Cascades

We're finally done with moutain passes. Rainy pass was our last of 12.



Riding the Cascade Highway was another beautiful scenic route. I am sure after my last mountain pass post, none of you want to read anything more I have to say so here are some pics. The pictures are a little hazy because of the forest fires going on in the area.









We thought Washington was going to be more populated...

Getting fat like bears.

We've passed through a lot of alpine wilderness since the last post. The climate on this side of the mountains is lush, wet, and far tamer than the craggy mountains and glacial valleys of the past few days. Everything is green, alive, and nurturing.

We camped by the Skagit(rhymes with gadget) River last night, where blackberries bushes hung low under the weight of their fruit.



Blackberries in the morning oatmeal taste like berry cobbler. What a treat!



The Skagit River has so many salmon jumping around in it that it sounds like someone is throwing bricks into the water every couple of minutes.




We'll post a lot more about the mountains, there were some pretty cool things that happened in the past few days. Only a half-hour at the library for now though.

The Psychology of Climbing a Mountain Pass

We've been climbing a mountain pass each morning for the past two days and have two more planned for the following two. At the beginning of each pass climb, I always make the silent vow that I will complete the climb, and I will attempt to complete it with dignity. So far, I have always accomplished the first goal. Not quite on the second.



When Ira and I left on our trip, the idea of quitting our jobs and riding our bikes around the US, seemed like the equivalent of winning the lottery The desire to leave all trappings of society behind, hit the road and go on an adventure of discovery is so much a part of the American dream, its almost on par with hitting the mega millions jackpot in a lot of minds. With everyone telling us this was a chance of a lifetime (with the except of much parental concern), we allowed the romanticism of the fabled American west to act as a magnet pulling us out our front door and across the plains. The idea of heading across the frontier thrilled my imagination. Except for one tiny detail. The ROCKY MOUNTAINS! My Midwestern born and bread legs soon began fearing for the future. The mountains loomed as a dark ominous threat I knew I had to deal with sooner or late, but was always hoping for later. They were easy to put out of my mind in Minnesota, and even for most of South Dakota, but as we got into Wyoming, and as the foothills began growing in view across the horizon, I started wishing them further and further away. When we got to Buffalo, WY and our first pass was directly before us, I actually resorted to having a little hissy fit in a supermarket parking lot when I could not talk Ira into getting a campsite in town to wait an extra day before starting the climb. He was resolute (he is used to dealing with my high-strung antics) and we pursued the climb that day.

I always thought going through the mountains would be one long climb. I guess when I mean long, I mean hundreds of miles long. I had this view that once we started ascending into the Rockies, we could keep climbing for days and days and days. When we finally reached the top, we would have a very, very long descent and, bam, we would be out the mountains, forever.



The reality of climbing through the mountains is very different, as anyone who has ever been through them knows. Modern roads are graded to give the most gradual ascent possible. They are generally designed to follow a valley for as long as possible, usually along a river, and when this is no longer possible, the road will cut to switch backs, lacing up the mountain, to the pass. Usually, when you approach a pass, you have a period of say 10 miles with a very gradual uphill grade interspersed with a few short steep sections through the valley. Once you get within 5-10 miles of the pass, the road will start the switch back section. This section of road is generally steep to very steep all the way through. So actually, although you may have to climb anywhere between 15-25 miles, usually only the last section is the worst. Of course, this is all very general. All passes are different. Our longest climb was the Powder River Pass in the Big Horn Mountains, which was 25 miles long, and steep for almost the whole stretch. The pass we climbed this morning, Waucunda pass, was only about 10 or 11 miles, most of which was a very casual assent with a steep section only along the last 3 miles.

Whatever the condition of the pass is, we've never been faced with hundreds of miles of uphill at once. Instead, we've seen a few passes scattered through miles and miles of valleys. By now, we have ridden about 1000 miles of mountainous territory through Wyomming, Montana, Idaho and Washington. Through this, we have done 9 passes to date with three more before we cross the pacific divide and hit the ocean just north of Seattle. If we can guesstimate each pass is approx. 20 miles, in the last 1000 miles we have (very) roughly ridden only 180 miles of steep grade which is only 18% of our riding time. The vast majority of the time, we've been on mostly level ground. We have ups and downs, sure, but, for the most part straight shooting.

