Day 23: Darby to Jackson, Montana
Day 23: Darby to Jackson, Montana
The morning ride out of Jackson was easy enough for the first ten miles. Ahead of me lay Lost Trail Pass and Chief Joseph Pass, only a mile apart. On paper, it was nothing to be afraid of; I'd climbed worse in the eastern Cascades. The Rockies are much older than the Cascades, I thought, much more weathered, with softer edges. But, as with Wauconda, Chief Joseph had a beating in store for me.
Along the way I passed Sula, entering deep into the heart of Louis & Clark territory. As an aside, I must say that it was terribly generous of Louis & Clark to cross and recross these lands, methodically walking every square inch of them, so that future generations could lay claim to their historic presence.
The wind shifted throughout the morning, never becoming too harsh as I followed the Bitterroot river, then turned to follow Reime Creek. The climb began in earnest just ten miles below the peak of Lost Trail Pass, as rain clouds gathered above.
The wind picked up, carrying with it the first rain, a sharp, thin rain that stung my cheeks. As the climb steepened, I frequently walked, while the rain fell intermittently, now light, now heavy. The road to Joseph is carved right out of the steep mountain sides, leaving nothing but sharp inclines below and above. There are no comfortable lawns to rest on along the way. My only rest was leaning against a guard rail for a few minutes at a time. I crawled up the mountain slowly, painfully, fighting to claim each tenth of a mile for my own. Only one thought kept me moving, "The only way through is forward," repeated like a mantra.
I considered Zeno's paradox, the law of the infinitesimal, which states that any distance may be halved infinitely, and feared that I might never reach the top, straining to travel shorter and shorter distances.
About two miles below the top, another cyclist, on his way down, stopped to check on me, and we chatted by the guard rail, sharing stories. Daniel was a young man in his mid-20s from New Zealand, crossing from east to west. It was his first long tour, and he'd saved money for five years to make the trip. He told me he'd been held up a week in Washington DC when he lost his passport, and that a new one was waiting for him in San Francisco.
Eventually we each went on our way. I climbed back on my bike and rode another tenth of a mile until Daniel was out of sight, and then went back to pushing. The encounter had cheered me, but I was still climbing into the rain. I was weak and quivering with exhaustion, but the only way through was forward.
It was ten miles that took me three and a half hours to cover. When I reached the top I was too numb to rejoice. I pulled into a rest stop at Lost Trail Pass on the Montana / Idaho border. Inside, I used the urinal, and leaned my forehead against the sturdy tile wall. When I stepped outside the restroom, it had stopped raining. Within minutes, the clouds parted. By the time I left there an hour later, the clouds had fled. The blue skies felt like a grim joke.
Between Lost Trail and Chief Joseph
I had one more mile to climb between Lost Trail and Chief Joseph, but with the sun on my shoulder, I was invigorated. I found a slow, steady pace, and stayed on the bike to the top. I had reached the continental divide.
Somewhere beyond Chief Joseph was a high valley, so the ride down the other side was shallow, and the wind kept me pedaling. I should have enjoyed the thick forests more, but I was still numb.
It was not until the new valley opened up below me that I returned to life.
I rode through Montana's Big Hole, drifting across the high plains into Wisdom, where I stopped to rest and buy refreshments. I still had 20 miles to Jackson, but I was reinvigorated by the warm sun and change of environment.
Conover's Trading Post in Wisdom
High plains are my favorite landscapes to ride in, with the mountains and clouds below, and the view unimpeded in every direction. At the top of the world, you can see forever. Ignore the road and its like flying. And I flew, maintaining a vigorous pace for the last 20 miles beneath the darkening sky, and if the wind wasn't exactly with me, it wasn't exactly against me, either.
I giggled with slight hysteria as I rolled into Jackson with 75 miles of road burning in my belly. With a population of 50, there's not much to Jackson beyond the Hot Springs resort, and it seemed to employ - or at least entertain - most of the local population. It was a Friday night and they had no cabins for me, but an ample lawn for my tent.
The resort is quirky place, rough & tumble as only Montana can be. It almost seemed to be run like a co-op, and while I identified several employees, there also seemed to be a number of people casually helping out. A small dog pack wandered the grounds, occasionally running through the main lodge, and the evening's musical entertainment was a karaoke singer. The resort's restaurant serves first class food, though it was a mess of understaffed confusion.
And then, of course, the spring. The resort sits on a natural sulphur spring (discovered by Louis & Clark, of course), which is channeled into a standard size, outdoor swimming pool, set with ancient, crumbling concrete. I waded in among the other visitors and lhe soothing heat melt my tired knees. I chatted for a time with a father and son who were out for a weekend of mountain biking, but after my long day, the heat knocked me out quickly. I stumbled through the dark, back to my tent, and crawled in still wet.
