill, which I assumed referred to, well, how one got up it. I didn’t realize until I was cresting it and wondering about the cars parked on the side of the road and the voices I heard from nowhere that they meant rock climbers. OHHHHH. Apparently you can just climb on it? Which seems weird because the debris littering the bottoms of the rock walls and all the tiny stones everywhere are clear evidence of the mountain’s constant active erosion toward a non-mountainous state. They are always shedding. When the road was quiet enough I could sometimes hear rocks pinging down the hillside below me, though fortunately not above me. I could also hear this odd noise the guardrails (guardrails: they’re back!) sometimes made. Maybe wind? Maybe contraction and expansion of metal?

sound on, otherwise you will have no idea why I’m sharing this video
can you see the eagle taking off up there?

In the afternoon I reached the Lake Koocanusa Bridge, which, like Libby Dam, was brought to you by the US Army Corps of Engineers. I didn’t get a shot of the bridge because I was whizzing downhill toward it, but I spent some time on it just marveling.

And then, sadly, I turned southeast (told you there was a lot of going around) away from the lake and into a headwind. At Eureka, the first real town since Libby, I stumbled happily on a Subway and got myself a perennial tour favorite, a veggie sub stuffed with every vegetable they have. Greens!

I fought the headwind as I made my way to camp, arriving on the later end, nearly 7. Looking at the day’s ride I realized why it had been so slow: 4000 feet of climbing. I’m back around 3000 feet now (haven’t been below 2000 for several days) as I approach Glacier and my last real climb until the east.

I set up camp overlooking Lake Dickey and crawled into my tent to escape the chilly wind and get cozy. And by that I mean fall asleep immediately.

campsite view

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Day 12. Dorr Skeels Campground to Koocanusa Marina & RV Park, 55 miles

I woke up a little late on MY BIRTHDAY: slept in until 6 (!) after crashing out at 8:30. I greeted the morning overlooking Bull Lake, watching a duck trawl for tasty snacks (me too, duck buddy!).

ignore the awkward zoom please
this is what 46 looks like, apparently

I got a beautiful, quiet morning of riding for my special day. Eastern Montana is just gorgeous so far: snow-capped peaks to the north, forested rolling mountains to the south, and me on some sweet, lightly trafficked, flat to rolling roads. The weather remains cool; even when it’s sunny, the air is chilly, and I find I don’t take off my leggings until early afternoon. This is some seriously pleasant riding weather.

my morning ride accompaniment

I think I’m starting to recognize one or two bird calls, which is satisfying. I’m picking up lots of western wildflowers for sure.

There are many white crosses on the side of the road since I got to MT. I’m not sure who installs them; they have no names, and most aren’t decorated, though some are festooned with silk flowers, signs, and small trinkets. I’ve seen singles, pairs, and in one heartbreaking instance, five, each individually and lovingly decorated.

In the late morning I arrived at Kootenai Falls. The crowded-looking parking area turned me off, and I thought about passing it by, but a waterfall! I can’t pass up a good waterfall. I‘d be a fool. So I stashed my bike behind a sign and made the short hike–maybe 3/4 mile from the road. I skipped the swinging bridge attraction, instead making my way up the falls themselves. This turned out to be an excellent choice; the area was totally deserted, and I got to commune with the falls (i.e., stand around gawking) in total peace.

I love massive volumes of water rushing over rocks

After leaving the town of Libby—very limited services next 63 miles, the map helpfully warns—I met up with Lake Koocanusa (KOOtenai, CANada, USA. Seriously.) and began riding north up it. Yes, I know north is not my primary direction; there’s a lot of going around things in the mountains, I’ve learned—none of your midwestern straight lines out here. Shortest distance between two points is NOT APPLICABLE. The climbing started again, with some steep babies as I approached and left behind the Libby Dam, a massive dam in the lower part of Lake Koocanusa.

those are the railroad tracks! I was down there with them like 10 minutes ago!
Libby Dam. The photo stinks because I can’t capture the whole massive thing in one shot.
somewhere above the dam

I’d thought to do a longer day to a USFS campground, which looked lovely but had no showers. The closer marina & RV park was sure to lack charm, but I wanted a birthday shower, so I decided to take the short day. This was 100% the correct decision. Koocanusa Marina & RV Park was tops and turned out to be something of an oasis in that 63-mile stretch of attractive but amenity-free road.