By breaking it down to 18%, I don't mean to infer riding a pass no big deal. For me, riding a pass is always a big fat fu**ing deal! As I said, at the beginning of each pass climb, I always make the silent vow that I will complete the climb with my dignity in tact. So far, the dignity part has been illusive. What can I say, I'm sort of a shit. Poor Ira.

We know its going to be hard, so we've come up with a battle plan to attack each pass to ensure success. To split the climb in half is usually the best way. We'll camp somewhere halfway up the mountain, so we can hit the final hard stretch early in the morning, well rested and ready to go.



I like riding in the mornings. The light quality is so clear and pure, especially in the mountains. The sunlight filters through the trees at an extreme angle, just above the horrizon, hightlighting and glistening on all the drops of dew. Everything feels crisp and clean. Birds sing. I feel like a good person and the world seems benevolent, just waiting to give me all that I ever wanted. I generally start out strong, positive, well rested. I try to focus on spinning the pedals in a light gear to not wear out my knees. Ira and I will chat and joke back and forth for a little while, enjoying the ride. Not for too long though. Soon the going gets tough, and we get quiet. I'm starting to not care about the birds. AT ALL. I will turn on my ipod and try to listen to some music which will help me set a pace and take my mind of my legs which are beginning to burn. So far I've been listening to Yankee Hotel Foxtrot by Wilco. I listened to it on the first climb, and now its become a must have, like the lucky pair of underwear which help win the game. I just listen to it over and over again until I get to the top. I choose this album because the beat is slower, so it doesn't make me feel like I need to pedal faster. The lyrics are poetic enough to be enjoyed yet pretentious enough to give me something to criticize and complain about beside my legs. The music is soothing and it helps me relax. Relaxation is the key when climbing a mountain, although for me, next to impossible.

At first I would want to stop all the time to rest, but I have since realized this is a very bad idea. When you stop peddling in the steep areas, it is almost impossible to get your legs going again. You have to keep experiencing the "muscle burn" each time you start up. If you just keep going and pedal through the burn, you get to a place where you're not burning red hot, but just a steady low heat which is tolerable.

At this point, I spend way too much time focusing on the small green markers along the roadside which slowly tick off each mile passed. We generally ride about 5 miles an hour up these steep grades so we pass a mile marker every 12-15 minutes. Time goes slow when riding uphill, so 12-15 minutes will start to feel more like a half an hour. I keep a keen eye on the horizon for them, sometimes imagining that perhaps because I was so focused on the ride I might have missed one, or possibly the marker was hit by a car and destroyed. So if I just passed mile marker 302 I will fantasize the next one will read 304, however it always, always says 303.

So, I ride along, trying to relax, all the while being totally compulsive about watching the road and keeping track of mileage. I plan rest stops, in 5 more miles I can stop for 45 seconds. Sometimes I make it, mostly I stop at the 3 mile mark and then again at the planned 5 mile stop.

I watch the road as I am coming up a hill. If it dips out of view and I can't see what direction the road takes, what I can see is a huge mountain looming over the horizon directly in front of me. At this point I start praying aloud for the road to please, please curve so I don't have to ride all the way up. It always does. When the road starts getting more curvy, I know were getting closer, which is a relief, but I also know the road is going to get steeper, which is not.

I like to ride in front because then I can set the pace. Ira jokingly calls me "dinky pace" because I am very slow at climbing. I refer to Ira as "Earl of Stinkpot" because I am jealous he can climb so much better then I. His effortless pedalling pisses me off. If he rides in front of me, he will get very far in front of me, which makes me feel insecure and I usually slow down even slower and have a tendency of resting more. If I am in front, I will try and ride as long as I possibly can without a break.



