Crusty Cassette

Eight Lakes; Leg Aches sponsored by a Lutheran Church in Spokane wss one of the first organized rides I ever did.

We started in Brown's addition, rode down into Hangman Valley, crossed 195 and climbed out again. I remember Nicki broke a chain that year on the climb.

It's been several years since I've done this ride. but I wanted to see Dave again. I haven't talked to him since before STP and our IBR trip. So I got up at 4:30 and made the 112 mile drive to the new start position: Group Health at the top of sunset Highway.

Dave and I have been pushing one another all season so I expected we might try to ride this one fast as we had the year following the year we'd arrived too late for pizza.

It was fun whipping over the rollers and maintaining a good pace on what appeared to be long climbs but which were really only 1 to 2 percent. And we got pizza, too. And I got leg cramps sitting in the shade eating it.

"Corrie,"

I heard my name called as I walked through Group Health's parking lot. Someone knew me?

It turned out to be the Crosses from Moscow. They had been at the spaghetti feed and had ridden half-Chafe and STP in two days. They plan to do Joseph with us though the hills have them a bit worried.

And I'm glad to say Katherine and Randy Cross are our newest TRC club members.

"Corrie," came another call.

The fellow in the white jersey sporting a red beard and mustache was Dwight. "Eisenhower" he said to help me remember.

I knew him now from Chafe. We had ridden together for most of two legs and I had enjoyed his company.

I was surprised that he recognized me. Was I wearing the same jersey? My eyes certainly weren't good enough for me to pick up this kind of detail. As I think back, though, I must be pretty recognizable. Short, bent forward chronically, puffy cheeks. I guess I'm readily identifiable at that.

We immediately made a threesome, Dave, Dwight and I. And we stayed togther for most of the day or at least until Dave decided it was more iinteresting to change his flats than to ride. So here was a mix of new and old.

Most of the route was the same as in the past. I enjoyed recognizing turns and climbs and knowing in advance how best to handle them--shift to a lower gear and stand; shift and stay seated but upright spinning furiously; skip the shift and just stand.

I remembered some hills as being steeper. I remember the ride out to fishlake as being longer; the ride back being hotter.

I haven't been riding all that long but there's lots of miles in these legs and lots of memories. Sometimes it's nice just to retrace a familiar route.

This was Dwight's first 8 Lakes and he'd have dropped us for sure had he been using aerobars. He plans to get them right away. So I don't know if I'm looking forward to his showing up sometime down here.

We made good time taking turns into the wind going out. My flat front tire just out from a rest stop slowed us a bit. Then Dave couldn't resist. A front tire flat wasn't good enough for Dave though. He had to flat the rear and then fiddle endlessly mounting and remounting the tire and fighting with the derailleur and finally adding more air.

This was Dave's day for flats. As Dwight picked up the pace and I gave chase, Dave fell back. Wait for him at the rest stop, I thought not wanting Dwight to out run me.

But at the rest stop, Dave didn't show. Had he skipped it? We waited longer than we could reasonably expect it would take for Dave to catch us and headed on.

We rolled in shortly afte4 1 pm in time to rack our bikes and still get pizza. But no Dave!

And then there he was, sweaty, a bit used looking. "I had another flat," he deadpanned.

Why not? Beating Corrie's flat with a rear flat was just a call. Dave wanted to raise.

You win again, Dave.

Dwight says he's riding Michelin tires. Dave and I are on Bontragger Hardcase? I wonder? . . .

Becky Phillips hasn't ridden with us for years but her facebook posts say she rode 8 Lakes and used First Aid to help an 8laker hit by a mountain biker enroute.

8 lakes was a mix of old and new for me this year.

For the ride of it! Corrie

I've struggled learning how to post photos to Crusty, and when I couldn't do it after the Moab trip, I decided to start my own blog on Blogger which easily accepts photos from Picasa although I like the concept of TRC blogs in one place. I learned enough from my first blog that I can now add photos here and have added photos to some of the old blogs- just to prove that posting the photos wasn't a fluke. I'll try to use the new blogger account for Boise rides of little interest to the other TRC members. Following is the story of the 1 week's ride between Durango, CO and Moab, UT.

Read the Full Story

Is that all you've got?

Slideshow

"Is that all you've got?"

I didn't actually see the fist shaken in the air, but I'm sure it was there.

Two hundred fifty Idaho bike Ride participants, SAG, mechanics, baggage handlers, and catering crew commanded Stanley City park atop a knoll with the entire Sawtooth range of craggy peaks arrayed before us north to south.

These young mountains are dramatic enough but today they put on a special show just for us.

All afternoon dark clouds swelled up to the south and flew directly over us dropping rain and hail one storm following har on another until finally the skies cleared bringing on that challenge to the gods.

Campers came out of tents and from under our dinner canopy ginerly surveying the damage left by rain and hail the size of marbles. Here a tent sagged; there someone pulled damp bags from another. My rainfly sagged against the tent producing a steady mist until I braved the storm and reset the stakes.

This had been our layover day in Stanley and some riders were still out on their own excursions caught in these mountain squalls.

"Is that all you've got?" struck me as a bit of unnecessary bravado. I figured one more good belt of hail would take my tent down.

But, in point of fact, that storm wasn't all the gods had in store for us on this 360 mile route from Carey through Arco, Challis, Stanley, Haily and back to Carey.

