Lessons Learned
Ruby Meadows
We pulled into camp a few hours before dusk, plenty of time for an evening ride. Seeking a sample of the local flavor, we chose the most popular trail of the area and found ourselves at Loon Lake. On our way back I was in la-la-land, surfing the fine DG, enjoying an evening in the forest. Half way back to camp, I thought to look back, no Husband. I stopped, I waited, and waited. 15-minutes later we connected. Back at the trail head two local guys came in HOT! Mike had met them while waiting for me at a trail junction. The local guys blasted off on a ‘search and rescue’ mission for me and were NOT happy about it. They gave me a good stern talking to, which I 100% deserved. They were right. “These are big mountains, it gets cold here, the forest is dense, and the terrain is steep and rugged. You don’t have anything with you. We don’t WANT to rescue you.”
Over the next few days we rode singletracks, technical hills, rocks, and technical rocky hilly singletrack. Our final day in the area started with threatening clouds and an 11-mile road ride. Once on the dirt we blasted off, it was everything you could want in a trail. As I was playing “pick up the husky” I heard some braaapin’ coming up the trail. Matthew, Victoria, and another fella rolled to a stop, and started chatting. They planned to ride an (infamous) trail, and offered for us to come along. We said, yes. Power in numbers!
This trail epitomizes mountain riding in Idaho, technical steep singletrack through trees and granites.
We picked our way over the slabs, dropping into the switchbacks, as the winds picked up. Navigating our way down into the burn scar, you could feel the energy of the approaching storm.
Trees were snapping, blowing, and cracking all around us. We cleared tree after tree, sometimes making it only ten feet before another tree would appear across the trail. One of us would play ‘lookout’ in an attempt to avoid any one of us getting hammered into the ground. The others cleared branches and logs, while Matthew continued to cut our way through
The rain had turned to sleet. We were low on fuel. Only 5 miles of trail, 6.5 miles of forest service road, and 11 miles of up-hill pavement to get back to camp.
Soaked, cold, and stoked, we made it out of the burn scar. After some high-fives we started our bikes, Mike noticed an oil spot under Victoria’s bike. A rock had punched a hole in her clutch cover, and there wasn’t much oil left. She patched it up with some JB Weld, tapped her into neutral, and started pushing. Their buddy stayed back to help push, while we headed off with Matthew as he raced back to their camp to get more oil. Completely soaked, and now freezing with 11 miles of pavement to go, the sleet/snow was not letting up. With promises of beers, and staying in touch, we said thanks for the ride and hit the road. Wearing only a jersey under my rain jacket, and spandex under breathable pants, riding faster than 40 mph was painful. Once back at the van we thawed out, drank some whiskey, and reflected on our bitchin’ day.
Lessons Learned: Carry a saw and extra layers.
The Panhandle
In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don’t ever shine...
We drove twisty forest service roads for 21 miles before we arrived at our camp. Gold Creek Lodge was a destination I had cooked up in my mind for a long time. A saloon that serves burgers, a shop, flat camp spots, rooms if you're into that, what more could you ask for!? The friendly fella at the bar gave us some trail recommendations, we took 'em and braaped. My favorite was a secret lil sneaker trail we stumbled upon. Narrow and exposed, this cool little trail led us through a forest ravine so dark we had to use headlights. I half expected a gnome to pop out from behind a tree.
Deep dark timber, cobble bottom creeks, and a big ole lake, had me reminiscing of summers in Northern Michigan. Huckleberry milkshakes filled our "rest day" bellies during a dual sport to Clark Fork. On our way back to camp, we stopped to watch the pilots drop fire-retardant on the fire a ridge over.
The smoke was getting heavy, so we left the trails behind, seeking clear air further south.
Challis National Forrest.
We camped out of Morgan Creek, a stark contrast to where we had come from hours earlier. This place was arid, rocky, and steep. There were many hunting camps, and even more animals signs, I couldn’t help but look at the ridges rather than the trail. We rode the Hat Lakes Trails and Iron Mountain out to Iron Lake the first day. A fire had come through recently and scorched much of the landscape. After miles of baby-heads, and navigating burn scars we decided that tomorrow we need MORE adventure, so we planned a ride into the Wilderness.
Getting to Furnace Creek was the easy part. Furnace hadn’t been cleared or ridden in sometime. We hiked in moto boots looking for the way. Sometimes the way was clear, clearly over that log. Dropping off the main ridge we saw tire marks crossing Furnace Creek heading into a meadow. We spent 45 minutes bushwhacking through willows trying to find the trail. Not wanting to go back the way we came because that would be “failure”, I decided to re-trace our last few steps hoping to spot the trail. EUREKA! We didn’t need to cross Furnace Creek yet, the trail appeared obvious from that angle. So glad I dumped my bike in that creek crossing for nothing.
We burned a lot of daylight looking for the trail over the course of its 10 miles. As we made our way out we felt an overwhelming sense of remoteness. Maybe the smoke-tinted sky had something to do with it, maybe it’s because we're Idaho noobs, either way we felt exposed. We crossed Camas Creek. IYKYK. We pressed on. Finally arriving at Lost Spring Campground, we were home free. Well, we weren't home free, but we were close. Only 20 miles of Forest Service road, a spot of gas between the two of us, and darkness.
