Author: S24OBabe

Middle Fork Sub24O

A few months back, I came across a small article about a Sub24O ride from Crouch, ID to Boiling Hot Springs. After posting said article to Facebook, I find that I have 3 general types of friends, the kind that will click that little ‘heart button’ and then comment something like “you are so badass, I wish I could do something like this”, well dude you could, and you should. Then there are the people, who you probably haven’t spoken to in years, that will like and share the post and then go do it on their own, with their own bike touring squad. The best kind, however, are the ones that text you later, with genuine interest, and over tacos you start to develop a plan. Many beers and several puns later, a weekend was chosen and the gears were put in motion (pun intended).

The thing is about drinking beer while planning a bike trip, some of the fine details get lost in translation… A bit of advice I’ll share with you, something I’ve learned in my bike touring endeavors, always have a plan B, in fact always have at least a plan B, probably a plan C, and just for good measure, keep plan D tucked away in your back pocket. The weekend I picked for this adventure just so happened to be the first weekend after the start of Boise State’s Fall Semester, and with my touring partner in the middle of earning his MBA, he had to back out at the last minute. I’ve toured alone before, see ‘Crazy girl rides across Oregon’, so I had no qualms about setting out on my own, but when the Bike Hermit and Sky King caught wind of the trip, they felt it necessary to join in on the fun. And so, after a few beers, I left the two of them to pour over maps of the route that I had planned for months, double checking all the details and making sure I hadn’t just made the whole thing up.

The next morning I pulled up to Bike Touring News at 0900, gear spread across the entirety of the garage, Revelate frame bags, Surly junk straps, Hennessy Hammocks, BTN water bottles and various bits of clothing needing to be packed and loaded into the truck. I tried to keep my cool as I stuffed my sleeping gear into my handlebar bag, a Revelate SweetRoll that was fighting back. An hour later, we were heading out, driving in circles so the Bike Hermit could find an ethanol free gas station (Horseshoe Bend does have ethanol free for future reference). As the temps rose into the high 80’s we pulled into Crouch, finding a spot suitable for overnight parking, next to the log cabin that doubles as the town hall. Thankfully the City of Crouch offers free WIFI, thus I was able to get a shot of the fully loaded Karate Monkey off to my many instagram followers (all 50 of them). At noon, I headed up Middle Fork Rd, a few minutes ahead of the Bike Hermit and Sky King.

The first 8 or so miles are rolling pavement flowing past a mixture of old barns, open fields and modern homes perched along the Middle Fork of the Payette River. Once the road hits the boundary of the Boise National Forest, it turns to gravel with both designated and primitive camp spots every few miles. The steady climb takes you past several fishing and/or swimming opportunities, which despite their remote location seem to surge with popularity on weekends. Most of the motorists and ATV users were respectful to the ‘Share The Road’ signage, but without doubt, we did encounter the occasional driver who seemed to give zero shits about the lives of cyclists. I would highly recommend bringing an extra handkerchief to tie up bandit style for this exact reason, protecting yourself from the intermittent dust bowls. The 16 miles of gravel transitions from washboard, to packed dirt, to deep layers, making us thankful for the 3” tires in place on the Surly ECR, Troll and Karate Monkey.

In late August, the Middle Fork runs at just above 100 CFS, making it the perfect time to access the natural hot springs requiring river crossings to access. The low flow also leaves small pockets above sections of rapids where brook trout made futile attempts to hide from the Bike Hermit’s Tenkara Rod. The short distance from Crouch to our destination allowed us for plenty of time to stop and fish with daylight left to set up camp. At mile 16, the road forks, the east taking you along the traditional main route of the Idaho Hot Springs trail, the north taking you up to Boiling Hot Springs, our intended destination. Sky King’s research showed that the designated camp spot at Boiling Springs would cost $16.00, more than the cost of gas to get from Boise to Crouch, leading us to look for a primitive spot along the river. Just below Silver Creek, along a stretch of river where several trout could be seen with the naked eye jumping in the afternoon sunlight, we set up camp for the night. IPA’s supplied by Mother Earth Brewing were cooled in the sub 60 degree water and fly rods were rigged for slaying. As the sun set below the canyon, the fishing slowed and Sky King whipped up a delicious riverside happy hour consisting of crackers, cheese and red peppers. After refueling, the Bike Hermit and I headed north in search of undiscovered trout waters, scurrying down steep embankments to the deep pockets protected by downed trees and large boulders. We fished until dark before drifting off in Hennessy Hammocks to the sound of the river bubbling close by.