So here, we must applaud Ira's patience at always humoring me at riding in the back, to keep up my morale. However, he sometimes shows his impatience at going so slow when he starts inching up behind me and is suddenly riding next to me, like he wants to pass. I turn around and ask very aggresivly if he wants to pass, letting him know by my tone, I definitely don't want him to. He will usually fall back. I would like all you readers to understand the state of my mind here. I am usually at the point of full physical exertion and full mental instability. I try to keep my cool, but this is where it all goes to plop. I am not riding a straight line, and sometimes I veer off the shoulder. As I start to snake over, I see Ira has moved up again and his front wheel and my rear wheel are parallel. I turn around and again, ask if he wants to pass. He says no. A few minutes later, the same thing happens. I abruptly stop and Ira almost crashes into me. I turn around and yell something about how much i hate him ridding up my ass. Although his riding may look effortless, he is also very tired and physically stressed. He can't take it anymore. He yells back for me to stop yelling at him. At this point, I may start gesturing wildly, telling him to "just go. Just go ahead. I'll meet you at the top. I don't even want to be around you."

Really, I just don't want to be around myself because that means I will have to deal with riding the hill. However, the reality never changes and I still have to get to the top. Ira may humor me and apologize, or he may just take my advice and ride ahead. Either way, I have allowed my stress to get the better of me. I am not relaxed, I'm festering with the physical insecurity of whether I can do this or not. I "know" I can do it, but my legs don't and right now, their insticts are stronger then my brains. Mind over matter. Whatever! Somewhere deep inside, I feel really bad for getting so worked up, but that part of me is not in control. I am a raging terd. I am the Earl of Stinkpot and I am affecting everyone with my noxious odor.

My mind is stressed, my body is stressed and I am cannot relax. The least little thing will irritate me. Because of this, everything has to be in it's place. My pants have to be rolled up just so, the clasp on my necklace has to be in the back, I have to have Burt's Bees applied to my lips to keep them moist. Anything off will just drive me crazy. I'll pedal on obsessing about the random thing out of place until I can't take it anymore! I'll have to stop pedaling to fix it. But I wasn't at my planned break spot yet. DAMN IT. I have NO SELF CONTROL!

The closer I get to the top, the steeper it gets. I know I'm getting close when the road really starts curving all over the place. I start praying around each corner I'll will see the pass sign. I have to stop about each mile. I'm about to quit (although where would I go?). I don't think its humanly possible to make it any further when finally, FINALLY, I get to the pass!



When I reach the sign, any irritation I may have had is immediately gone. Poof! I love life, I love Ira, I love the sign. I must kiss it. I always feel an intense sense of satisfaction and pride. I am capable of climbing a mountain. My bicycle weighs 240 lbs, with me on it. I am capable of hauling that amount of weight, up 4000 ft, along beautiful twisty roads. I can hear the birds singing and I enjoy the crisp morning air. I feel good. Time for a snack!

All the hard work is forgotten until next time. All I can think about now is the 15 mile ride downhill at 45 mph without having to pedal once. HA! See you at the bottom!

Getting closer to civilization.

This was our second pass in two days. Peice of cake.

I never realized how rural Washington was until this past week. Seattle and the coast are all I ever hear about, but our ride down Highway 20 has showed a wilder side.

"This business supported by timber dollars" is a popular sign in genral stores and gas stations that sit along train tracks in small towns all over Northeast Washington. Mills and logging employ most of these towns and the surrounding mountains show it. Some areas are scarred by near-clearcutting and others look well managed, but evidence of the timber industry is everywhere.

Towns are closer together than they were in Montana and the larger ones all have natural foods stores and arts centers alongside the western clothing outfitters and welding shops. They are vibrant rural communities with a suprisingly diverse population.

In a day's riding we've gone from sub-alpine forest to scrubby desert.



It's hard to believe that in a couple days we'll be in a rainforest.

Our Route So Far

Here is a link to a VERY ROUGH map of our route so far. Don't zoom in too much because it doesn't really follow the roads specifically, that would take too much time. The mileage is off too because of the vague route. This will give you a general visual representation of where we have gone. Our mileage is currently approach. 3250 miles.