The 58 miles from Carey to Arco had a bit of tailwind, rolling hills, and a seven mile loop in Craters of the Moon.

IBR encouraged everyone to do the extra mileage. they need time to move camp--shower trucks, porta-otties, and camp central with tables, catering gear, and luggage. We'd outrun the luggage trucks on the last day.

Carey is at 5,000ft and we climbed from there. The second day was 85 miles. Linda and I planned to add enough for century rides but this day the gods had "more in store for us." More meant 50 miles of head wind to the high point. Throw in a rain shower wet enough to make me stop to put on my rain jacket and you have a very long day. Neither of us felt like adding more mileage.

The Salmon River headwaters near Stanley. The road from Challis to Stanley is narrow with little or no shoulder and replete with vacation travel trailers and a few big trucks. At 1 to 2 percent the 50 miles of mainly climbing doesn't sound hard but at elevation and following the tough ride the previous day, I found myself conserving my legs. Linda rode my slip-stream such as it was for most of the day.

The road winds around steep banks crossing the Salmon several times taking us up through forests and some steep climbing.

A few miles short of Stanley the road takes a bend opening onto your first view of the Sawtooths. Picture Opportunity.

The city park at Stanley is nothing more than an open field with wild grass and a couple of soccer backstops and a few wooden risers. But no one cared. Nothing blocks your view of those majextic peaks.

You sit and watch.

In 2003 IBR did this same route in 80-90 degree heat. The temps are cooler this year but at 6,000 feet the air is thin enough enough the sun is intense.

As with all our camp sites early arrivers grab the best camping spots. But here all is equally exposed. Not a tree in sight. Quickly tents popped up around the edges of the knoll. Gradually the field in-filled until one could scarcely find one's way back to his tent. No sense of urban planning in these campers.

Stanley was our layover day meaning we'd camp two nights at the same place. No rush to pack up in the morning meant a real break. Some signed up for hiking, white water rafting, rock clmbing or just chose to explore the three city blocks of Stanley and get some laundry done.

My plan was to do the optional layover day ride to Banner Summit on highway 21. Linda signed up for white water rafting. And now the gods got up close and very personal with the two of us.

I wasn't there to see it but I'm told Linda's expression was priceless when a sudden encounter of a very close nature sent her and another rafter into the ewater. A bit of pre-trip training and a guide saved her but not her sandles and hat. For that story you'll have to read Linda's Blog.

Banner Summit was indentifiable only by the road sign indicating a truck going down a steep grade. Well, that and the food stop at 25 miles. Only the last mile showed 5% on my gps. Most of the ride led away from Stanley toward a tree covered but modest 6700 feet. We'd climb to 8700 on the next day. This was a recovery day.

The return should have been easier still but a wind had come up forcing me to work harder going down than I had going up. that was the gods warming up. About 18 miles from Stanley I had what is prolitely known as an "accident" in my pants. I usually carry paper for the purpose but had none today.

Somewhere a God was laughing.

But he wasn't through. About 8 miles fron Stanley I noticed stiffness in my rear derailleur. That worried me since I've broken two rear cables in the last two years.

The gods had other plans. The front derailleur cable borke without warning. Now when the back one breaks, you are stuck in high gear but have full range in front. You are fine except for the steepest of climbs and I had none of those. Instead the front cable went taking with it all my high gears and I was descending but at 1 percent. I wanted to pedal. I wanted to spin, to feel the wind, crouch low in the aerobars, feel strong and free. Instead I coasted back to Stanley pedaling on little rises when I could.

The gods were getting a bit bored by now and though to dispense with me by slapping me around with a motorcycle.

In Stanley I stopped at atop sign like a good LCI. The streets are gravel and uncertain and I was about to climb a couple of hundred feet back to camp with a broken cable and a pant load when I felt pressure against my right shoulder. The pressure increased lifting my right foot off the ground leaving me clipped in on the left. I went down.

I looked up to see a motorcycle, engine off, its rider fitted out completely in leather and helmet.

"What are you doing back there?" he wanted to know.

From my position on the ground, I pointed. "I'm stopping at the stop sign. What are you doing backing out without looking?"

We decided no harm had been done but that's one stop sign I wish I had run.Not much fun for the gods though.

Just for practice, they threw in a thunderstorm before dinner. But I was clean, dry, and safely charging my gps at the library.

Given my day and Linda's, I didn't find the "bring it on" challenge as funny as I might have.

Thursday morning we woke to fog that made me think I was on the Oregon coast rather than in Stanely, Idaho. The fog finally lifted about 9 miles from town. Now we had Galena pass to look forward to. It's only 4.5 miles long and averages a little over 5 percent. But it does climb to 8700 feet. I had no trouble but neither did I feel I could reach down for more. That's pretty thin air.

The sun came out as we descended toward Ketchum and Sun Valley. We took the bike trail along a pretty stream through trees and grasses and camped in Hailey with lots of shade for everyone. The next morning we'd ride back to Carey on flat roads. The plan was to get camp moved while we were on the road. The shower truck made it and was ready for business when we arrived. The rest stop folks had motored on to Carey in the evening. A light lunch was available. But what good is a shower if your clothes are in the bags, in the trucks, on the road?

IBR organizers had not planned for the tailwind we enjoyed back to Carey. The one climb right before town wasn't enough to keep eager cyclists from rolling in early.

Some where the gods are pleased.