The quiet of the remote location and the lack of sun in the canyon allowed us to sleep in well past 0900 and we took our time packing up in the cool morning air. The Bike Hermit revealed his ninja fast packing skills, training from coffee drinking, jogger pants wearing, sunday breakfast type guy into the Bike Hermit in less than 10 minutes, a real Clark Kent to Superman type moment.
It wasn’t until we had gone a few miles before we realized how much of a steady climb we had undertaken the day before, making it a true Sunday Funday. The extra time allowed us to stopped at Fire Crew Hot Springs, the Bike Hermit fished while Sky King and I explored the warm pools on the west side of the river. We came out of the canyon in the late Sunday afternoon heat, making the last few miles a bit harsh. Thankfully The Dirty Shame serves up a good burger and the squad was once again smiling while reliving tales from the past 24 hours.

Bike Touring News endorses this ride for numerous reasons

quick overnighter not far from home with options to go further.
road surface is doable – could ride w/ 32 mm tires (mildly rough – washboards, sand and gravel)
gradual climbing
great shake down trip for new gear, new bike packers, new bikes etc.
plenty of water at various campgrounds along the way (or take a filter)
hot springs (is on the Adventure Cycling Idaho Hot Springs Route)
successful fishing

Tags bike camping, bike overnight, bikepacking, idaho hot springs mountain bike route, S240, surly karate monkey 27.5

Oregon Our Trips

Mt.Hood or Bust: Part 3

Saturday August 6th: Mitchell to Prineville and Prineville to Crooked River

This was the day I had most been looking forward to. I had been dreaming about riding my bike to one of my favorite fishing spots for nearly the past 2 months. The day would not be without obstacles however. Long before I arrived in Prineville, the closest town to The Crooked River, I would have to climb Ochoco Pass. At 4,720 feet, it would be the steepest climb to date. Gradual at first, the climb begins as soon as you pedal out of Mitchell and continues on for nearly 20 miles. I had expressed my concern to one of the other travelers staying at the hostel the night before, his advice, just put it in the climbing gear and don’t stop pedaling, you will reach the top eventually. Simple yet true, my mantra was “just keep pedaling”. About two miles from the summit I was honestly unsure how much more I could push myself before taking a lengthy break. Just as I was looking for a spot to pull over a Subaru outback with Oregon plates passed me and as he did, he tooted his horn and stuck his hand out the sunroof giving me a big thumbs up. I kept pedaling all the way to the summit and then had a dance party to Katy Perry’s Roar.

I took my time coming down the other side, although it wasn’t exactly the steep descent I had hoped for. I stopped at the Ochoco Reservoir, where I had considered camping when planning my trip, and used their day use area to change into my suit and take a quick swim to cool down. The campground was full of RV’s running generators and frat boys with loud music so I made the decision to move on. On my way out I ran into another solo bike traveler, Niko from Columbia who was traveling from Pittsburgh to Portland while on summer break from engineering school. I told him he should take a swim and if interested come meet me at the brewery in Prineville. It was 7 more miles into town and the lack of shoulder plus the weekend traffic made for some sore gluteal muscles, as I was clenching my cheeks out of fear the entire ride. Ochoco Brewing started in 2009 and currently has more than 10 of their own beers on tap as well as a few other local beers, I would highly recommend the Double Dam IPA. Being out on the road, I hadn’t gotten a chance to watch the Rio Summer Olympics yet and so I was excited to watch the US men’s basketball team take on China. They won despite DeAndre Jordan’s horrible free throw percentage and Carmelo Anthony’s poor excuse for defense. My new friend Niko joined me about an hour later and it was nice to have someone close to my own age to chat with about biking and the trials and tribulations of long days in the saddle.

After parting ways with my new friend, I rode to the store to resupply and get an Oregon fishing license. Bi-Mart is a magical place, if you’re not from Oregon you’ve probably never heard of the small chain store but I would highly suggest you make your way to the west coast just to visit this employee owned mercantile. The guest services lady was nice enough to let me bring Bertha inside and away from predators. I bought a two day license, some bratwurst, buns, chips and a 24 oz coors, they did not have PBR much to my disappointment. After I inspected my purchase I felt like I could have showed up at the frat party at Ochoco Reservoir and fit right in. I headed to my own little oasis instead and couldn’t have been more excited. I told the guy at the check out what my plan was and he looked at me suspiciously, telling me it would take “at least 3 hours” to get out to the campground, at 15 miles away I highly doubted that and smiled while I was internally busting up laughing, sorry bud I might ride just a wee bit faster than that.