Back in the high country.

We started climbing to Sherman Pass last night, riding untill sunset. At 5575 ft, forty-three hundred feet above the Columbia River, it was our second highest climb of the trip.

We camped in the Colville National Forest and got up at five thirty to reach the pass by nine thirty. Clif Bars are on sale everywhere around here so I snacked on the way up.

There are things called Chinook Winds that blow hot air down from the coast during the winter and trick the trees into thinking it's time for sap to run. Then the winter cold comes back and the trees freeze so fast they explode. That's what my legs felt like toward the top of the pass. We made it though, and coasted down to Republic.


Wild fruit is in season everywhere. I've been picking plumbs and apples on the roadside. Don't eat too much or you will get sick!


Here's our route through Washington so far.

Don't Blink Or You Might Miss It

Hey we're in Idaho



Hey we're in Washington.

There wasn't a sign in Washington to take our pic by. So no triumphant pose. OH well.



We spent all of a day and two nights it Idaho. We followed the Pend Orielle River (pronounced Ponderay) into Washington and it was incredibly scenic. They get more rain in this area so the woods were green with ferns and more lush pine trees. We camped in a couple's yard in Priest River. That night, we had a bear sniffing around our tent. Ira will tell about in his post so I won't go into detail. I didn't actually experience it because I had my ear plugs in (which I use to protect myself against Ira's snorring) and was oblivious. I can see why a bear would want to hang out here though.



We followed the Pend Orielle for about 60 miles and veered off yesturday. We climbed a 1000 ft ridge which brought us back into a more arid climate. We are taking the day off in Kettle Falls today to swim and relax in the Columbia River and tomorrow we will climb Sherman's Pass, so hopefully we will enter a greener climate again.

We have four more mountain passes to climb here in Washington. Although they are not as high in altitude as previous ones, they are steep. Shermans will be 4000 ft in 25 miles.

The temperature has been really warm the past couple of days. Its been in the mid 90s every day. In northern Washington in September??? Duh Duh Duh. Must be the evil Global Warming again. Hopefully it will cool down soon.

Elk in the produce section!

Troy, Montana. There were also moose and a few white tail deer. Bizzare.

It's a busy day at the library so this is a short post. We've passed through the Idaho Panhandle and into Northeastern Washington in the last week and are taking a break in Kettle Falls, where they have a great organic grocery store.

About that bear in Priest River. It was two thirty on the morning and I couldn't fall asleep. There was a crashing in the brush outside, but the rainfly on the tent blocked me from seeing anything. A set of heavy footfalls started coming toward us and I was instantly terrified. Each muted thump sounded like it had hundreds of pounds behind it. I imagined many awful outcomes. The footsteps stopped. The very sharp profile of a black bear face appeared in the moonlight, two feet above my head. Even more awful outcomes flashed through my head. It felt like this went on forever, but it was probably less that thirty seconds. The face and footfalls went away, but I was paralyzed for a while longer. I woke Andrea but she was sleeping with earplugs and missed the whole thing. My dreams were haunted with bears for the rest of the night.

Ok, gotta go. Over and out.

A Stitch in Time Saves 15 Miles

Going from Trego to Libby Montana, we were unsure of which road to take. On the state map, a dirt road was shown which would cut off many miles of the northern or southern routes available. However, we were unable to figure out what road this unlabeled dirt road was. A construction worker told us to take the road we were on and two lefts which would lead us to Libby, assuring us this was the best way. However, when we got to the fork, it said, highway 37 (the road to Libby)was 41 miles away. So this was the long route. I stopped the mailman in his brown truck who we had been playing catch up and pass all day as he kept pulling over to deliver his mail. He told us the right fork in the road would lead to highway 37 but that it wasn't an easy road. The road was fraught with a steep downhill grade and lots of sharp rocks to puncture our tires as well as bears. "If you have trouble out there, you'll go for miles without seeing anyone else." he cautioned. But he agreed it was the quickest way and was kind enough to give me his forest service map to guide along the way.