I was the only tent camper and so got a perfect site (in a totally separate area from the RVs, deserted but for me and the birds) overlooking the lake and a very short walk from the camp store, shower house, and … wait for it … bar and grill. A BAR AND GRILL. I had salad and a chicken sandwich with tater tots and a shot of tequila and a couple of Coronas. I sat for three hours and charged all my items and wrote a post and dashed off a few postcards and avoided getting in the conversations about politics that occasionally cropped up as (very few) people came and went. I stayed there until nearly 10! Birthday shenanigans.

I walked back to my tent, checked out this view from the site, and crashed out feeling great.

good night, Lake Koocanusa

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Day 11. Sandpoint, ID to Dorr Skeels Campground (outside Troy, MT), 70 miles

New day, new state! Welcome to Montana, folks. It’s a hands-off kind of state.

welcome to Montana?

It was hard saying goodbye to the Yorks this morning, as well as to Luna, who snuggled with me in the early hours of the morning, and Coco, who is perfect at being loved. But they fueled me up with a pizza dinner and great conversation, gave me route counsel and coffee (with COCOA in it, y’all!), and the morning’s riding was grand. I spent much of it near but above the railroad (yay!) looking out at Lake Pend Oreille, and life was good.

Eastern North Idaho is kind of a dream, riding-wise: beautiful views, quiet roads, cool weather. I don’t have a complaint to register. At some point I thought my phone was buzzing behind me, which was odd because it was in my bar bag with the volume on. Turns out it was a cow lowing.

The wildflowers have turned to hairy vetch (it looks prettier than it sounds—what is a vetch, even?), yellow salsifies, and long-headed poppy. Still largely yellow and purple, perpetuating the mystery first uncovered with Joyce while observing midwestern ditch weeds: why are most wildflowers purple, yellow, and white? Entertaining theories (and even facts!) in the comments.

Clark Fork was an excellent resupply stop, meeting all my needs from Cow Tales to apples to Jack Daniels. The town store even had a book exchange, and I wished I had an excuse to take advantage, but given that I’ve made it maybe 30 pages into my Kindle library loan I … didn’t. The 9 p.m. involuntary bedtime is real, y’all.

I was on mostly lightly trafficked roads today, generally flattish or rolling. I found myself for the most part unbothered by the slow top third of the up-rolls; the fact that I knew they’d be over quickly and not just lead to a switchback and more climbing made them wholly tolerable and even an enjoyable change of pace at times. (Enjoyable: maybe an exaggeration. Fine? Not hateful?) And for long stretches I found myself on the ”old highway”—generally above the water, railroad tracks, and new highway, and as such nearly entirely deserted.

I’m up here

Nothing on the elevation profile intimidated me (!!!!), so I took it slow, with lots of breaks to sit and contemplate the snow-capped peaks to the north and the forested rolling mountains to the south. And to shove snacks in my face: sour strips, bananas and Reeses Peanut Butter cups, and hot and spicy Cheez-Its were some of the selections du jour. Also string beans! Mom!

I love being around all this water–Pace Creek, Bull River–and I know I won’t have it for quite a while through the plains, so I’m getting while the getting is good.

Cabinet Mountains Wilderness

nice, right?

Dorr Skeels was a terrific USFS campground (despite the lack of showers, which is saying a lot!), with a site overlooking Bull Lake and only one other site occupied (by a hydrology student from Marquette, MI who inspected my set-up and pronounced it ”sick”).

campsite view

Today, I must say, was a good day.

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Day 10. Sandpoint, ID, rest day

Today I didn’t ride my bike. I woke up late … wait, nope, I woke up around 5 as usual. But I did lounge in bed, catch up on my posts, do laundry, and generally enjoy a slow morning, including some time with Luna, the Yorks’ cat, who has the best warbling meow

🖤🧡


Eventually I ambled to the farmers market in town, where I noshed on a delicious huckleberry bar, huckleberries apparently being a regional specialty. Sandpoint is an adorable place, pickup-truck-about-town with “TRUMP: TAKE AMERICA BACK” flag notwithstanding. I spent much of today walking around it, and it’s lovely: laid back vibe, manageable size, small businesses aplenty. I took a few items to the post office to mail home, chatted with my babe (hi Andrew!), and made my way toward the plant nursery where Kendall works.