Scouting a river is so much more rewarding when you’re on a bike but also much more challenging when you are indecisive and want to see all the options before choosing. I eventually picked a campground, I’m not telling you which one because the first rule of bike fishing is “don’t give away the location”. I had been to this spot before, 25+ times in the past 4 years, but never had I come without waders and boy was that water cold! I scrambled around for high ground while fish jumped around me. As I settled into my cast I was hit with that classic wave of bike touring exhaustion and realized that the Coors was probably going to spend another day in the pannier. (Editor’s note: the Coors is still in the beer fridge at Bike Touring News)

Sunday August 7th Crooked River- Madras *the day I almost died*

I had originally planned to stay an entire extra day at the Crooked River and fish to my little heart’s content but plans change. I was starting to get lonely and I made arrangements to meet a friend at the next campground for some girl time. As I loaded up and started pedaling back toward Prineville I was feeling out of sorts. I was kind of bummed to be leaving the spot that I had been looking forward to spending time at for the past 2 months. This was another lesson learned, only YOU are in charge of your bike tour and it would behoove you not let anyone interfere with that. I stopped in Prineville and got an ice cream cone, ice cream is the universal tool for making one feel better. I now had two options, call my friend and tell her that I was going back to the river and go another 30 miles round trip out of my way or I could keep going towards Madras and possibly fish the Deschutes River. I chose the later.

I left Prineville and quickly realized that traveling on HWY 26, on a Sunday, between these two towns was possibly the worst idea ever. A shoulder of under 2 feet, frat boys returning from the lake, pulling their Mastercraft ski boats, in a hurry to get back to their sorority girlfriends, and families hauling their motor homes or trendy tiny houses, speeding past me at 70 MPH, not to mention a head wind, because there is always a freaking headwind. I was scared shitless to say the least. After nearly being blown off the road by a course of these monsters, I looked up to see a man, compensating no doubt, with his giant diesel F350, charging right at me from the other direction. As he approached, inches from me, I was forced to bail into the ditch on the side of the highway. I stayed on my bike and was able to navigate to the next pull off before hyperventilating. I called The Bike Hermit, barely able to catch my breath and told him what happened. Note to self, do not call your parents and tell them you are in a situation that could possibly take your life. The panic button was pressed on the other end of the call and Sky King had already sprung into action before I could control my sympathetic response. The next call that came in was from a family friend who was an hours drive away and he told me he was getting in his truck and that I should send him my location so he could come pick me up. Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute here, I never said I was done, I just said I was scared. I asked him to give me 30 minutes while I collected myself and thought long and hard about whether or not I wanted this moment to be the end of my journey. Eventually I decided it wasn’t, I had to keep going, I had to finish what I started and despite the pleas from my parents, I got back on my bike and back into the 2 foot wide shoulder of death. I made it to Madras alive, obviously or else I wouldn’t be writing this, and immediately asked Siri for directions to the nearest margarita. My friend met me in Madras and together we loaded up Bertha and drove 40 miles to Clear Lake Campground. We drank beers, listened to music and laughed until we cried, it was exactly what I needed.

Monday August 8th Clear Lake to Government camp

We woke early and I made my standard breakfast of oatmush and instant coffee as my friend made a disgusted look and took another bite of her protein bar. Today would be the last leg of my journey and I decided to wear my party outfit, button up Hawaiian shirt and cut off jean shorts, aka jorts. I immediately regretted my decision as it started to rain, typical pacific northwest summer. I had planned for the 90 degree days but not for the rain and so I was forced to accept the fact that I would be soaking wet in five minutes flat. I was only about 15 miles from final destination with a warm shower and roof over my head so I figured I would probably survive. I honestly can’t say much about this final day except that I was ecstatic to have reached my goal. I stopped to charge my phone and grab a cup of coffee at the lonely Chevron on hwy 26 before it becomes hwy 35 and I watched as tourists ran to and from their cars to avoid the rain. Emotions swelled as I rounded the corner and the sign for Timberline Lodge came into view. I have spent most of my adult life in and out of Government Camp Oregon and to me it feels as much like home as the town I actually “grew-up” in. As I pulled off to take a picture in front of the sign that welcomes you to the township locals lovingly call “Govy”, I cried tears of joy and thanked the stars above for allowing me make it this far. It would take hours for me to wipe the stupid smile off my face. I pulled up in front of the town bar, Charlie’s, and begged some random 19 year old kid to take my picture, I’m pretty sure he thought I was a crazy homeless lady but I honestly could care less at that point. I excitedly rolled the next two blocks to the cabin that I fondly refer to as “my happy place” and was greeted by my friend Tom’s dad who had been patiently waiting for me to arrive for the past week. The bicycle part of my journey had come to an end but the next few days would bring another type of journey. Friends would come from across the west coast to this magical place to celebrate the life of a friend, an annual event to remember our friend Tom who was taken from this earth far too soon. There would be tears, there would be laughter and there would be the type of bonding that only 10+ years of friendship can bring together and I would find myself feeling more at peace than ever before.

