http://ozreport.com/ride.php

Last Wednesday morning I woke up before the 4 AM alarm and gathered my camel
back with its 70 fluid ounce bladder filled with Hammer Cafe Latte flavored
Perpetuem, a water bottle of Hammer Heed, my helmet, gloves, clipless shoes,
heart rate monitor, bike shorts and shirt, and prepared for my 109 mile ride up
hill to Sylvan Beach,
Payette
Lakes, Idaho from the On the River RV Park next to the Boise River, in
Garden City, Idaho. My goal was to replicate a bicycle ride that I had made 50
years ago when I was twelve years old, commemorating my mother's willingness to
let me take this original ride even though I was in no way prepared to do it. I
was going to meet my brother and sister at the Gudmenson's cabin on Sylvan beach
to celebrate my mother, who died last Fall at Thanksgiving.

 

It took a while to put all the other bikes in the trailer, as Belinda would be
following me later in the day after picking up my nephew at the airport in
Boise, and I wanted to have the trailer packed up for the days that we would be
gone, but I got off in the dark a little before 5 AM. It wasn't as dark as it
could have been as there was a full moon, or close to it, still I grabbed a bike
headlight so that I could see the road once I left the city.

It was cold, of course, that early in the morning, but I wanted to leave early
so that if it got hot I wouldn't have to spend as much time in the heat. I was
covered with goose bumps at times, but found lots of variation in the air
temperature, which made it tolerable. I started off fast heading east of State
Street turning just before highway 55 in Eagle, making a wrong turn on Horseshoe
Bend Way. I noticed the error a mile later when I flashed the bike light at a
sign that said no access to highway 55. Making a left turn I quickly made it
over to the actual highway.

A few miles up highway 55 there was an electric sign that asked motorists to use
the alternate route instead of highway 55. I wondered if my ride would be cut
short. I continued up the road for a couple of miles, but came back and asked at
the nearby gas station whether 55 was open or not. They didn't know. The
delivery man said he had to go up that way so he hoped it was. I decided that my
ride needed the road to be open, so I continued on up the hill.

The climb up Horseshoe Bend hill on Horseshoe Bend Road (not Way) is a 6% grade
for most of its length. Fortunately, I couldn't see this in the dark. The cause
for the suggestion to use the alternate route was quickly apparent as there was
loose gravel on the road for thirteen miles until the summit. The cars next to
me were spitting gravel in my direction.

I was climbing from 2,700' to 4,200' but that just meant I was going slowly up
hill and as far away from the passing vehicles as I could and still be on the
pavement. With a full moon I could see the surrounding hills and things looked
much the same as they had 50 years ago, as least as far as memory serves me.

As I finally made it to the top the sky was just beginning to get light in the
east. There was now enough light to be able to see the road, just in time for me
to descend down a 7% grade, and I very much appreciated this great timing. It
would have been quite scary to go down this grade at high speed not being able
to see that much ahead of me. Thankfully the repaving and the gravel stopped at
the summit so I didn't have to worry about hitting odd rocks.

Rolling into
Horseshoe Bend, it looked a bit better than it did 50 years ago, with the
lumber mill and its prominent saw dust burner gone, and the town devoted to
ranching and tourists along the
Payette
River. I stopped for breakfast at the northern end of town around 7 AM at
the Longbranch Cafe where a table full
of cowboys sat drinking coffee and talking about hunting elk. I must have looked
a bit weird in my bicycling togs. The waitress was young and pretty and did all
the cooking too.

I wasn't in a hurry to get up to the Lakes, so stopping for breakfast was part
of taking in the whole feeling of the countryside and the ride. Besides I was
cold and shivering from the ride down the hill and this was a good place to get
a bit warmer.

When I got back on the bike, it wasn't sunny and it wasn't warm yet. I was down
at 2,600' in a big hole where the Payette turns east and heads toward Emmett and
the Snake River, so the sun was still behind the hills. I was soon crossing a
bridge and riding next to the river heading north up the canyon that I would
stay in for thirty miles. The canyon would continue to block out the sun.

The next fourteen miles up to Banks and the junction of the South and North
Forks were tolerably inclined as the river was serene. But first I had to stop
and fix one flat and then another two miles later. I was carrying two spare
tubes, a spare tire, a patch kit and three CO2 cartridges. After fixing the
flats I was down to the patch kit, one full cartridge and one half full. It
looked like my ride might be over before it really had started.

Except for the occasional patches of head wind the ride to Banks was pleasant
enough especially when the hills opened up to let little patches of sunlight
through. It was getting warmer and I was no longer goose bumped. The traffic was
light and the drivers considerate for the most part.

Banks consists of two stores and the intersecting highways. This is the drop off
area for kayakers and rafters heading south to Horseshoe Bend through the calmer
part of the river. North of the river junction the river changes dramatically as
it becomes the North Fork. The white water is pounding in late August as it is
released from Cascade Lake forty miles to the north, to be used for irrigation
in southern Idaho, but mostly to keep the waters of the Columbia high for
electrical generation.

