WWR: Trail Notes: Final Post

Day 13: Darby to Missoula: 65 mi : 1400’

Last night Rob and Hallie, who I had ridden with over the pass from the Selway River and eaten dinner with in Elk City, rolled through Main Street of Darby just as I was walking from the tucked away Bandit Brewery to find some dinner.   I later joined them for dinner, my second, and it was wonderful to swap stories and experiences of the WWR and life.  The amazing people, few and far between on this quiet route, have been one of the hidden highlights of the trip that I hadn’t anticipated.  All of our concepts of time were off, given the constant border/timeline changes and the everlasting evening sun of the mountain summer and we didn’t leave until an hour after closing, all the chairs and up only one waitstaff remaining.

This morning I woke early after a fitful nights sleep due to an overfilled and upset stomach.  And some horses in a pasture across the street, not more than 100’ from my tent, decided that it would be a good time to hop the fence and check out Main Street.  I could hear their hoofs on the pavement as they explored up and down the tiny main street for hours, never straying too far from where they had broken free.  It wasn’t till 6am that their breakout was discovered and addressed.  Short lived freedom may have been a bit too much for the two.

Checking the weather I elected to get moving quickly as a headwind would be building as the morning progressed and I was not looking forward to this last leg to Missoula.  By 7 I had packed, passed my bear spray (can’t take it on the airplane home!) to and said goodbye to Rob and Hallie, and rolled out north along the Bitterroot River on Hwy 93.  To be on pavement with a day of rest behind me... felt so fast!  The highway had a big shoulder and wasn’t too busy yet, but I already missed the quiet gravel ribbons of the past days.  I had a planned a route to minimize my time on the highway and found myself eventually on the Old Darby Road for awhile, until connecting with the paved Bitterroot Trail that parallels the highway all the way to Missoula.  After days of exploring quiet places, the roar of the 4-lane highway was too much.  For the first time this trip I put on headphones and ground away along the relatively boring straight path into the growing headwind.  Ignoring the highway roar, the route down the Bitterroot Valley was beautiful and I did greatly appreciate the paved trail keeping me off the highway shoulder.  But man that headwind was roaring!

Through Lolo, with a lunch stop at Subway and chatting with an East-West Trans-America rider proudly carrying over a hundred pounds of gear on his bike (?!?!?), I finally found myself entering the outskirts of Missoula.  While the city is by far the bike-friendliest I have ever traveled in, with trails taking me right into downtown, I was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of activity.  After two weeks of quiet roads and tiny Main Street towns, rolling into the heart of Missoula was intense!

I had planned this route to finish at the Adventure Cycling headquarters.    Navigating downtowns grid I happened to find myself next to the bike shop I had contacted about shipping my bike home, Hellgate Cyclery.  I stopped in to confirm plans with them and was stoked to hear that they could shove most of my gear into the box with my bike.  This would make flying home much easier. 

Finally arriving at Adventure Cycling, I took my picture with the staff, signed the guestbook and put my Polaroid snapshot on the wall with hundreds of other passing through cyclists.  Having been here with Dad on our tour from Seattle to Missoula when I was 16, I sent a reminiscent snapshot of myself to him while chatting with the staff about the growing world of cycle touring.  And they gave me free ice cream!

  Now with time to kill before checking into the Shady Spruce Hostel I googled thrift shops and made my way to one 10 minutes away by bike.  The one pair of shorts I had brought and worn every day had developed an embarrassing, permanent, wet looking stain on my backside.  Even with stream washing it wouldn’t leave.  I think the treatment on my leather saddle, combined with the Lantiseptic cream I used to protect my nether-regions and of course my ass sweat had created a potent waterproof mixture of penetrating/staining mehmeh.  Gross.  The last two days of riding my ass had suctioned itself to the seat with a thick paste like coating that reminded me of... never mind.  Needless to say, I didn’t want to wear these shorts for the next few days, spreading my butt odor and juice everywhere I sat.  And it looked like I had wet my pants.  Not cool.  So I found some light blue old man thrift shop shorts, biked back to the hostel and got checked in.

I spent the evening relaxing, finding my legs quite tired from the day despite the easy terrain, exploring Missoula, and eating.  Tomorrow, more of the same and then flying home early Sunday.