Nearing the top of Ochoco Pass

Ochoco Brewery: 4 stars

A good place to spend a Saturday night

Classic small town burger joint. Excellent mint chocolate chip ice cream

The “death trap” that is Highway 26

Party attire (yes I wore bike shorts under the jorts)

We made it!!!

My happy place

Technically this video is from day 3 but it’s a good closing note

Tags Bike Touring, Northwest bike tour, solo bike tour, women bike touring

Oregon Our Trips

Mt.Hood or Bust: Part 2

Thursday August 4th: Prairie City to Dayville

The ride to Dayville was easy enough, a “flat” road and very little wind allowed me to easily make the 44 miles in just under 4 hours. I had pretty big expectations for Dayville, The Bike Hermit had gone through these parts in April and loved it. By the time I reached town at around 11:30am, it was already 85 degrees and shade was rapidly becoming sparse. I pulled off into the RV park to fill up with water and get my bearings. I knew that there was a hostel in town but wasn’t sure as to where. I googled directions and began climbing a short but steep hill to the left of the main street. I was starting to doubt the directions Siri had provided so I decided to stop and double check my location. With legs like jello, clipping out of my pedals was much more difficult than anticipated, combine that with the steep incline and it took about 5 seconds for me to end up on the ground, left foot still attached to the pedal. I collected myself and decided to just go back to the RV park and ask for directions from a real live human being. I stopped at a church in front of the park to wipe away the blood that had begun to run down my leg and pool in my shoe. Now whether you’re in the medical field or not, you can probably gather that if someone is bleeding from their knee, they’re most likely not in the greatest mood ever. The RV park host apparently didn’t get this message and informed that I needed to pay the $10 or leave. I was on the verge of crying at that point, mostly out of frustration, and told him I would if he gave me directions to the hostel. He pointed up the road behind me and so with blood still leaking from my wound, I pushed my bike up another small hill and into the yard of the Dayville Presbyterian Church.

The Church has played host to bicycle tourists for over 10 years now and the map on their wall shows that people have come from all over the world to ride their bikes into Dayville. While the “host” herself does not reside in the hostel, she did let me know that the rules are to be strictly followed, and reminded me that “he is always watching”, meaning that god would know if I drank my beer in the shower, even if she didn’t. So I unloaded my panniers and took my PBR tall boy to the park where I could soak my sore legs in the South Fork of The John Day River. The town of Dayville is small but has all the necessities, one restaurant, one grocery store, a post office and even a small bicycle repair shop. The city park hosts a dual tennis court, basketball court combo, just make sure to remove the tennis net before attempting a full court press. Upon returning to the Hostel later in the afternoon, I found that a large group of trans-am riders had arrived. Varying in ages from 11 to 45, the group was on their last leg of a cross country tour. They had all but entirely moved into the shared living space and so while I went around moving my things out of the way I attempted small talk. Turns out they were averaging about 80 miles a day and scoffed when I told them I had come from less than 50 miles away that day. I started to feel defeated and weak. I felt like a wuss and I felt that even though my friends on Facebook seemed impressed, maybe I wasn’t doing anything that special after all. Bike touring is 80% mental and this minor incident, to me, was equivalent to pulling a hamstring muscle. I quickly refilled my water bottle and grabbed my book, I wanted to get as far away from these obnoxious overachievers as quickly as possible. I ended up sleeping outside that night, apparently these guys ride hard and then party hard and at 10 o’clock they were still wide awake singing campfire songs, probably just to be annoying.

Friday August 5th: Dayville to Mitchell

After a restless sleep, I packed up quickly and hit the road just as the sun was coming up. I was expecting a pretty hefty climb for the day and didn’t want to tackle it in 90 degree weather. The pass was gradual and although 75% of my day was spent on an incline, it really wasn’t all that bad, physically. Mentally however, I continued to struggle. As I mentioned before, I had planned to be in Montana, riding my bike to Bozeman. I was planning to ride to my nursing school graduation. I was flooded with emotion about should of, could of, would of situations, along with the feelings that my 40 mile days in the saddle were less than impressive. By the way I’ll still be graduating, it will be in December though so a bike trip across Montana in the middle of winter might be slightly more difficult. When I made it to the top of Keyes Creek Summit, I was so ready to be done for the day. Right before I reached the summit, another tourer had just reached the top and was making his way down into Dayville in the opposite direction. He looked over and I waved enthusiastically. He shouted words of encouragement and told me to stop at the hostel in Mitchell because it was “totally awesome”. I had already arranged to stay there and I was now even more excited to be heading down the hill into town.

