8/14/2013 There Is No Wrong Way

Rituals prescribe our mornings. After I procure the coffee, we begin our off-road day. While I finish my blog, Jules lovingly removes the thousands of bugs from Magic that we collected on our previous run. Bike and blog polished and published, we pack up, throw our legs over the saddle and ride out.

Packing out

Fair weather was our guide today as we reluctantly pulled away from the Flying Saddle Resort, a spot we would recommend to anyone. Route 89 was our guide for most of the ride. It lead us past picturesque ranches, nestled against the mountains and through small towns named Thayne, Afton and Smoot, boasting populations pushing the hundreds. Irrigated farmland lead to mountain passes in the Bridger-Teton National Forest for a cool morning adventure. Part of The Oregon Trail, this road carried me back into the history of struggling pioneers and their unquenchable desire to move West.

As we travelled South, the road swerved back into Idaho. The terrain changed drastically as rolling sage covered hills took over the vista. Miles of barren land, spotted with a few cattle, ensued. Through Paris, (no Eiffel Tower) ,we began to see signs for Bear Lake. Sometimes called The Caribbean of the Rockies, this 18 mile lake sits in Idaho and Utah. Uncannily blue water butts up to a mountain wall. Bathers sit on shoals and islands in the shallows along the edge. 

In awe of this strange lake in this strange land, we missed our turn to follow 89. Along the edge of Bear, we found our lunch spot in the shade and drank in the coolness provided. But back on Magic, we were dragged into the Utah desert where the heat choked us. Realizing our misdirection, we turned south again and rode back into Wyoming and onto route 80. 

Lunch!

Highways are not our favorite, but sometimes we take them out of necessity. We needed to get out of the desert fast. Strong crosswinds pummeled us and the bike as we rode. Jules wrangled Magic perfectly but the constant gusts wore us out. We took shelter in Green River, a small town surrounded by red buttes and bluffs. I feel like we are sleeping on the moon.

Because we live in tiny New Jersey, the scope of western states boggles the mind. We have been driving for days through three states to get to Colorado. But, our path has not always been straight and our determination to reach a goal has been sideswiped by an interesting detour or an enticing resort. Travelers without aim, we let the road dictate our future. It has not disappointed! 

8/13/2013 Humble Pie

Mother Nature humbled us today.

After all my boasting about beating the weather, we wore our rain suits for most of the day. Once again, the day started out pleasantly. Sore and tight from all the miles on the bike, we booked an amazing massage in the morning. Rejuvenated, we packed out in warm bright sun. One more stop - the Harley Dealer. Magic needed a few screws tightened, etc. 

Lunch

Route 26 to Swan Valley started the day. Together, at a quiet stop for our picnic overlooking a deep gorge, we watched as the familiar storm clouds formed over the mountains. Shortly, there were raindrops. We stopped for gas and the rain stopped in about 15 minutes. Letting our pride get the best of us (after all, we beat the rain for 2 days now) we took off without suiting up. Twenty miles down the road - off the bike - rain suits on.

Stormy weather

The rain, gentle at first, let us enjoy this classic route through Swan Valley. Riding along the Palisades Reservoir, we watched boaters dodge raindrops. At Alpine, we turned East onto 89 .

 The Snake River, familiar from so many Westerns, paralleled the road. As we watched from above, hundreds of rafters out of Jackson took the rapids. Buses everywhere waited to pick them up. The rain began to pick up and as Jules hunched down behind the windshield, I escaped the stinging drops by melting into his back. The only sights I saw here, as I kept my face down, were the yellow and white stripes on the road.

Pulling into Jackson, the sky cleared for a bit. Our mission here was to make it through the town without hitting a pedestrian or being steamrolled by a mega- RV. So crowded, this little tourist trap of a town was brimming with shoppers and photo-snappers. Guilty of the latter, I shot pictures of the famed antler arches and Cowboy Saloon as we rode through town. The Teton Pass was our reason for being here. Up we climbed into the clouds, over 8000'. A major artery between Jackson and Victor, the traffic was more than we expected, but the views were outstanding.

Antlers!

The Cowboy Bar

Jackson from above

Making an about face before Victor, the weather surrounding us again, we rode back over the pass, out of Jackson and along the Snake River, again, raining pelting us all the way. Alpine was calling to us. A crossroad on the map, with a gas station and a few motels and a population just over 800,  it seemed prudent to stop here considering the elements. 

