June 28 - Lolo Pass and Beyond

[Adele]

This much is true: after filling myself to the brim with a "choose your own destiny" taco dinner and Dairy Queen blizzard, I am far closer to nodding off to sleep in blissful food coma than writing about the day's journey...let's see what I can remember.

For the first time in Ditti memory (at least while camping), I awake before Brock and soon begin to cram my down sleeping bag into its stuff sack; I know that coffee waits for me 3 1/2 miles up highway 12 at Lochsa Lodge, and I have little patience.

We roll slowly out of the now-empty campground; our neighbors on either side have already left: on the one hand, an old guy whose generator sent a gentle hum pulsing through the forest, and on the other, the couple who drove their ATV in raucous loops throughout the evening, eventually hauling back a voluminous pile of timber to stoke their gigantic fire.

Lochsa Lodge stands on a generous green lawn surrounded by pine trees with green slopes undulating in the background. As we roll up to the lodge, we again encounter the father/son duo and learn that we missed out on an opportunity to camp there for free, and also that the lodge serves a fantastic breakfast.
I am irrationally seized by remorse at having paid for camping last night, (a paltry sum of $8, at that) as my penny-pinching side gets ahold of me. Fortunately, we decide to head into Lochsa Lodge and the feast of french toast, eggs, sausage, hash browns, bison links, and coffee is an antidote to my miserly inclinations.

I feel mentally prepared for the big climb up from the lodge to the top of Lolo Pass, and my legs match my will to reach the summit. Again, as on the Winchester grade road a few days ago, the sun beats down on our backs and soon we're drenched in sweat. I swap out my bike helmet for my broad brimmed hat and soak my tank top in a roadside stream to fight the blistering heat.

On the Winchester grade, I made the mistake of plugging into my ipod to escape the pain I knew would ensue as we climbed up the winding 8 miles. Entertained by NPR's Snap Judgement, I drowned out the "help me" messages my body was sending me, and after an hour, bolts of pain shot up my lower spine so that when I'd get off the bike for relief, I could barely straighten my back.

Today, I decide that I will listen better to my body. No ipod for this climb. My knee begins to complain, telling me to shift into a lower gear. My lower back tenses with the strain of the uphill, telling me to channel my stress and energy into my legs. My shoulders begin to hunch up to my earlobes, letting me know that I should lengthen my spine and square my shoulders back before my neck cramps up.

So much to think about!

My body rewards me for not ignoring it, and I find myself at the top of the pass, weary but not wracked by pain.

Despite the large breakfast, Brock feels low on energy. Still, he turns his pedals steadily in granny gear to reach the summit at over 5,000 ft.

We snap a photo in front of the "Welcome to Montana" sign, congratulate each other on our mutual awesomeness, and then let gravity pull our wheels down the other side of the Bitterroot Mountains into Montana.

The country opens out from close-in folds of high hills to far-reaching mountain vistas, as if a landscape artist has swapped out a fine paintbrush for one with a broader stroke.

After about 45 miles more, mostly on level or a gentle downhill, we reach Missoula. Our friend Aaron (hi, Aaron) has family here who have graciously agreed to host us. We'd been told that their house is at the top of a big hill, but we're stubborn and turned down the offer for a ride up to the top. This stubbornness only added to our overall sweaty funk when we reached the summit as the hill was, indeed, long and steep.
Tito, Michelle, and their girls didn't seem fazed by the arrival of us funky cyclists, however, and it's been a lovely and relaxing evening. I'm excited to explore Missoula tomorrow.