The town of Mitchell resembles that of a deserted mining town, old wooden buildings house a grocery store, a restaurant and a trading post. Don’t let it’s size fool you though, with a population of just 130 people, Mitchell is happening place. Tiger Town Brewery, officially opening fall 2016, currently consists of a small camper trailer turned hot wing cart along with several shade covered picnic tables. With free wifi, honky tonk tunes on the radio and a few local beers on tap, I was fully satisfied to spend the rest of my afternoon here. Prior to my adventure into town, I had stopped by to check in at the Spoke’n Hostel. Right off the bat, Jalet was more than accommodating. Along with 6 bunk beds, the hostel has a fully stocked kitchen, two bathrooms and an outdoor shower and firepit all for a suggested donation of $30.00. She was also kind enough to offer a tour of the Painted Hills, one of the seven wonders of Oregon. She totes cyclists the 15 minutes at sunset in her Subaru Outback and ensured me that it was an event I wouldn’t want to miss, I didn’t admit that I had been looking forward to going for years. I came to share the cozy old church with 4 other cyclists, a couple from Holland and two guys on cross bikes from Portland. It was a relief to spend time with people who were positive and encouraging about bike touring and who held the same philosophy as myself, that it should be fun. I loaded up with Peter, Marika and our host at 7:30pm to head out on our field trip. Breathtaking is probably the only word I can come up with to describe the amazing scenery of this part of Oregon. Layers of earth, millions of years old, have been exposed to reveal layers of rust colored earth mixed with the brown desert background leaving the landscape to look almost unreal, like a painting. Ice cream sundaes topped off the evening and I slept soundly for the first time since starting my trip.

Welcoming image of Dayville Oregon

It ain’t bike touring without a little blood

Map at the Dayville Hostel. So far I’m the only one to claim Montana

Enjoying the Dayville City Park with a Three Creeks Hoodoo Voodoo IPA

Keyes Creek Summit outside of Mitchell Oregon

Cozy sleeping quarters at The Spoke’n Hostel

The famous Painted Hills

Bike Touring Tips Oregon Planning Resources

Mt.Hood or Bust: Part 1

A year ago, I began planning a bike trip. I planned to ride from Great Falls Montana to Bozeman Montana, but plans don’t always go as expected, “you’ll have this” as The Bike Hermit would say. So instead, on August 3rd, I found myself, on my bike, riding across Oregon towards the unincorporated community of Government Camp, 60 miles from Portland. After a stressful academic year learning to accept that sometimes plans change in ways that aren’t necessary appealing, a solo bike trip is just what I needed. I typed “Boise to Portland by bike” into google and I began working on my route. I figured I’d give myself a little over a week to get there. An annual reunion starting on the 11th of August gave me a timeline to stick with. As the departure date drew nearer, fire season was underway in Idaho and thick smoke loomed in the air. I had to changed plans yet again and rewrite my route to allow for a start in the mountains outside of Baker City Oregon, hoping to avoid not only the smoke but also the 90 degree temps expected over the next few days.

When planning, and re-planning, a route, you want to make sure you are honest about the number of miles you believe you can physically handle in a day. I picked 50, knowing that I could average 10 miles per hour and had previously accomplished 40 miles per day without dying. So with the number 50 in mind, I began looking for towns and/or campgrounds that could serve as starting and end points for my 8 days of travel. Realistically, I knew I could go 2 days without a resupply area, as long as I could track down water, I could carry all the food I would need and be perfectly happy without having to interact with other humans. I also tried to plan for the unforeseen circumstances that would prevent me from reaching my destination for the day, this meant making sure there were places to stop and spend the night in the middle of nowhere if necessary. My best advice for someone planning a trip like this, don’t expect everything to go smoothly, don’t expect to be at the destination that you’ve chosen on time, or even at all, learn to expect the unexpected.

Prep:

A lot goes into packing for a bike trip, The Bike Hermit was kind enough to share his trusted list of necessary items with me and I carefully weighed each one out and laid them on the floor of our garage. Considering that I have a Surly Long Haul Trucker with a 52cm frame, the standard Shimano XT-T780-L SGS rear derailleur, rear tubus logo evo rack, front tubus nova rack, Lone Peak panniers, and adding the weight of my packed items, my bike weighs exactly as it should. It weighs enough to carry everything I need for 8 days but not so much that I won’t be able to pedal it up steep mountain passes. So no, I didn’t weigh my gear or my bike and I honestly have no intention of doing so in the future. I made sure everything would fit into the two front Lone Peak panniers and two rear Gilles Berthoud panniers. I made sure I had enough food, enough water and enough items of clothing to be comfortable while riding and in camp. I did carry one extra item however, nothing necessary to be physically successful persay but essential to make my journey emotionally possible, a glass green sphere. Given to me by a close friend, it is meant to represent the spirit of a my friend Tom who passed away 11 years ago. Each year, a group of us meet to celebrate his life on the side of Mt.Hood and this bike ride would serve as a form of meditation as I reflected on the past year’s trials and tribulations as well as the 10+ years spent without my friend.