The morning ride out of Jackson was easy enough for the first ten miles. Ahead of me lay Lost Trail Pass and Chief Joseph Pass, only a mile apart. On paper, it was nothing to be afraid of; I'd climbed worse in the eastern Cascades. The Rockies are much older than the Cascades, I thought, much more weathered, with softer edges. But, as with Wauconda, Chief Joseph had a beating in store for me.
Along the way I passed Sula, entering deep into the heart of Louis & Clark territory. As an aside, I must say that it was terribly generous of Louis & Clark to cross and recross these lands, methodically walking every square inch of them, so that future generations could lay claim to their historic presence.
The wind shifted throughout the morning, never becoming too harsh as I followed the Bitterroot river, then turned to follow Reime Creek. The climb began in earnest just ten miles below the peak of Lost Trail Pass, as rain clouds gathered above.
The wind picked up, carrying with it the first rain, a sharp, thin rain that stung my cheeks. As the climb steepened, I frequently walked, while the rain fell intermittently, now light, now heavy. The road to Joseph is carved right out of the steep mountain sides, leaving nothing but sharp inclines below and above. There are no comfortable lawns to rest on along the way. My only rest was leaning against a guard rail for a few minutes at a time. I crawled up the mountain slowly, painfully, fighting to claim each tenth of a mile for my own. Only one thought kept me moving, "The only way through is forward," repeated like a mantra.
I considered Zeno's paradox, the law of the infinitesimal, which states that any distance may be halved infinitely, and feared that I might never reach the top, straining to travel shorter and shorter distances.
About two miles below the top, another cyclist, on his way down, stopped to check on me, and we chatted by the guard rail, sharing stories. Daniel was a young man in his mid-20s from New Zealand, crossing from east to west. It was his first long tour, and he'd saved money for five years to make the trip. He told me he'd been held up a week in Washington DC when he lost his passport, and that a new one was waiting for him in San Francisco.
Eventually we each went on our way. I climbed back on my bike and rode another tenth of a mile until Daniel was out of sight, and then went back to pushing. The encounter had cheered me, but I was still climbing into the rain. I was weak and quivering with exhaustion, but the only way through was forward.
It was ten miles that took me three and a half hours to cover. When I reached the top I was too numb to rejoice. I pulled into a rest stop at Lost Trail Pass on the Montana / Idaho border. Inside, I used the urinal, and leaned my forehead against the sturdy tile wall. When I stepped outside the restroom, it had stopped raining. Within minutes, the clouds parted. By the time I left there an hour later, the clouds had fled. The blue skies felt like a grim joke.
Between Lost Trail and Chief Joseph
I had one more mile to climb between Lost Trail and Chief Joseph, but with the sun on my shoulder, I was invigorated. I found a slow, steady pace, and stayed on the bike to the top. I had reached the continental divide.
Somewhere beyond Chief Joseph was a high valley, so the ride down the other side was shallow, and the wind kept me pedaling. I should have enjoyed the thick forests more, but I was still numb.
It was not until the new valley opened up below me that I returned to life.
I rode through Montana's Big Hole, drifting across the high plains into Wisdom, where I stopped to rest and buy refreshments. I still had 20 miles to Jackson, but I was reinvigorated by the warm sun and change of environment.
Conover's Trading Post in Wisdom
High plains are my favorite landscapes to ride in, with the mountains and clouds below, and the view unimpeded in every direction. At the top of the world, you can see forever. Ignore the road and its like flying. And I flew, maintaining a vigorous pace for the last 20 miles beneath the darkening sky, and if the wind wasn't exactly with me, it wasn't exactly against me, either.
I giggled with slight hysteria as I rolled into Jackson with 75 miles of road burning in my belly. With a population of 50, there's not much to Jackson beyond the Hot Springs resort, and it seemed to employ - or at least entertain - most of the local population. It was a Friday night and they had no cabins for me, but an ample lawn for my tent.
The resort is quirky place, rough & tumble as only Montana can be. It almost seemed to be run like a co-op, and while I identified several employees, there also seemed to be a number of people casually helping out. A small dog pack wandered the grounds, occasionally running through the main lodge, and the evening's musical entertainment was a karaoke singer. The resort's restaurant serves first class food, though it was a mess of understaffed confusion.
And then, of course, the spring. The resort sits on a natural sulphur spring (discovered by Louis & Clark, of course), which is channeled into a standard size, outdoor swimming pool, set with ancient, crumbling concrete. I waded in among the other visitors and lhe soothing heat melt my tired knees. I chatted for a time with a father and son who were out for a weekend of mountain biking, but after my long day, the heat knocked me out quickly. I stumbled through the dark, back to my tent, and crawled in still wet.
posted by Ivan at
9:25 PM
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