Well, he was right, this road was 17 miles of action, what Ira refers to as adventure cycling. I don't know if you can read the sign in the pic above, but it says "not maintained for public use". The road was pretty hairy at times and I had to ride my brakes for about 10 miles straight of downhill. Now, normally I love the downhill, but on gravel road, it gets pretty easy to loose control of the bike. The road skirted a pretty deep ravine to the left, so caution was the key.



Luckily no bears were spotted on this stretch of the road, however, Ira and I each saw one separately from each other at other sections. Ira was up ahead of me and apparently one lopped after him for about 50 yards freaking the crap out of him. The one I saw crossing the road, stared at me and then started walking toward me, so as I was coming up a hill at that point, I just turned and rode down the hill, waited for a while and then turned and climbed the hill again. He was gone, to my relief. Ira and I were happy to meet back up unscathed from our separate bear encounters.

Here are some pics of the Kootenai river which we rode along today. Very pretty.

Living the wild life in Trego

We've spent the past few days with our friends Jonathan and Deborah, at the studio they are building in Trego, MT. It's a life of luxury for our travel weary butts. They've given us the opportunity to kick back and relax for the first time in two months. We've been going on outings around the area and soaking in the rural Montana culture.

One of the most enjoyable aspects is spending evenings on their back porch.



There's no need for a TV when your back yard looks like this.



The porch overlooks a small wetland that seems to be the epicenter for wildlife in the area. We have already seen two black bears and countless deer. It's common for moose to hang out here too. The big animals come here to swim, cool off, and scare the hell out of the ducks.

Evian has nothing on this.

Grinnell Glacier is relativly easy to get up close and personal with. Like many people, I had only seen glaciers on the side of drinking water bottles. To see this one, all you have to do is go to the Many Glacier area of Glacier National Park and hike five miles up the side of a mountain.



It was so pretty, and full of huge, jaw-dropping vistas, that I didn't have time to be tired. And then, before i knew it, I was dipping my toe in a glacier.



The actual thing is hard to capture in a photo because it covers three hundred acres.

There is a good chance that in thirty years it will be gone.

Here are some links to external pictures, if you want to see the whole thing: Picture 1 Picture 2 (www.philarmitage.net)

The Crown Of the Continent.

This title Glacier National Park certainly deserves. It consists of over 1.000.000 acres of this country's most beautiful landscape. It captures a pristine mountain paradise in its most raw form. While visiting we saw numerous emerald and turquoise colored glacial lakes, stunning jagged peaks rising into the clouds covered in glacial snow, cascading waterfalls down harsh rocky cliffs, and wildlife as varied as it was numerous. We saw black bears, moose, deer, beavers, big horn sheep, osprey, loons, ducks, as well as various other birds and mammals.




We approached the park from the west, having gone north from Flathead Lake. We decided to circle around the southern border of the park along US2 so we could hit Two Medicine which is located in the south east corner and is not accessible by the going to the Sun Road. Sam, an East Glacier resident let us set up camp in his backyard for two nights so we could visit Two Medicine the next day and save camping fees. While in Two Med, we hiked the Upper and Lower Two Medicine Lakes as well as visited No Name Lake and Twin Falls.



From there we went north up to Many Glacier and stayed there for a day. Here we hiked up the Grinell Glacier and Ptarmigan Tunnel the next day. Each hike was breathtaking. The Grinell trail climed 1600 ft and skirted the side of the mountain. We could look down and view the chain of lakes and see Grinell Lake which had a beautiful turquoise hue.



It was an amazing experience to dangle our feet in a Glacier which covers an expanse over 300 acres.




Ptarmigan tunnel trail took us up 2300 ft, and at its top climbs through a 80 ft man made tunnel. Through the tunnel you can view the Belly River Valley, an area which many people belive is the most beautiful are in the park and is only accessible by hiking in.



From Many Glacier we went south backtracking to St. Mary. We were lucky enough to talk Dan Jacobs, the trail crew boss for all of Glacier to let us camp in his backyard for a couple of nights (again to save money). Here we explored the St. Mary Lake and the surrounding waterfalls.