Thirty years previously my brother and I had ridden through Banks coming down
from Lowman and heading for McCall. We had started out in Arco and headed north
toward Challis, through Stanley. We then and I now faced a tough uphill climb
next to the raging river. The river is a Class IV rapids and looks like certain
death from the highway. I didn't see anyone on it all the way along the highway.

The next fourteen miles to Smith's Ferry were a grind and I stopped often just
to get off the bike give let my buns some relief. They and my feet were sore,
although my legs were just cranking along at a slow pace without complaint.

After what seemed like an endless series of uphill grades I came to a flat spot.
Was this Smith's Ferry? Nope, just the Big Eddy. I had a few more miles to go.
Groan.

Finally I was up on the flats a few miles from Smith's Ferry and the Cougar
Mountain Lodge where I stopped for a Buffalo burger. Not the best idea for a
bicyclist (as my stomach told me later), but for old time sakes at a place I had
stopped at with my family many times before when I was a kid. I had gone through
the Heed and a few ounces of the horrible tasting Perpetuem, so I downed a
Monster and filled the water bottle (with water) adding a second package of
Heed. I didn't know if these fluids were helping restore any energy to my body,
but I was needing the liquids to deal with dehydration.

There was still a climb to go to get out of the canyon and up onto the "flats"
at Long Valley, so I wasn't done yet, although I was half way there. I followed
the North Fork up, over a high bridge and then after a few miles left the
canyons and emerged out into a wide open valley with the road leveling out and
the incline reducing as I continued my climb from 2,600' to 5,000'.

I had been going quite slowly south of Smith's Ferry. Often six miles per hour,
sometimes eight. Now out on the flatter roads I picked up the pace getting from
fourteen to seventeen miles per hour. I had averaged a little less than eleven
miles per hour until I got into the Long Valley.

The sun was out, it was just afternoon, I had been on the road for a little more
than seven hours, my feet hurt, my buns hurt, I had a long ways to go, but I
knew that I had only one big hill ahead of me. The road could pass by quickly,
or at least quicker than it had, so the task looked doable. Of course, I did not
entertain the concept of not finishing the task.

The Long Valley is basically empty with a few ranches and a few more homes that
have been added over the years, until you get to
Cascade,
a town of less than 1000 on the south side of Lake (Reservoir) Cascade, and
thirty miles from McCall. I could see the forest fires north of Cascade on the
west side of the lake as I peddled up the valley, and as I passed the airport
south of town the crew under the sky crane waved. Apparently they weren't
fighting the fires on that day as they weren't threatening the bankrupt Tamarack
resort homes.

I stopped once again, this time at a gas station to get a sport drink, anything
to keep from having to swallow that Perpetuem. I was taking sips of whatever I
had to drink every minute as it was now in the eighties and my mouth was getting
dry. It seemed to me that I would get to Sylvan Beach before 5 PM, almost twelve
hours after I started.

Back on the bike I knew that there was a substantial hill in front of me a few
miles out of town. When I got there it was disheartening. I climbed and climbed
up it and even stopped and walked up it for a short ways. I was tired and sore
and not happy with my lot, and just wanted to get to the end. Of course, I was
surrounded by nature's beauty.

Getting to the top it was a short fast ride back down, and back to the incline
to McCall riding a few miles to the east of the lake. The fire was smoldering to
my west, and the meadows were surrounding me. I was enjoying the ride and the
pleasant conditions. A few miles south of
Donnelly,
Belinda and my nephew Alex finally caught up with me. They had stopped at the
Cougar Mountain Lodge where the proprietress had told them that I had come
through, ordered a Buffalo burger and tried to call them, but there is no phone
service (land or cell) there.

I dropped off my camel back having had it with the chalk taste, filled my water
bottle with water and asked Belinda to bring back a sport drink after dropping
off Alex at the cabin. I figured that I would go through the water bottle by the
time she made it back.

Past Donnelly, fifteen miles from McCall, the road was under repair (another
reason for the alternate route) and grooved. This did not make for pleasant
riding. There were flagman every few miles so I had to wait and go behind all
the cars. Still I appreciated the chance to get off the bike.

I made it through Lake Fork, but wished I had kept a bit of the money that I had
dropped off with Belinda as I had already gone through the water bottle. Then
just as I entered into
McCall,
Belinda showed up with a big bottle of sport drink, half of which I downed right
away. I appreciated the stop and the drink, but I still had six miles to go. I
was running on fumes. The legs would turn without any command from me, I just
needed to not push them to the line where they began to hurt. Otherwise they
were fine on their own.

I turned the corner at the lake next to the McCall Hotel, where my cousin Ginni
worked, headed past the headquarters of the
McCall Smokejumpers,
past the Shore Lodge, and finally to Sylvan Creek Road and the cabin where I would
spend the next few days with my family.

