Circling the U.S. Chapter 33: When the Sun Came Out (and the Rain Came Again...and Again)

Sunday, August 25, 2019 (continued)

We made it to the summit of Logan Pass. Now we had to get down.

In 1980 I cycled up Logan Pass in the other direction. When I summited, it was raining. Not trusting my brakes on the steep road in the rain, I caught a ride down with someone in a camper. This time we have disc brakes that are supposed to work when wet. Still.

Inside the visitor center, I took off my rain jacket and pants and hung them on a railing. I put on warm tights, wool socks, and another sweater. I wrung the water out of my socks, hat, neck gaitor, and riding gloves, and hung them up on a railing, with little hope that they would actually dry. There was water everywhere, on the floor and on the bench where we were all sitting.

Rob had brought in our lunch food. The day before, in St. Mary, I'd bought bologna in memory of my previous bike ride through this part of the world. And I paid $6 for a pack of American cheese with 12 slices, the only cheese they had. I devoured one bologna sandwich and one bologna and cheese sandwich. Rob made a peanut butter sandwich and ate some cheese slices. We ate some snack mix and spilled some all over the bench we were sitting on. I wasn’t in the mood for any of the fruit we’d bought before the climb, but still shared an apple with Rob. 

Other bicyclists trickled in, a dozen from an Adventure Cycling tour. We’d met several of them the day before on the road. They didn’t seem interested in talking to us, just to each other. So we passed the time getting to know Michele and Kevin. They're both from Michigan, making them the fourth fun and friendly Michigan couple we've met so far. I suggested that if the rain didn’t stop we might get a room together. 

Someone said it was sleeting outside. We couldn't see; the windows were all fogged up.

 

It’s twenty miles from the summit to Lake McDlonald where there is lodging and restaurants. The road from there to Apgar Village, about eight miles, is closed to bicycles between 11 a.m. and 4 p.m. I was for riding down to Lake McDonald where we could at least dry out and then make a plan for the evening. Kevin said he didn’t want to go through the whole deal of getting dressed to go out in the rain, then go through it all again at Lake McDonald to get down to Apgar Campground after 4:00. He wanted to wait until late enough to go straight through to Apgar Village where he and Michele were planning to camp. He had a point.

We made the most of our time hanging out, getting to know one another. That's Kevin and Michele. Michele was resourceful, going outside and making herself a cup of coffee. She spent three years bicycle touring around Europe.

I walked over to the information desk and asked one of the rangers, "Do you know what the weather is doing at Lake McDonald?" Maybe it wasn't raining there.

She handed me the weather forecast for the day. "That's all we have," she said.

A woman standing next to me said, "We just came from there. It's raining."

Eventually the Adventure Cycling group trickled back outside to take the shuttle bus down to the park entrance, two at a time because that's how many bikes each bus could hold. I thought about that as a possibility, but neither Michele, Kevin, or Rob brought it up. I guessed we were riding down.

Michele suggested we start down at 1:30. Around 1:00 we started getting dressed to go outside.

I asked, "Do you guys have disc brakes or caliper?"

Michele said, "I have a new bike with disc brakes. Kevin still has caliper brakes."

Outside, while we were getting on our bikes, the clouds started to lift even as it kept raining.

 

We turned on lights and agreed to stay together. It was still raining. We took it slow, taking up the entire lane. My brakes worked beautifully on the narrow, winding road. I didn't care if cars had to ride slowly behind us. If the road were dry, we'd be stuck behind them wanting to go fast.

Then, just a few minutes after we'd started, the magic began as the rain took a break and the scenery opened up.

It's difficult to describe the overwhelming sense of joy I felt as we were riding down wet roads and started seeing patches of blue sky and the mountains with clouds below us scattered about. The pictures cannot possibly capture the majesty of the scene.

It was still pretty cold. We all had plastic bags on our feet. Michele and Kevin had plastic bags over their gloves. Rob's gloves were wet and his hands cold.

When we passed the waterfall, I was still too cold to stop and take a picture. I was happy to be able to capture it when we were further down the pass.

If we looked carefully, we could see the road near the summit and the road below where we were headed. It was impressive to think we were doing it under our own power.

At one of the scenic stops a church youth bible group was tailgating. As we pulled in they called out, "We have four extra hotdogs!" They were terrific, along with chips and juice.

The clouds kept lifting, the sun shined down on us. How could it possibly rain again?

The sun was out; we were at a lower elevation; it was time to take off all those extra clothes. But Rob and I were too optimistic and had to stop a few miles later to put some back on.

 

But with just a few miles to go before Lake McDonald, dark clouds rolled in ahead of us.

We arrived at Lake McDonald around 4:30. Michele and Kevin had plans to go on to Apgar Village. Rob said he was too wiped; we'd camp nearby at Sprague Creek. But first, we had to share celebratory beers. As we were walking our bikes to get them, I said to Rob, "Order me a beer while I check out the rooms at the motel we just passed. They had a vacancy sign out."

