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 for 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 did’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 I was engulfed by the clouds. 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 looking 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.