"i put my foot to the floor to make up for the miles i've been losing"

Note: I'm told by the webmaster that the donation page is working again.
Also, we are nearly at the $2000 mark for donations, and this is truly exciting for us.

finally, I went back and added a handful of pictures to each day's post. Feel free to get your scroll on. Happy Father's Day.

Day Four: (6/17) Wauconda to Colville, WA 74.9 miles, 6:12 in the saddle. One Pass: 3000 v.feet climb.

We awoke freezing at elevation, but made up our coffee and cereal on the lightweight burner to get us going. I had to marionette my feet with my pant legs just to get my shoes on, which was a bad sign. A couple minutes on the bike and I was grimacing from the upswing of my pedal (fascia of the biceps femoris…) Perhaps the charges I made up our second pass in the 7th hour of the day before were unwise. So my Dad suggested I drop my seat an inch and ride flat pedal for the day, which ended up working. The prescription NSAIDs didn’t hurt either.

Also, I had more to say about our salmon the night before. First off, smoked salmon isn't the best choice for dinner when staying at elevation in black bear/cougar country. Half way through my second sandwich, this crossed my mind, but I was still salivating and the damage was done. I loosely attached my cup and bowl to the two plywood entrances to the house before bed and kept some mace beside me. My dad awoke to 'something bigger than a dog' pawing around outside during the night. He was eyeing the powertools in the corner as a possible defense, but my cookware never fell off the doors. The downpour washed the footprints in the mud of whatever was out there (and our own...it was a good rain). Oh the mystery.

Once we were in the sleepy logging town of Republic, I watched my dad eat a breakfast for four at Mel’s, and the silver-haired waitress didn’t think twice because she said this was THE place to eat for cyclists before tackling Sherman Pass. We also, unwisely, grabbed some groceries. Why my dad chose to buy PB&J in glass jars right before our largest single ascent is beyond me; he didn’t even crack them until we hit the next town (which I’m confident sold these items). The ascent took three hours, and we found a rhythm of 30 minutes of spinning, then a 3-5 minute break for water, snacks, and a changeup of albums (Dave likes to climb to ‘Thick as a Brick,’ but I go for whatever pop/dance albums use a drum machine.) Oh yeah, we only use the right earbud, as I know this worries people.

We were looking forward to the 15 mile descent from the pass but by the top the rain had picked up to sleet, and we were fairly miserable going down with our stinging faces. We found some coffee, cruised lazily into Colville and began eyeing some big trees across from an Arby’s on the highway that we could tuck our tents into as the branches willowed to the ground. The rain continued to pour. A little asking around lead us to the County Fairgrounds, where we could set up under a tree near some noisy horse trailers. It was $5 for the night, and had warm showers (my first wash of any kind since, uh, my house). Things you shouldn’t say.

Day Five (6/18): Colville, WA to Sandpoint, ID. 115.2 miles. 7:53 in the saddle.

Still dreary and sprinkling, this would be our second overkill day of the week to meet up with family in Sandpoint.

The first 30 miles climbs slowly out of Colville to a lake, before dropping switchback into a speck named Tiger. I learned that my dad’s first Triathlon ran a majority of this course backwards, and his stories reminded me that I can’t swim well at all, and that I would have almost drowned right there with him if given the same racing circumstances. Duathlons sound way more appealing.

The switchback down was glorious as we didn’t see a car in either direction and the clouds finally broke. Resting near the Pend O’Reille River, we got to lather with sunscreen for the first time and eat an ice cream bar to boot. The WA-20 route rolls along the riverside sine-like until a severe uphill that leads to a fun drop into Newport at the border of Idaho. We stopped for a coffee and some simple sugars at a Safeway and relaxed to the sounds of a hillbilly band of high-schoolers banjoing and fiddling away.

I had been working all day on getting my average trip speed up, for no reason other than to push what we could do in a given day, so the last 30 miles included a large bag of sour patch kids AND gummy worms. I figure I can afford to live frivolously with a ride like that. We stopped for a picture when my dad hit his first official Century (the 100 miler status), and kept on to meet my Mom in Sandpoint, with her travel trailer and huge dinner set out for us.

These last few days had been dreary, cold, and filled with hours of solitude, as we rode single file and didn’t stop to eat in places that allowed for meeting too many people. But one thing we’ve learned is that riding a hefty Long Haul Trucker, armed to the teeth with camping gear is a magnet for cycling enthusiasts. Random people walk across the street to shake hands, want to know our preferences on tires, or want to tell their greatest touring adventure (or dream). It’s not really a bragging thing, it’s just plain excitement.

(Resting in Sandpoint, as we speak.)

Recovery on the Western Slopes


BAM.


The Fairgrounds at Night


Catching the first Rays to charge our music players, Washington.


Dave hits his first Century, Idaho.