I stopped in at the motel office and found out that a room with two double beds cost $195. No way could Rob and I afford that. But maybe if Kevin and Michele shared a room?

It started raining while I walked my bike back to Jammer Joe's where beer was waiting. Rob, Michele, and Kevin were at the counter ordering. I sat down at a table by the window and watched the rain come down. When Kevin and Michele joined me, Michele said, "We're not going to Apgar. It's too late. We'll camp here."

I was glad to hear that. It would be fun having another couple to camp with and share dinner. If we camped.

I said, "We can get a room for $195 if you guys can handle a double bed."

Michele said, "It's a thought."

I didn't push it. The woman at the motel had said they had several rooms left. I figured if we decided to get a room and they were all gone we'd just deal with it, putting up our tent in the rain, if it was still raining.

Rob joined us and we drank a toast to Logan Pass. I said, "What an amazing experience that was."

The rain didn't stop. We finished our beers and decided the motel was a good choice. We paid for our room and unloaded our panniers. While we were spreading all our wet gear around the room, the sky cleared and the sun came out. Michele and I both said, "We could be camping." The men both said, "Don't worry about it."

Over dinner, back at Jammer Joe's, the rain came pouring down while we enjoyed inexpensive Italian dinners with beer and wine and forged new friendships.

Circling the U.S. Chapter 32: Riding to the Sun, or When It Rains Part 3

The view from Logan Pass Visitor Center

Sunday, August 25, 2019  40 miles to Lake McDonald

My interpretation of the weather forecast was that it would be sunny until noon and then there was a chance of rain. But we’d be over the summit of Logan Pass by then. Either I read the forecast wrong, or it changed overnight.

Or both.

 

Rob and I left the campground at St. Mary by 7:30 in the morning under overcast skies, wearing riding shorts and jerseys and our lightweight running jackets. The first six miles served as the perfect warmup on flat, slightly rolling terrain along the shore of St. Mary Lake.  Few cars disturbed the rhythm of our bicycle wheels spinning on the road.

The dark clouds sat high in the sky, above the mountains surrounding the lake. 

At Rising Sun we stopped to use the restroom and picked up some fresh fruit at the camp store.

For the next six miles we kept up a steady pace as the road continued to follow the lake shore, and we started climbing above the lake. I sailed around the banked curves in the road as I ascended, then descended, then ascended again, loving this mountainous terrain.

We stopped to look at Sunrift Gorge and, shortly after getting back on our bikes it started raining. I stopped and waited for Rob to catch up. I said, “I’m thinking it’s not raining that hard and it’s not at all cold. I don’t think I’m going to put on my rain jacket.”

Rob said, “I agree.”

The rain came down intermittently and the clouds stayed high. I could still see the mountains. I thought, “It’s nice when the sky is blue and clear, but this is still just fine. And the cloud cover is keeping the temperature from getting too hot.”

As the miles slipped away, I began to wonder when the serious climbing would begin. I beat back my worries that it would be too steep and my legs would give out. I told myself, the hills you climbed yesterday added up to more elevation gain than today, and you passed those other cyclists on the second hill and they weren’t carrying as much gear. Just take it one mile at a time.

Around mile eleven I started climbing steadily. At mile 12.5 I stopped at a restroom pullout and waited for Rob. Two older men stopped to talk; one of them asked, “How do you get in shape for this?”

I said, “You ride 2800 miles to get here.” But even as I said that, I had my doubts that I had trained enough for what was to come.

Reading from right to left we had about a 2000 foot climb to the summit of Logan Pass.

Rob rode into the pullout and parked his bike. I said, “How are you doing?”

He said, “I feel great!”

Rob has a rare lung disease, pulmonary hypertension. It slows him down, probably because his muscles aren’t getting the oxygen they need. I keep an eye out for him in my rear-view mirror and when I don’t see him for a while, I'll pull over and wait. I’ll take out my whistle and play a tune to pass the time. He hears it and knows I’m just around the next curve.

We sat down on the cement steps to the restroom and shared a granola bar. It was only raining a little bit, not a worry. I took out the map, studied the elevation profile, and realized I had interpreted it wrong. The steepest part was about to begin. We had six miles of climbing to the summit.

Back on my bike, I watched my odometer go to 13, then 14, as I worked my way uphill. They call this road Going-to-the-Sun Road, but there was no sun today, only rain, which had started coming down seriously.

I saw two pullouts ahead. The first one had large stones on the edge where I could sit down, but I headed for the second, further one, to get to mile 15 and some trees that could give me some cover from the rain pouring down.