Here we found a true treasure in the Flying Saddle Resort. Right on the Snake River, this beautifully landscaped and appointed motel, welcomed us with blue skies. After walking the property, sitting on rustic benches by the river, eating raspberries off the bush, we settled in for a fine outdoor dinner by a fountain and pool. Later we sat and chatted with other patrons around an outdoor fire. A lovely end to a rainy day.

Gnarly

The view from our back yard

Raspberries

Picking raspberries

The Saddle Resort

Ahhhhh!

As farmers, rain is our friend. As riders, it is a nuisance. But as we look at all the areas affected by drought here, we cannot be so selfish as to deny this precious water.  So we face the storm together, heads down until we find our haven and luxuriate in the comfort we find there.

8/12/2013 . The Joy of It All

There's always a reason...

Leaving Simone was difficult, especially since she visited me in the night and urged me to stay.

Peace Valley, named for a vow historically made by the Natives to never have war, gifted us with a beautiful departure. Every morning out on the bike is filled with the excitement of the possibilities of the day. Refreshed, we face the wind with open minds and hearts. 

Planning a route through southern Montana toward Jackson, we followed route 69 guided by mountains on all sides. Antelope loped in our path, giving us a wildlife thrill. As we travelled on, clouds began popping up.  Distracted by black skies, we made a wrong turn in Ennis and stated heading northwest away from the storm. 

Mesmerized by the appearance of the historic gold mining towns of Virginia City and Nevada City, we rode on. Still an area of placer mining, chunks of displaced and mined rock form hills and mountains along all the streams. 

Well into our wrong turn, we realized our mistake at Twin Bridges. Here we stopped for lunch along the river and watched as dogs dove in and cooled off, chasing balls their owners threw. We made the decision to bag our original route and tackle the interstate at Dillon. 

 Onto Route 15, we raced through a mine field of storms. At one point we stopped under shelter, but made the snap decision to outrun the storm and we ran in front of the rain for miles. A path of blue sky opened before us and we followed it all the way to Idaho Falls. What a thrill it was as the swirling clouds chased us. I raised my fist to the heavens and cried "Not today",  and we ended by cheating Mother Nature again.

Disappointment that stemmed from our misdirected route turned to joy as we realized there was a reason. We followed the drier path that ended in Idaho Falls, a charmed city. Dinner by the canal in perfect weather capped our exciting day.

On the motorcycle, as in life, there are no wrong turns. Sometimes we are misdirected, but often these  deviations can lead to an unexpected pleasure. We are never lost.

8/11/2013 Simone

A Siren Song called to us across the grassland and we succumbed.

A wind driven prairie day, we left the Blackfeet in our dust. Seeing the boost to the local economy that the new casino and hotel has brought was heartening because poverty is apparent everywhere. Natives are the main source of employment and the service industry here will surely expand. Looking hopeful.

Route 89, our prairie storm companion, drew us south through the Reservation and into ranch lands. Silhouettes  of the giant peaks of Glacier paraded to the west, creating a dramatic backdrop to golden fields of grain, working ranches and fields speckled with cattle. Two prairie chickens startled us with a suicide run. Overcast skies and hazy horizons added an ethereal quality to the picture. Great riding weather and better company. 

Running through small towns like Bynum and Choteau, where we made a southerly turn, old delapidated western style buildings held the settlements together with bones of past history that I am sure included saloons, brothels and cowboys.

The prairie gave way to the mountains as we rode 279 across the Flesher Pass at 6138 feet. In Lewis and Clark country now ( it seems like everywhere is Lewis and Clarke country out here - those guys really got around), roadside commemoratives followed their discoveries. Over the pass and back to the prairie, we skirted Helena and shot down 15. Ominous storm clouds were our vanguards as we rode dry to Boulder, our destination for the day.

Yes, today we actually had a destination. This morning Jules discovered an inn and hot springs while mapping our possible ride. Not knowing if we could make the distance, we did not make a reservation. Now, pulling into Historic Boulder Hot Springs, surrounded by dark thunderheads, we again drew the winning card by nabbing the last available room in this gem of a hotel. 