Right across the street I caught sight of some squirrel-type markings, so I went over to check them out. Just as I was taking the last photo, a guy pulls up who clearly has more right to be there than I. I apologized and threw Emily under the bus, explaining that I was taking the photos for a friend who also loves squirrels, but that I would delete them if it bothered him. Thirty minutes later I walked away with a new friend in Sandpoint, one whose wife is a former librarian who now rescues and rehabilitates squirrels; he showed me pictures of a great blue heron in the pond in his back yard, which they had designated a wildlife habitat, complained about Chuck Grassley, and invited me to their yard for a tour if I was nearby.

squirrel cabin
squirrel building
squirrel camper

I saw Kendall’s wonderful workplace (it smells so good and everywhere you look it’s beautiful), and I met the world’s most affectionate cat.


all I did was sit on the ground (and coo like a fool), and this happened
and this

Kendall was liberated early to go to lunch with me, and then she took me on a drive around the Sandpoint area, including a gorgeous and fragrant hiking area called Pine Street Woods. She taught me a bit about the local pines and firs and picked me a few branches to smell. 💚 We parted ways reluctantly—such a fun reunion!—and then I headed back to the Yorks’.

The afternoon was perfect. I hung out with Judy, and Steve, who is a bike mechanic, looked over my bike and pronounced it in fine riding shape. Luna the cat and I had some quality time, and the I walked to the store to stock up on snacks and sneak in a last call with Andrew before reception gets spotty.

Judy and Steve invited me to share a pizza dinner with them, and we sat around talking politics (last time I encounter simpatico folks for a while, I’d guess), female urinary assist devices (conclusion: nope), and talking pets. We definitely watched each other’s pet videos, and it was grand. They are … amazing. I feel like I don’t ever feel want to stay at a Warm Showers place again because it could not possibly match this. I also feel inspired to be an excellent host when I return. This has been magical and refreshing, and I am ready to get back to the road with new energy. Montana, baby!

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Day 9. Panhandle Campground to Sandpoint, WA, 70 miles

What a great day.

I brushed my teeth at the edge of the river and watched an eagle make morning rounds over the bank. Better view than my bathroom mirror, including a notable absence of toothpaste spatter.

The morning’s riding was A++. It was cool and sunny at my 6:30 start, with the road mostly flat as it ran along the Pend Oreille river, sometimes swelling up into the woods above it. I’ve been trying to attend to Kurt Vonnegut’s exhortation to remark, when occasioned, “well if this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is,” as a form of gratitude. And I have had several occasions on which to dorkily say that out loud so far (once on video, never to be viewed), at least a couple of them this morning. Probably I also had a tailwind; that’s what they feel like.

some new bird friends
I couldn’t not stop at this roadside attraction, with its oddly-worded sign
grotto within

There were some very cool rock formations and the entrance to the promised grotto, but I decided not to try verifying its beauty because I was alone, and it was dark and slippery-looking. I choose to believe.

Truly going south along the Pend Oreille will remain some of my favorite riding of the trip. LeClerc Road FTW! I crossed the river at Usk for a hot minute to stock up on snacks at the gas station across the bridge, then popped right back to the other side for more super chill river riding.

My ride took me through the Kalispel Reservation, which was beautiful and lush. A little Googling tells me the Lower Kalispel reservation is on the tribe’s homeland, though its 4600 acres is a paltry sliver of their original territory and has proven resistant to cultivation.

fans

Idaho greeted me roughly, not just because I was turning east, away from the tailwind and the river, but because the rudely steep incline it welcomed me with was on the busiest road I’d seen in a while with a terrible/no shoulder. People were mostly polite, but one lady yelled at me. MEAN.

I was actually hot! And had to apply sunscreen to more than my face! I had almost forgotten what it was like to sweat while not moving. Practice for the plains, but with a shade handicap I will not have.

The riding turned lovely again, and I practically glided through Sagle into Sandpoint on a roadside bike trail that led to a WHOLE DANG BRIDGE across Lake Pend Oreille just for pedestrians and cyclists. I think the footbridge must be the old car bridge, but I kept getting alarmed by the ample room and thinking I must be in the wrong place and a car was going to smoosh me.

see what I mean?

And then! With rain threatening (pure bluster, it turned out), I arrived at the end of NT map 1 and the ludicrously charming, cozy, and welcoming house of my Warm Showers hosts, Steve and Judy. I’ll spend a rest day here with them and their perfect pets (more photos to come duh) before heading to Montana.

back deck
Coco. She is A Good Dog.