But when I got there I saw that the trees were down a steep slope. There was one pine tree I could step down to, if I were very careful. I laid my bike down at the edge of the pavement, got out my rain jacket and pants, and stepped carefully, four steps down to the trunk of the tree. The dirt in front of it was dry, and I thought, “Maybe we can wait this out under this tree,” even as I wondered how two of us could possibly fit under it. 

I took off my bright yellow running jacket, happy to see I was still dry underneath. I pulled my rain jacket out of its stuff sack, put it on, then my rain pants, all while leaning up against the big pine tree I’d chosen as my shelter from the storm. I threw my running jacket on the ground in front of me.

As I stood under my tree I thought, “Surely one of these cars will stop and ask if I need any help. Then I will ask, 'if you’re not in a hurry can I please wait in your car and stay warm while I wait for my husband?'”

But no one stopped. Only a few cars pulled in, slowed down, and got back on the road. Maybe they didn’t see me tucked under my tree; maybe they did’t see my bicycle, lying on its side at the edge of the pavement.

I waited for what seemed like forever. Ten minutes, fifteen? What could be taking Rob so long? I started getting cold. I climbed up to my bike, lifted it up and opened the pannier where my warm riding clothes were. I got out my hat, mittens, neck gaiter, and sweater. I put it all on.

I saw a bicyclist coming up the road with a yellow jacket and thought, “Great, that’s Rob.” But soon I realized it was a woman we’d met the day before from an Adventure Cycling tour group. I called out, “Have you seen my husband?”

“He’s not too far behind!”

Finally, I saw Rob. He’d turned on his flashing front light and had on his rain jacket. I waved; he saw me and pulled in. Right behind him came Michele and Kevin, two cyclists we’d met the day before at the general store in St. Mary. They were in the final week of a one-month tour of the northern Rockies.

Michele asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,”I said. “This is nuts.” 

While Rob got out his sweater, hat, gloves, and rain pants and put it all on, we talked with Michele and Kevin about what to do.

Michele said, “We’re thinking about going back down and doing this tomorrow. We’re not on that much of a schedule.”

I said, “Neither are we, but I don’t want to have to ride up this again.”

Michele said, “We still have four miles.”

Rob said, “But you’d be going downhill in the pouring rain. That’s not safe.”

I said, “Can the shuttles take bikes?”

Michele said, “Yes, but you have to be at a shuttle stop.”

I walked to the edge of the road and made a half-hearted attempt at hitching a ride. Nobody stopped. I walked back to Rob and our bikes. Michele and Kevin got on their bikes and, without a word, kept riding uphill.

I thought, "If they're going, we might as well."

I said to Rob, “I guess we’re going to keep going. I’ll wait for you every mile or so. If you run into trouble, stop a car and have them give me a message.”

Rob said, “You don’t have to wait for me.”

I said, “I’m going to wait for you. I need to know you’re okay.” 

I started climbing and the rain kept coming down. But I was warm, and I had my lights on. I felt safe. And my legs didn’t hurt as they cranked the pedals in my lowest gear. I watched my odometer as one mile inched by. I passed people getting out of their cars and taking pictures in the rain, even though you could barely see the peaks. I came to a hairpin curve and looked up. intimidated by the climb that waited for me. On the curve I passed Lunch Box Falls. If it hadn’t been raining and if I hadn’t just started up again, I would have stopped to take a picture. I took the curve and the climb that worried me wasn’t bad at all.

I was not too cold and miserable to notice the kaleidoscope of wildflowers lining my side of the road.

At mile 16, I stopped and waited until I saw Rob, then started up again. 
 
At mile 17 I came to the tunnel, went through it, and stopped again. When I saw Rob coming through the tunnel, two cyclists behind him, I took off. Then, just after mile 18, I rounded a curve and the wind slammed into me and the clouds engulfed me. I couldn’t see a thing. I stopped, got off my  bike and pulled off the road, got out another headlight and turned on another rear light and thought, “There is no way I can ride in this. I’m walking.” As I pushed my bike along the side of the road, I hadn’t gone 10 yards before I saw a sign: “Logan Pass Visitor Center Parking Lot Full Expect Delays.”

I made it!

I walked my bike through the parking lot, not trusting the cars to see me in the fog. I could barely make out the visitor center building through the fog and rain. All I wanted was a cup of hot tea.

If you climb Mt. Washington in New Hampshire, you are greeted at the summit with a cafe that serves delicious clam chowder. At the summit of Logan Pass, you are greeted with a gift shop and information counter. Nothing hot to warm you after the climb, not even a fire in the large fireplace. Just lots of other wet people, all trying to dry out and get warm.

As you can see from the picture, Rob made it to the top as well, arriving in good spirits in spite of complaining that his hands were so cold he couldn't feel them. That's Kevin, smiling at the camera and Michele talking to Rob. I credited them with inspiring us to keep going.

It would be a couple hours before we had a plan for getting down the pass in the rain that wouldn’t quit.