Lesson Learned: Unless you enjoy ‘disaster style’ rides, have someone check your route and pack extra gas.
The next morning we made our way down to Challis. Over the next few days we worked from a rental barn, which I dubbed, The Horsery, enjoyed the local Challis grub (go to BBQ and get the burnt ends or Brisket, its MEGA!), and found some chillin’. Next we headed for an area Victoria had told us was cool, Big Boulder, Little Boulder, and Germania Creek. Indeed, twas mega. A great time was had.
Stanley
Classic Idaho. Rocks, hills, trees, streams, flow, the Casino trails have it all. We seemed to have really great luck, every few days it would rain leaving the trails in PERFECT condition. Our first foray took us UP Big Boulder, down Martin and out to Warm Springs Creek, then back down Little Casino.
That night it rained. The next morning it was still raining. We knew the dirt would be excellent. We put on our rain jackets, packed a puffy, and some extra snacks and rode until our gas tanks were empty. Adding Williams into the mix was a good idea, it is a mountain bike trail, but holy moley was it ALL TIME that day. We literally rolled in neutral down the last bit of trail into camp with no gas left. Those are some really exceptional trails, especially when it rains, the stuff dreams are made of.
We spent a few days in Stanely, enjoying the place without sight-seers and boaters. The Kasino Klub is the place to be after the season ends, we had a real good time with the local yokels. Playing bar games, drinking, sharing stories. Went on a dual sport mission around “The Frank” wilderness boundary, had a blast, scouted more singletrack for our next trip to Idaho.
This is the End
I was desperate to have one last adventure before we headed back home to the desert. West of Stanley lies a network of trails that met all of our criteria; camping near water, singletrack loops, the end. We rolled into the campground with a few hours of light, looking like rain in the forecast, we gathered some firewood to stash under the canopy for later. Gear on, it was time for a quick reconnaissance mission. Can confirm. Tomorrow will be most excellent, trails are prime, and here comes the rain. We stood under the canopy for hours, it poured, we warmed ourselves by a fire, laughing about all the fun we had over the last 3 weeks, and how most people don’t go on vacation to try hard and get rained on. We were living our best lives.
Rain fizzled as the sun broke though the clouds, all in all it was a really amazing weather day. From camp we headed-out Kirkham ridge, checked out Gates and Wyoming then back down Kirkham. At one point down Kirkham ridge, after the Link junction the deadfall became more than we had energy or skill for. Yes, this is a lesson that we should have learned early on. We cruised down the Link Trail meeting up with herds of elk, and a bowhunter on a dirtbike (file this under ’future plans’). We stopped a short ways up the trail to find some chillin’ before our last push home. Shortly after crossing the Warm Springs bridge my bike came to a stop. She had been bogging and hard to start as of late. We assumed user error; lugging it too much and not revving it enough. I yelled for Mike who was ahead on the trail, he didn’t hear me. I pushed the start button, nothing but whining. I kicked it, multiple times, nothing. I checked my gas, there was enough. I tried it again, nothing. So I started pushing. After a few minutes on the struggle bus I heard the buzzing of a 2-stroke. After some time of eliminating possibilities, he pulled the spark plug, carbonized and crusted! Using some tools to scrape the carbon from the plug, he popped it back in, and she started right up, then died again. Another scraping, fire up, die. This happened a few more times before the realization set in. 8 miles from home, didn’t have an extra spark plug, just finished the last of our snacks, and we had to get out of the mountains. Using a cam strap, we hooked peg to forks, and slowly started towing up the trail.
The trail gains ~3,000’ of elevation on sidehill terrain.
It got bad fast, and within ½ mile the strap snapped, getting wound around the rear tire. I could see his patience was wearing thin. We stashed my bike off the trail, covered it in brush, and mounted two-up on his 300. We rode 2-up for 7.5 miles getting back to the van around 10pm. We ate some snacks and laughed over a beer, formulating a plan for our morning rescue mission. Shortly after midnight it started to rain.
We had a spark plug, it was for the 300, not the 150, but the length was correct, so we crossed our fingers and started down the Warm Springs Trail in the last of the rain, two-up, making note of the landmarks we had passed in the dark. I had counted six small stream crossings last night, once we hit number six, I tapped his shoulder, pointed downhill. There she was, snug as bug.
She fired up second kick, and idled clean. We knew we had dodged one. We saddled up, and ripped it back to the van. “She’s running the best she has all trip!” I told him how great it was running, and how I’m so glad we escaped what could have been a really shit way to end the trip, pulling and pushing a bike up hill. He agreed, and made a great suggestion, how about we keep going, ride the loop again, because the dirt is SO good.
Lessons Learned: Carry a headlamp and an extra spark plug.
Summary of Lessons Learned
When riding in Idaho pack the essentials:
rain jacket
extra layers
a saw
snacks
extra gas
tools
spark plug
a good attitude