Time to rest has allowed me to think beyond the daily happenings of the trip to the bigger picture.  These are thoughts constructed through the days of this adventure but rooted in all the days before.  Some day in the future I wonder what my response will be to these 37 year old’s thoughts...———

Why do it?

Why leave home, family, the constant envelope of loved ones, connection and meaning, comfort, consistency, predictability, the pride of a life earned through years of work and effort, of values and like purposefully chosen?  Why leave all that to enter into the unknown?  To be honest it isn’t that you are leaving it behind, it would be ignorant to imagine that it was all being cast aside.  But all those things that are a part of you provide a deep confidence that allows you to disappear and take a break, but all those things still exist as part of you.  Without those foundations, would it be possible to disappear as such?  If so, would you be able to do so with the same confidence?

I suppose then that it is best to view this adventure as a privilege.  And yes, it is a privilege to be able to do this and I am grateful for it, knowing that not all have the ability to escape mentally or physically into these places.  If I was not a middle-aged white man, would I be able to do this with such ease?  I think not.  The hidden, yet discretely present signs tell me that not all are welcome here as I have been.

Selfishly then, why leave all that and enter by choice an adventure of unknowns?  I suppose the famous “because it’s there” of Reinhold Messner holds true.  My mind seems to see every unknown as a plausible and worthy adventure whether it be a good one or not.  I think though that there is more to it at this point, given that I am not racing or going for speed of some extreme measure of worth.  

What is it then?  Why do it?  Selfishness seems the be the best single answer.  To not have to think about anyone but myself as I travel alone.  To take a break from the exhilarating but exhausting roles of being a mindful father, husband, teacher, friend, son, coworker, etc.  When in a town or even tiny crossroads I find my mind busy with my role and impact relative to others around me.  When weaving down a ribbon of gravel in a quiet valley cut by a small tributary my mind is free to be in that place and moment, to hear and smell and respond to what is physically around.  To stop and investigate or simply enjoy or to talk to myself in my head or out loud.  To go for hours without seeing another person is a gift and pleasure that makes the hours of pedaling seem effortless.  Until a car passes or I pull into a campground that others inhabit and it all comes crashing down.  

The first few days were oddly tense.  Used to training rides and fitting hours of pedaling into other roles and obligations, I found myself battling with no need to hurry against the drive to hurry because of the unknown, only to arrive at camp with hours of sunlight left and legs too tired to keep going.  

Time and miles provide confidence I suppose, and eventually the driving background “hurry” seemed to dissipate.  I found myself stopping more often, content with low speeds of 5 mph going up a long pass, thinking about where I was rather than what I was.  When a car passed or there were people in the campground of my intent I was not annoyed but rather felt kinship in experiencing this place with them, not in spite of them.  A simple head nod or finger wave was always returned.  

Why does it take this disconnect to get here?  Why can’t it be like this at home?  Maybe it can- maybe that’s something I need to work on making happen.  However I don’t think the physical place can be ignored.  Maybe not the place specifically, as in the Wild West Route itself, but the wilds not trammeled by man, and when done so only as an individual.  To be a lone visitor in a place not dominated by the visible and or invisible hand of mankind puts your mind in a space we don’t often get to experience.  To respond to the world around you that follows the timeless patterns and interactions of not mankind is refreshing.  To only think of yourself in the simplest of needs- food, water, energy, and allowing the rest of your mind to not be burdened by others allows you to be present right there.  Sounds kinda hippy-dippy.  And selfish.

And yet, I miss home and what I am disconnected from.  I look forward to making dinner for my family and reading to my children and being an impactful part of their day.  I want to be a husband and teacher and all the other roles I have chosen to be.  When I meet another adventurer, biking or hiking, our conversation always spans both worlds- the here an now of the adventure and what we have disconnected from and will return to.

I think you can’t have one without the other.  Maybe you can, but I don’t know if you could doing either well without the complement.  These escapes, given conversations with those who know me well and with my internal voice, seem to be an integral part of my existence.  Maybe that’s just an excuse to be selfish on my part.  It is my impression though that I am a better me when given the opportunity to live in both these worlds.  One is not better than the other.  Both are necessary.