Had an absolutely wonderful visit with Kendall, who took me out to dinner and gave me a walking tour of Sandpoint, from art walk to beach to ice cream (bourbon honeycomb yes please). It was a joy, and I’m looking forward to visiting her at the plant nursery where she works tomorrow. Expect many flower photos.

❤️💕❤️

Postscript: I forgot to share this video from the other day of an adorable passel (actually called a surfeit!) of skunks crossing the road.

this looks to me like exactly the right number of skunklets

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Day 8. Outside Colville, WA to Panhandle Campground, 57 miles

Today started, as I knew it would, with the rest of the climb out of Colville, my last real climb for a couple of days. It took me a good while to get through those 20-something miles of making my way up 2000 feet or so, but after that it truly was, in the words of Googlemaps, mostly flat. Which means sometimes it was not, but truly it sometimes was. I found myself confused and almost irritated by those times, unsure whether or how to shift. Like, are we going up or down, guys?? What’s the deal?

A bit of a headwind kept me from pure, flatland elation, but it was some real nice riding along the Pend Oreille River. Which, like everywhere else, is running high and flooding in several spots. One of those is the boat launch at my evening’s campground.

look at these enormous worms! I think they are stranded by receding flood waters

The good spirits are helped along by the fact that today was my first dry, warm day. I dropped the leggings and then Smartwool, switching to shorts and a sunshirt (h/t Joyce) late morning. I even risked putting the rain pants in my pannier! And it was a beautiful day. Not too hot, not chilly even on the downhills. ❤️

oh look, another beautiful waterfall
“Your willingness to minimize noise is greatly appreciated.”

This evening’s campground is great, and though every site is reserved for the weekend, I had my pick of sites for tonight and chose a wooded one from which I can see the river.

making the place homey

No shower or electric, but I have wipes and a power block, and I am enjoying being back outside to sleep again. And it’s my last night in Washington State! Tomorrow onward to Idaho for a rest day in Sandpoint with some cool-sounding Warm Showers hosts (who have a cat and a dog!) and hopefully dinner with a childhood camp friend, Kendall.

just some campground view
Prairie Smoke
tempting
the day started with a couple of chilly, beautiful miles on the Tiger Trail
view from the trail
I *love* being near railroad tracks—such good grading!

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Day 7. Republic, WA to Colville, WA, 62 miles

Another day, another mountain. Today I climbed Sherman Pass, which, at 5575 feet, is my highest point of the trip so far. (I thought that was Washington Pass, but it may simply have been more feet of climbing—I started today around 2000 feet, so it was “only” about 3600 feet to the pass.) I know now I can climb mountains, but turns out I’d still prefer not to, at least not five in four days. Not that the road cares one whit for my preferences, one of the lessons of bike tour.

White Mountain Fire Overlook on the way up

It was an unceremonious greeting at the top: before I even crested I was warned about the downhill grade.

can I get to the top before I start worrying about the downhill, y’all?
cresting…

There was a group of Harley Davidson guys at the top taking a break and snapping photos; as I rolled up they were all looking at me, and I said “well shit, I made it,” and they busted out laughing. I offered to take a group photo, and they took mine, and we chatted a bit. I got the usual “do you carry a gun?” question, but when they heard I was from Chicago (mumbles of “oh, gangsters”), they stopped worrying because that means “she can handle anything.”

a lady from Chicago who can handle anything

Then they left, and I suited up for the downhill. Going up and down mountains means changing your clothes a lot, I’ve learned. I layered and de-layered multiple times in the course of the day, from sweating in a tee and bike shorts to shivering in my hat, gloves, and two sets of toe warmers.

I’ve been hearing myriad birds and trying my best to record and ID them; it’s my goal to start matching up the Merlin IDs with sightings so I actually know what birds I’m seeing. Below are a few I’ve heard (and some I’ve seen).

Aside from many lovely views today, one of the coolest things I saw was this heritage site about Roosevelt’s Civilian Conservation Corps, which had a boys’ camp in Colville National Forest from 1934-43. I hung out there for a while to warm up after the descent down Sherman Pass.

I stayed a few miles past Colville (a few hideously-graded, hilly miles that made me SO MAD) at a bikers-only spot, Bacon’s Bike Hostel. It was free and convenient, and the shower and bed were much appreciated, but the place smelled sour and I woke to the sound of critters in the wall. I did learn from the guest book that there are at least two sets of Northern Tier riders a day ahead of me, and I am apparently VERY lucky weather-wise: they have had consistent rain, as well as snow at 38 degrees on Sherman Pass.