Day 1 Wednesday August 3rd: Wallowa-Whitman National Forest to Prairie City Oregon

High in the mountains above Baker City Oregon, I had a frosty start. The only downside to traveling with a hennessy hammock as opposed to a tent is that trees are required for set up. The Wallowa-Whitman National Forest provides plenty of trees but in adequate spacing and the bend of the young saplings meant that no matter how hard I tried, I would end up sleeping on the ground. After instant coffee and instant oatmeal, I loaded up bertha for our first solo travel. The Bike Hermit had installed a large dollar store American flag to my rear rack the night before so sleeping bag, rear panniers and fly rod were carefully placed as to not disturb it’s placement. Photos were taken by proud parents and well wishes were given before I unceremoniously pedaled away, uphill, into a headwind.

I was giddy with excitement about being out on my own. It’s not as if I haven’t done many things on my own before, I’m almost 30 and have been living on my own since 19, but somehow this felt different, like suddenly I could eat all the cake and ice cream I wanted to, watch scary movies and stay up as late as I wanted. So what does that translate to into a world where your parents are bike touring legends. It means you can complain out loud to yourself as much as you want, it means you can stop whenever and wherever you feel like it and it means you don’t have to listen to The Bike Hermit say, “you’ll have this”. So off I went up the hill with a refreshing breeze nipping at my face. I stopped to take off some layers at the top of the first hill and in the distance I could see another cyclist pedaling uphill in my direction. I got so excited about waving and saying “Hi” that I almost biffed it in the deep gravel of the slow vehicle turn off.

I was immediately impressed by the hospitality towards cyclists in this part of Oregon. Wide shoulders allowed me to feel comfortable on the road and nearly all of those who passed me slowed and/or gave me the lane, it was truly impressive. About 20 miles into my ride, ODOT was doing some work on highway 7. Several big trucks were hauling sand from their main site to somewhere up the road. About 200 feet from the turnoff to their main “dirt site” someone had constructed a pictograph of a water tap and a bicyclists, indicating that water was available and well as ample shade for taking a break. While I didn’t stop, I was happy to see this level of accommodation. Not long after this, I stopped to pee and while I was waiting for aforementioned large trucks to pass, one of them slowed to a near stop to inquire as to whether or not I was “broke down”. Again, this level of hospitality towards cyclists is just unreal and very much appreciated. I made it to my destination of Bates State Park around 12 noon, my expected arrival time for 38 miles of travel. While they had excellent hiker/biker spots, the generator running the sprinklers was enough to lead me to take over the day use pavilion. I made myself a biker fish taco, tuna on a tortilla, and pulled out my book to read. I was sound asleep within 30 seconds and found myself blinking awake nearly 2 hours later. It was still relatively cool and I felt reenergized. I took a look at my route map and decided I could push on a little further for the day. There were plenty of campsites and towns dotted along the route, making it possible for me to go anywhere from 10 to 40 more miles for the day. I recalled a mental note of The Bike Hermit explicitly telling me that “it’s all downhill from Bates to Dayville”. If you’ve read my previous blog, you’ll recall that the first rule of bike touring is that there is no such thing as “flat”, and relatively little “downhill”. So the first 10 miles found me climbing a mountain pass and cursing my father under my breath. I was relieved however when I reached the top and indeed, the rest of the way into Prairie City was literally all downhill.