I also did a solo hike (Ira wanted to sleep in) up to Otokomi Lake, another beautiful pristine mountain lake...but cold!!! I jumped in and immediately had to get out. Now I grew up on Lake Superior, and can handle the cold water. However, when you can see the Glacier above which is feeding the lake water, you know its going to be COLD!!



From St. Mary we finally started on our way across the Going-To-The-Sun-Road for our final continental devide crossing at Logan Pass. This road cuts Glacier directly in half. The views from this road are amazing, stunning, incredible. My photos just could not capture it. I can honestly say, this stretch of road was the most beautiful and scenic of the trip and the 12 miles of descent, one of the most amazing of my life.



In the photo above, you can see the road cutting its way down along the mountain side as you view the beautiful valley below.

We rode out to Sprague Creek and camped there for the night. We departed the next day for Trego to stay with friends. Leaving was very bittersweet. There is something in this park which can really grab a hold of a person, almost like an obsession. Ira and I both agree, we are coming back and soon!



It is impossible to describe the scenery, so I haven't really tried. Here is a link to our pics from Glacier, so please just explore these, although once again, not even these photos really capture the majesty.

click here to see the Set of Glacier Pics:
click here to see a Slideshow of Glacier Pics

Montana Steel

As some of you know, we just spent a week in Glacier National Park. There will be a flurry of posting in the next few days because we had a great time and can't wait to talk about it.

On our way into the park, however, we met an interesting guy. His name is Mike and he's lived on a ranch nestled between Glacier and the Flathead State Forest for all of his life. We stopped by his house looking for directions and were invited in.



Mike is standing next to a home-made forge. He uses it to craft some of the most beautiful handmade knives I have ever seen.



This is one of the main knives that Mike makes. It's an old design that features a button hook on the end, an artifact of the days before zippers. He also makes a version of this knife with a bottle opener. Some of you may notice that the blade is made of damascus steel. Mike forges his own damascus, over five hundreds of layers thick, out of salvaged stock ranging from old saw blades to machine parts.



Mike's forge is heated with LP gas and forced air from a compressor. If you look closely you will see a small bar of red-hot metal on top of the center firebrick. It's a rollerbearing from a large machine that will be hammered into a new blade.



The anvil is an antique that Mike traded his brother for a riding lawn-mower. He says he got the best of the deal. Six of Mike's eight brothers live on the ranch.



This laborious forging will create a blade of the highest quality. Mike was very humble about his craft, but every knife he showed me was a work of art. We spent over an hour in his kitchen as he explained his process, showing us the pieces of bone and antler that would become knife handles and discussing various knives he had made. When it was time to leave, he gave us directions to a service road that lead into the state forest where we could camp for free.

Lake effect fun

Water is a big deal out West, and doublely as much for Andrea and I, who are Great Lakes kids. We get super excited whenever there's a lake to jump in, especially if it's big and clean.

Flathead Lake, the largest in Montana, is twenty eight miles of refreshing mountain goodness. It's mostly on the Flathead Indian Reservation, and is clean enough to fish, swim, or do any other lake-orieted activity you can imagine.



We swam and kayaked for two days, and spent all day yesterday cruising along it's shore.



Our new friends Doug and Andrea put us up for two nights and showed us around the area. Doug's the one who took us kayaking. I'll post soon about all of the great people that we've been staying with.



This hill is behind their house- it heads directly to the lake and is made of trecherous gravel. I'm about to attempt some moutainbike action.

There are cherry orchards all along the east side of the lake. The season is almost over, and you could buy a pound of fruit for a buck. We ate them on the spot and spit pits on the roadside.



Andrea swam here but it was too cold for me! All of the other times we were near the water it felt tropical.



We had some tasty beers on the north shore, from a little brewery across the street from the lake. There was a little patio overlooking the lake, and it felt like being on a boat. Everything was painted bright colors, like we were in Africa or South America.

I keep thinking that it's funny how non-western Montana feels, it's really wild and arty. I guess I was used to the ranchers, cowboys, and sagebrush in Wyoming.