2010

In twelve years of bicycle commuting, I’ve seen it plenty. But it’s still striking, the mist and November sun seeming to light a fire on the water.

Mornings brilliantly gold; half-lit mornings carpeted in silent snow; mornings hardly visible in the fog — these are why I can’t think of doing a job that would have me riding to and fro in a car, straight line, start and stop.

Ryan puts out a late season invitation for a night along the beautiful Louie Lake. About five of us answer the call to ride a couple hours north and climb the rocky trail to the lake’s edge where we sit around a fire and tell stories of old rides. After a wet and windy night we ride autumn-colored backroads by Yellow Pine to home.

Tired of being cold and shot at, we spend a lazy morning along the Clearwater fishing and relaxing before heading homeward. I spend most of the next day brokedown atop Whitebird grade.

We ride through snow and rain after trying to explore some single track in the Great Burn. Casey decides to leave for home but the rest of us continue to lightning, more snow and bullets going off in our fire.

From Camp Martin we hit some highlights along the motorway before dropping down to Lochsa Lodge for food and gas. After an ice cream disappointment, we ride back over the ridge to Cayuse Creek where we set up camp. Late that night we get a strange visitor.

My brothers and I — all four of this time — head out from Moscow, Idaho, for four nights along the trails Lewis and Clark followed about the same time of year in 1805. The GPS is tricky but we make it safely to historic Camp Martin.

We ride east together, Hunter and I, across remnants of the Oregon Trail for a little visit to Bonneville Point, the historic site from which Boise was named. Hunter, though, is more interested in thorns and grasshoppers than history.

I ride the GS1200 north from sweltering Boise to Moscow to visit family and my hometown Troy Days. Later, my brothers and I ride some singletrack on Moscow Mountain before celebrating my nephew’s seventh birthday.

Laura and I hasten but fail to beat a storm as we head homeward, stopping twice for shelter, making memories sure to last a lifetime.

While the Tuscarora art students are busy with projects, I take a day to explore the expanse of mountains I saw from the ridge above town.

At first with Laura and then on my own I explore the hills immediately above Tuscarora. Brown and featureless from a distance, I find up close they’re decorated with an impressive variety of colorful flora.

We arrive early in Tuscarora, Laura and I, and bide our time exploring the small town and its environs. When the other students arrive, I document some of their projects and look more closely at items on display at the pottery school.

Laura and I ride together on the GS from home south into Nevada on our way to tiny Tuscarora for a high school trip. We stop to sleep at Wild Horse Crossing campground before continuing through mountains and across desert to our destination.

Sam leads three of us on a day-ride around the Owhyee Uplands Back Country Byway. We encounter a little weather at the highest altitudes while Toni and Heath on their smaller bikes pursue a more exploratory route. They show up later muddy and disheveled.

I meet again with some thirty fine members of the Idaho Adventure Motorcycle Club for breakfast at Rockies Diner before being led by Sam by Bonneville Point past Mayfield and Skull Rock for lunch in Pine, Idaho. From there we split up to return by different routes.

I said, "Hunter, your ears stick out when you wear your hat like that." His reply, of course: "I want my ears to stick out." So, "okay, let me take a picture then," I replied.