That little kid feeling took over again as I pulled into town, realizing that I could choose where to set up camp, where to eat dinner and eat all the ice cream that I wanted. While it wouldn’t normally be my first choice, I found a comfortable RV park on the edge of town. With the spaces having been built to accommodate for motor homes and fifth wheels, a cyclist will find themselves out of their element. The lack of trees forced me to use my rain fly as a tarp and prepare to sleep on the ground. There were a few trees across the creek and given the chance to do it over again, I probably would have asked the camp host if I could use them to anchor my hammock. The major perk of staying at an RV park is showers! Since it was my first day on bike, I wasn’t exactly at filthy hippie status yet but I decided that rinsing off the sunscreen and bug spray would probably allow me to sleep more soundly. The Bike Hermit had given me some solid advice about always carrying quarters for this exact purpose. I did not however have enough quarters to even get the water started. $1.75 for 10 minutes of shower time seemed excessive. Who needs a freaking 10 minute shower, especially when you are at an RV park, this isn’t the prom people, just rinse off and get it over with. I thought they should have some sort of system like the do-it-yourself car washes, you know put in a quarter for like 30 seconds of water, I could get behind that. After taking a PTA bath and successfully freaking out the family in the campsite next to me I rode into town to find food. Second rule of bike touring, always stop when there is food. When I ride into town, I usually put my trust in the other inhabitants of the camp and leave my panniers and camp gear set up at my site. I don’t travel with a bike lock as it would take up too much room, not to mention weight. Most businesses are okay with you pulling your bike inside, as long as there is room and you bat your eyelashes a few times. I took a Surly Junk strap with me and even though any half witted criminal could probably figure out how to unhook it, I wrapped it around my front wheel and frame and parked it outside, within viewing distance of my table. The Oxbow Restaurant offers one of the best mushroom swiss burgers I’ve enjoyed to date, which is saying something, trust me, and serves strong cocktails in mason. I always appreciate that hipster edge in the middle of nowhere oregon. After dinner, I decided to explore the town of Prairie City. It didn’t take long, as the town consists of one main block and not much else. I noticed that they sold single cans of tall boy PBR’s and so I made my purchase of one beverage and one ice cream sandwich before returning to camp. At some point during the 3 block ride, a wave of exhaustion hit me and I made the decision to get in my sleeping bag without opening the PBR.

Ready to hit the road

The spirit of Tom

Fully Loaded

Sumpter Junction

Best restaurant in Prairie City

Bike Touring Tips Montana Our Trips

The Pioneer Scenic Byway

Post author By S24OBabe
Post date July 20, 2016

Day 1 was not exactly what I had expected. I knew it wouldn’t be easy but this was down right miserable. The first 18 miles to Jackson MT were painful to say the least. A head wind, of at least 75 miles per hour (no it was probably like 10-15 but still), and it was all uphill. Gradual uphill at first and then there was Big Hole Pass. At 7,400 feet, I have never been so happy to reach the top of a mountain that I wasn’t about to ski down. The rest of the ride into Jackson was downhill and so my faith in bike touring was restored. Rose’s Cantina in Jackson makes a great chicken sandwich and it was comforting to know that the Bike Hermit likes to stop for food whenever possible. Our waitress promised that the next 20 miles to Wisdom MT were flat, we smiled politely, knowing that there is no such thing as a flat road in bike touring.

The last time I was in Wisdom, I was on a fishing trip about 5 years ago. I was with my boyfriend at the time and we were clueless about the remote ranching towns of Montana. We came in on a Sunday afternoon with nothing but the Antler bar open for business. We drew straws for who would be the one to walk into this wild west looking establishment to inquire about getting a Montana fishing license. I’m pretty sure he lost, even though I was the one who eventually sucked it up and went inside. The heavy wooden door creaked as I took a deep breath and slowly pushed it open. The chatter of the mostly middle-aged, male crowd silenced as they turned to look at this 20 something city chick who had just walked in. I managed to squeak out a few words, explaining that we were from Oregon and hoping to fish the Big Hole River that evening. All but one continued to stare at me as if I was from another planet. The man that did respond appeared to have been in some horrible combine accident, as evidence by the hook that replaced his right hand. He used this hook to elaborately describe the locations we might want to explore and where we could possibly get a license to do so. I’m not going to lie, I have no idea what he said, I spent the entire interaction telling myself not to stare.

Long story short, Wisdom is full of the kind of characters you will be telling your friends about for years. Not to mention the very delicious homestyle food of the Crossing Cafe.