Onward to the (temporarily, briefly) less mountainous lands, once I finish climbing out of the Colville area tomorrow.

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Day 6. Tonasket, WA to Republic, WA, 40 miles

I’m going to lead with the fact that 27 of today’s 40 miles were climbing, and the first four hours featured steady rain. Not heavy rain, but rain in all its wetness. It was hard.

Now a little more about yesterday. The ride through the reservation was beautiful, but also depressing. While discarded roadside cans and bottles are a constant, enraging feature of the American landscape, the road through the Colville Reservation was even more densely littered than usual. Sometimes you see cans people tossed out the window as they rode by, but other times it’s clear someone(s) just sat in a car by the side of the road and drank. The latter was the case here. The remnants of sixes of Coors Light, the cardboard caddy still in the bag on the ground, were strewn for miles in clusters often only feet apart. The occasional mini Fireball bottle made appearances as well. (Elsewhere on the road earlier in the day, Twisted Tea was a popular choice, and mini Fireballs never go out of style.) There was a correspondingly-large number of handmade roadside shrines: painted rocks with the name of the deceased, fake flowers, crosses. It was hideously sad. I also got chased by two dogs who made it out of their yards. One was a ridiculous moppet of a thing that I admonished not to be in the road, but the second was a large dog that slipped a lousy fence and ran next to me barking until I sped up enough to tire him.

The roads were generally very lightly trafficked; often I was the only show in town for miles, and the red-winged blackbirds would get irritated at my presence. Speaking of which! I’ve been using Seek for plants and Merlin for birds, and it’s been real fun. The main flowering ditch weeds I’ve seen are lupine, wild columbine, valerian, Indian paintbrush, and something called Davidson’s penstemon. I’ve heard pine siskins and tufted titmice and red-breasted nuthatches. And oh my lord today I rousted an eagle roadside, and as it took off I got as close as I ever will come to one, I suspect. It was massive and intimidating. It flew into a tree above me, a terrible photo of which I share here.

I have not been listening to anything so far, other than the theme song to “Cheers” involuntarily inside my head. You may wonder how I pass the time. I offer, in explanation, a study on guardrails. I have learned through observation that there is a hierarchy of guardrails. At the top of the guardrail food chain is an iteration of the basic design you’re familiar with: a corrugated galvanized steel rail bolted to posts. The best version has galvanized steel posts and a hard rubber block between the rail and the post; the rail is bolted through the block and into the post, one bolt dead center alternating with five bolts in an X. Second to that is the same design, but with wood posts and blocks. Still good! And the most common one I’ve seen. It’s a rapid downhill slide after that, double meaning intended. There’s the version with the wooden posts and only the one bolt in every post. It’s more a nod in the direction of a guardrail than anything else. Then there’s my least favorite: just a concrete lip the height of a city curb that I suppose tells you you’re about to go over the side of the road but that’s also a terror to a cyclist. And lastly there’s the no-barrier version, just some flimsy brown plastic markers with reflective tape on the top. Many are broken. Guardrails, folks.

I’ve been fortunate in the snack department; a photo of this morning’s haul shows a typical mix of salty and sweet, fatty and simple sugar, crunchy and chewy. Fun surprise find: watermelon-chili rings. I also eat yogurt, apples, bananas, jerky, and hard-boiled eggs, mom!

Okay, to today. I climbed a lot in the chilly rain and did not love it. And I have another mountain tomorrow. But I’ve learned to love my granny gear (loud shout-out to Steve, who fielded a repair call on my second morning to get my granny gear back in shifting order before the climbing started for real—I would be dead in the water otherwise!), which did not used to be the case. I prefer to beast my way through hills, straining in my middle gear to get to the top and get it over with as quickly as possible. Joyce has always been better at slow and steady. But these are mountains, and I can’t beast them; slow and steady in my lowest gear is how I live now. Maybe I’ll learn some patience.

Anyway, I arrived in Republic, got a motel room (again: no good camping options!), went to dinner, and wandered the town in the suddenly sunny and gorgeous evening, and the difficulty of today was over.

view from some way up the mountain
fun fact: named for Wauconda, IL
see?
Republic
Republic graffito
part one of a mural depicting progress (?) in Republic
part two …

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