The ride took nine hours on the bike and twelve hours overall, much slower than
I had anticipated, but I had conveniently forgotten how tough the part from
Banks to Smith's Ferry was. I averaged twelve miles per hour. Thankfully I
started very early, so I got there before it was dark. I felt fine at the end of
the ride and was happy just to jump into the lake with all my bicycle clothes
on.

Two days later I decided to ride into McCall as we were going for dinner at the
Shore Lodge (great food, btw), and a got another flat right at the Shore Lodge
and hadn't brought anything to fix it with me. So I just waited in the bar until
everyone else arrived. Three flats are a lot for me in that short amount of
riding.

The next morning on Saturday with the weather quite cool we were all heading
back down to Boise. I casually fixed the new inner tube that I had flatted on
the second flat coming out of Horseshoe Bend, just to put the bike back in
shape. I was going to fix the other inner tube, but decided to wait and instead
I would ride the bike into McCall. Belinda was waiting for all the laundry to
finish in the cabin, so I asked her to pick me up later on the highway as I rode
south.

I had thought earlier when I was riding up that it might be cool to ride back
down to Boise, but after a few hours of riding I abandoned any thought of going
through that again, even in the other direction. There was no way that I was
going to climb up the 7% grade out of Horseshoe Bend, even though I had done it
the other way.

As I went back through McCall, which was quite built up from the last time I saw
it, I wondered why all the folks were in town (there was an "art" show at the
McCall Hotel), rather than out at the lake. Well, it was a bit cool for lake
side activities. We had just spent the last few days out in quiet Sylvan Beach
and at
Charlie's Garden, so the bustle of town was a bit much.

I headed out of town just thinking that I would ride a short ways and then
Belinda would catch up to me. I had only a patch kit, my CO2 bottles, and a
water bottle half full of sport drink (no Heed, no Perpetuem, no gels or bars).
The temperatures were in the sixties.

The ride was pleasant and slightly down hill and every now and then a bit of a
tail wind. I was averaging about twenty miles per hour. Nothing hurt, so I was
enjoying the ride and noticing how much up hill the previous ride had been even
in the flats.

I was in Donnelly when my brother and his wife came by and said that Belinda was
leaving the cabin about an hour behind them. I said good bye to them and told
them I would just keeping riding until Belinda found me.

About fifteen miles later I was climbing the back side of the hill now going
into Cascade, which was much shorter and no steeper than the front side. I
didn't have to get off the bike this time. The air was cool and I wasn't gulping
down the sport drink.

I stopped in Cascade for a energy drink and a Cherry Garcia bar, watching the
sky cranes take off and head toward the now soldering fires that were tamped
down in the cool and quiet weather. No one was sitting under their cranes now.

The ride to the Cougar Mountain Lodge was quick and easy and I covered the first
part of my ride in two and a half hours, which took me four on the way up, and
this was the easy part. I stopped for a drink, filled up the water bottle and
headed south. Still no Belinda.

A few miles outside of Smith's Ferry Belinda caught up to me. At this point I
was committed to riding back to Boise. The ride had been going superbly. My buns
were sore, but that was it. I ate a couple of bananas, drank some water and told
Belinda to wait for me in Horseshoe Bend. If I wasn't there in an hour after she
got there, come back and find me beside the road. I figured that I would very
minimally delay Belinda's drive home.

The road was steep going down to Banks, I was going thirty plus miles per hour,
and still no one even on a Saturday was on this most famous stretch of kayaking
river. It really did look like so much water was being released that it would
have been dangerous. As I passed Banks I could see the floaters on the quiet
part now that it was the Payette and not just the North Fork, and I passed them
quickly.

My speed slowed down on the flat parts of the river and I would every now and
then hit a patch of head wind as the winds swirled through the canyon. The sky
was grey as it had been all day, the air was cool, it looked like there might be
rain the distance.

I rode into Horseshoe Bend a half hour after Belinda did so there was no need
for her to come looking for me. I hadn't blown another tube. I rode to the south
side of town where I had her take me five miles up to the summit, not wanting to
climb this hill. Letting me off at the top I told her that if I wasn't at the
trailer an hour after she got there to come back and find me.

Back on the road on the gravel, I just wanted to stay on the bike and not get
hit with gravel as cars passed me. There was a smooth patch at the edge of the
gravel and when I could I rode there going as fast as I dared on the rough road
hitting lots of little bits of gravel.

There was a strong tail wind that turned into a strong side wind as I approached
Eagle. I didn't want to get blown over.

I turned on State Street, the street where my Great Grandmother used to live,
and where we often stayed with her, and found the nice tail wind. It was but a
few miles to the RV Park, and I finished at 101 miles, fifteen minutes after
Belinda arrived.

I rode for five hours and fourteen minutes, much less than the nine hour I took
riding up. This gives one some idea of the relative difficulty of the ride up. I
averaged 19.3 mph, instead of 12. I took a total of six hours half what it took
me on the way up.