We were greeted on day 2 by a layer of frost covering the Hennessy Hammocks, thus a slow start ensued as we had to wait for the sun to warm our numb appendages and dry things out before packing them back into panniers. The most important meal of the day consisted of fresh coffee, homemade bagel sandwiches and sticky buns from The Crossing. As the sun rose in the sky, a shift in weather patterns gave us a much appreciated tail wind for the next 40 miles to Wise River. The day was not without it’s faults however. Being a novice bike tourer on a new to me bike, I was still getting the hang of the fancy new equipment. As the distance grew between myself, the Bike Hermit and Sky King, I was starting to worry that day 2 would find me abandon on the side of HWY 43. A quick stop to shed layers revealed to me that I had neglected to remove my click stand brake straps, which had been causing unnecessary resistance and explained my sluggish start. Thanks to this discovery and the little push from mother nature, the first 20 miles flew by. We made our first fishing stop of the day, on the Big Hole River. While the wind made casting difficult, the Bike Hermit landed his first Arctic Grayling on his borrowed Tenkara fly rod. Lunch consisted of leftover sweet roll, government approved ham and cheese sandwiches and underripe avocado slices. Despite the bleak description, lunch on the road is one of the most rewarding meals you will eat. Had the time allowed, I would have liked to fish the Big Hole longer but we still had 20 miles to go before reaching the town of Wise River, not including an estimated 10 beyond that to find a place to camp. By this point in time, I knew the rule about stopping for food and knew that a cheeseburger was in my near future, this helped when the last 5 miles proved to be more uphill than I would have preferred. This is where I made another of my many mistakes, I ate too much. The aforementioned lunch was not cutting it and the mushroom swiss burger at the Big Hole Club was too tempting to pass up. Back on the saddle I was sluggish and an old ski injury in my right meniscus was flaring up to the point that I was almost in tears. As is customary at the end of the day when you’re tired and sore, it was uphill with a headwind into the national forest where we planned to camp. After some seat height adjustments made by the Bike Hermit and some audible grunting sounds, we made it into public lands and began scouting an area to call home for the night. Crossing over the Wise River, Sky King and the Bike Hermit made the collective decision to stop, sub240babe did not get the message. By the time I realized I was about to run into the back of Sky King’s bike, it was too late, I swerved and attempted to click out of my pedals. What followed was a graceful slow motion crash into her panniers and a sharp turn into the side rail which nearly pitched me over into the river 30 feet below and left me with a nasty bruise on my right wrist. This was when I cried. I cried not because it hurt, but because I was exhausted, I was dirty and I was so over riding my bike 40+ miles a day. We set up camp, the Bike Hermit dug out a Kettlehouse Double Haul IPA for me to drink and we spent the rest of the evening catching brook trout as the sun faded over the Pioneer Mountains.

Day 3

Recharged and ready for what promised to be an epic day of fishing and riding, we eagerly ate our steel cut oats, cleaned up camp and hit the road. The first 30 ish miles of the Pioneer Scenic Byway are picturesque. I mean this place is straight out of dreamland, that is if you dream about trout streams and riding your bike in Montana. The Bike Hermit took the first opportunity to pull over and fish, I had a hunch that it would only get better, and so I pedaled on. The Wise River widens as the highway takes you upstream and several small bends followed by deep pools allow for plenty of places for trout to take refuge, unless of course you’re armed with a Sage Vantage 5 wt and a few mayfly patterns. You could easily spend 3 days biking just this 30 mile stretch, stopping to fish whenever and wherever you felt like it. As the river dropped further to the west, we began our ascent. Yeah so that pass I mentioned on day 1, while it was a hell of a lot steeper, the pioneer mountain climb is literally never ending, or at least that’s what my legs were telling me. I chased visions of the polka dot jersey up into the sky until we reached the “top”. 1st rule of bike touring, the top is never the top, you can NEVER reach the top. So after coming to the top of a mini Mt.Everest, the scenic byway turns to rolling hills with marshes more suitable for moose than trout and I go back to my counting to 100 to keep from laying down in the grass and declaring “just leave me here”. At last, there was a descent, a sweet, steep, beautiful descent. The downhill takes you past Elkhorn Hot Springs and Maverick Mountain Ski Area, before opening up into farmland for our last 10 miles back to the cars. I use this time for reflection. I hold on and look up, thanking the stars above for allowing me to have this adventure, and I begin thinking about the 22 oz Stone Vertical IPA I have waiting for me in the cooler back at the car.

Cresting Big Hole Pass – whew

Ready to test the new rod. “bike helmet required”

Saved by the river & a cool IPA

A shot of The Wise River along the scenic byway

“waterfall” photo op. Photo credit: Sky King

VFW campground in Wisdom, MT. 10/10 would recommend.

Bike Touring Tips Montana Our Trips Tours and Rides

Stuff Bike Touring Chicks Say

Post author By S24OBabe
Post date July 12, 2016
3 Comments on Stuff Bike Touring Chicks Say

In honor of my first real bike trip with Sky King and The Bike Hermit, I give you stuff bike touring chicks say…

Seriously, is this headwind for real? Is it always uphill? I hate bike touring. I should have trained more. That cheeseburger was a bad idea. Does that sign seriously say “chain up area”, sh*t. Pedal 1,2,3,4, pedal 1,2,3,4. Okay my legs aren’t working. My butt hurts. Do I have a flat? How much sugar is in these shot block things anyway? Was that guy cute? Do I look cute? Wow, it’s like so pretty out here. Oh crap, I’m in the middle of the road again. Oh crap, I almost went off the road again. I swear to god if the bike hermit says “you’ll have this in bike touring” one more time, i’m pushing him off his bike.

More to come about the actual trip, stay tuned!

xoxo

Sub24Obabe

Tags Adventure Cycling, Bike Touring, bit, Pioneer Scenic Biway, Traveling