Nestled in the heart of Peace Valley, a massive stucco building rises hauntingly from the prairie. Built in 1881, the inn was once a destination for Presidents and wealthy ranchers. Through the century, it went through various additions and owners. Now under careful restoration, it still remains open for guests.

We snagged a room called the Simone Suite, complete with in-room bath. Simone, according to Boulder legend, was a "working gal" who made her living in this space. Supposedly, she still occupies her quarters as a friendly ghost. Captivated by the beautifully decorated apartment and titillating legend, we wrapped ourselves in sumptuous terry robes and sank into total relaxation.

The Story of Simone

Therapeutic hot springs soothed our road weary bones, and sweet mountain air lulled us to sleep. Simone, that wily wench, called to us from across the mountains and the prairie. We fell victim to her siren song and now rest with her tonight.

Heated Walkway

Hot Guy in the Hot Springs

8/10/2013 Running With The Sun

Some days the bear eats you and some days you eat the bear. Today we feasted.

Venturing out to a clear but very warm day, we followed the Kootenai and the Koocanusa up the East side. In reverse it was all new and the scenery was as moving as yesterday. As we leaned Into curves shadowed by walls of rock, refreshingly cool air quenched us. The traveling was easier here and we made tracks.

A side trip into Rexford told us an interesting story. When they made the reservoir, one town was lost to the water but Rexford was moved. Now a village of mobile homes, some fixed and some not, it seems that too much permanence is feared. 

Onto route 93 at Eureka, we started to encounter some traffic, but it all really picked up in Whitefish as we turned toward Glacier National Park on route 2.  Touristy, busy, and crowded, the springboard for visiting the park, Whitefish was not for us. We rode on through Columbia and entered the park with my "Granny Pass". ( When I turned 60, we purchased a Senior National Parks Pass for $10, and we have been visiting for free ever since!)

One of our favorite parks, Glacier keeps calling us back. The clear blue of Lake McDonald welcomes us and far overshadows the destruction of pine by insects on the opposite shore. The first peak that confronts us between trees lining the road always catches me unaware. I gasp at the sudden beauty that surrounds and improves at every dogleg and switchback. Climbing to Logan Pass on Going to the Sun Road, Jules and Magic make love to the narrow spiral of pavement as I am thrilled by each new snow peaked glacier that rises before us and the ever deepening valley we lean toward, the view unscathed by guardrails. Waterfalls tickle us with cool spray and mountain air releases the heat of the day. Once over the pass, crowded with peak season tourists, we begin the descent. Again, each turn affords a view as stunning as the one before as we dip down in altitude.

                      

 

Down to St. Mary Lake, we stopped for a bite to eat. Alone in the picnic area, we sat quietly. Jules took a stroll to the lake on a path through the woods and saw several late sunbathers. Once back, we started our lunch. Quickly and unexpectedly, the sunbathers came running through the trees. Bear! Bear! Rangers ran to the beach and started shouting to move the bear away. Since we were the only visitors with food in the area, we felt rather vulnerable and packed up quickly. How close Jules was to that bear, we'll never know ( or maybe the people on the beach thought he was the bear).

Without warning, storm clouds began rolling over the peaks. We hightailed it out of the park, but slower traffic kept giving the storm a chance to catch us. I suppose avoiding weather isn't as much of an issue when you have a roof over your head.  When the caravan of cars in front of us turned to go back to route 2, we decided to continue on to unknown territory. Into the plains, the storm chased us through the Blackfeet Nation Reservation, open territory with no shelter. Garmin told us that we were in pretty deep because there were no motels for 20-30 miles. 

Then, like a mirage in a desert, a Holiday Inn appeared next to a Casino. Only open two days, we booked a virgin room. Parking Magic under the entrance way, we staggered to our digs for the night. 

Overlooking the plains and the jagged peaks of Glacier, our view provided an ongoing show that equalled any IMax theater. First we watched the approach of the storm, fearsome and fast. When it arrived, it came with quarter sized hail, some larger. As the ice pelleted the window like a rapid fire machine gun, we were so thankful to be off the bike.  Then, the aftermath brought a brilliant sunset over the mountains that equalled any we have ever seen.

Experiencing a monumental ride, being awed by sights beyond belief, we ended our day by escaping a bear and extreme weather. We feasted on heart-stopping scenery and heavenly roads. We did not let nature feast on us.