What the hell am I doing back in Idaho, the State famous for its potatoes?? Well, as much as I love a good spud, that's not why I find myself here. Even the best laid plans....etc. I left West Yellowstone yesterday morning with every intention of getting up to Glacier NP. As expected, the weather had turned to crap after the previous days teasing perfection. So I headed off on the less spectacular low road, the US287, thinking there was a better chance of not getting snowed on, or risking ice on the road, if I kept to lower elevations. And I was right. Within about 20 miles, it was bucketing with rain instead. Fortunately, it didn't last long. Long enough to scare the bejesus out of me though. There was a semi heading my way, with a double trailer behind, and an identical semi right behind him, and they were fairly moving. I could see they were kicking up a big spray. When I hit it, I was totally blind for about 4 seconds I guess, although it felt a lot longer. Mental note: don't do that again.
On I went, and my chosen route wasn't really a consolation prize scenery wise. Montana has a very spectacular landscape, with sweeping vistas of mountains, lakes, rivers, forests, good looking farming country in the valleys. A sheer joy to behold, I reckon. Eventually I finished up in Missoula, MT (the home of Moose Drool, as luck would have it!), and managing to stay off the Interstates, except for a short stretch of the I-15. The last 40 miles or so before Missoula, the wind had picked up again, there were rain squalls and it was unpleasant riding. The helmet battering I got from the swirly wind gusts, and the freezing temperature, about 40deg F/4deg C, had given me a splitting headache and very sore neck. I was glad to get there. Later on, I checked the road conditions up in Glacier. The main road through the park was closed due to snow in the higher elevations, although short sections at each end were still open. Dammit! Not much point heading up there. The weather forecast between Missoula and Vancouver suggested a window of two clear days, at the not unreasonable price of a bit more rain today. It was a no-brainer, really, so I headed for Spokane WA, about 200 miles west, the quickest way possible, on the I-90, and with any luck, I might even beat the rain.
Yeah, well I didn't. It was ok for the first 120 miles or so, then it dumped on me again, very heavily. This section of I-90 is not in good condition, and large sections are being rehabilitated.. On the remainder, there are heaps of big cracks running in all directions, tricky enough in the dry, but bad news in the wet. Worse, in the right hand lane where the trucks drive, the tyre tracks had polished the surface as smooth as glass, and I recalled a nasty experience I had in similar conditions last year in Australia. Nobody else seemed to be worrying about anything, and I had heaps of cars and pickup trucks belting past me at around 80 mph. So much for adjusting one's driving to the conditions. These guys were racing to see who gets to the morgue first. I decided this was just not worth the risk, and bailed out at Coeur D'Alene ID, about 30 miles short of Spokane. I headed to the first motel I saw after the off ramp, and dripped on their floor while being told I was too early to check in. By the time I had left a sizeable puddle in their lobby, they found a room for me anyway. I was a bit cold, but surprisingly dry under the wet weather gear. I had a bit of water run down my arms and into the gloves, and felt a slight trickle down the back of my neck, but that was about all. Full marks to the BMW Rainlock suit, Atlantis gloves and the Santiago boots, and of course Mr Goretex. They have been severely tested again and again, and have not been found wanting. But I knew that. Anyway, that's a couple of hours of my life I don't want back. Those Interstates are bloody scary places at the best of times, and suicidal in the wet.
Coeur D'Alene. Strange name that. My school French recognised (amazingly) that coeur means heart, but after that, I had nothing. Wikipedia tells us that alene means awl, as in a sewing or bootmaking device. Apparently the French Canadian fur trappers who first did business with the local indians (native) reckoned that they had hearts as hard as an awl, the implication being that they were shrewd businessmen. Nice story, don't know if its true. But it suggests to me it was the indians who were doing all the trapping, and the French taking all the credit. Some things never change!
On I went, and my chosen route wasn't really a consolation prize scenery wise. Montana has a very spectacular landscape, with sweeping vistas of mountains, lakes, rivers, forests, good looking farming country in the valleys. A sheer joy to behold, I reckon. Eventually I finished up in Missoula, MT (the home of Moose Drool, as luck would have it!), and managing to stay off the Interstates, except for a short stretch of the I-15. The last 40 miles or so before Missoula, the wind had picked up again, there were rain squalls and it was unpleasant riding. The helmet battering I got from the swirly wind gusts, and the freezing temperature, about 40deg F/4deg C, had given me a splitting headache and very sore neck. I was glad to get there. Later on, I checked the road conditions up in Glacier. The main road through the park was closed due to snow in the higher elevations, although short sections at each end were still open. Dammit! Not much point heading up there. The weather forecast between Missoula and Vancouver suggested a window of two clear days, at the not unreasonable price of a bit more rain today. It was a no-brainer, really, so I headed for Spokane WA, about 200 miles west, the quickest way possible, on the I-90, and with any luck, I might even beat the rain.
Yeah, well I didn't. It was ok for the first 120 miles or so, then it dumped on me again, very heavily. This section of I-90 is not in good condition, and large sections are being rehabilitated.. On the remainder, there are heaps of big cracks running in all directions, tricky enough in the dry, but bad news in the wet. Worse, in the right hand lane where the trucks drive, the tyre tracks had polished the surface as smooth as glass, and I recalled a nasty experience I had in similar conditions last year in Australia. Nobody else seemed to be worrying about anything, and I had heaps of cars and pickup trucks belting past me at around 80 mph. So much for adjusting one's driving to the conditions. These guys were racing to see who gets to the morgue first. I decided this was just not worth the risk, and bailed out at Coeur D'Alene ID, about 30 miles short of Spokane. I headed to the first motel I saw after the off ramp, and dripped on their floor while being told I was too early to check in. By the time I had left a sizeable puddle in their lobby, they found a room for me anyway. I was a bit cold, but surprisingly dry under the wet weather gear. I had a bit of water run down my arms and into the gloves, and felt a slight trickle down the back of my neck, but that was about all. Full marks to the BMW Rainlock suit, Atlantis gloves and the Santiago boots, and of course Mr Goretex. They have been severely tested again and again, and have not been found wanting. But I knew that. Anyway, that's a couple of hours of my life I don't want back. Those Interstates are bloody scary places at the best of times, and suicidal in the wet.
Coeur D'Alene. Strange name that. My school French recognised (amazingly) that coeur means heart, but after that, I had nothing. Wikipedia tells us that alene means awl, as in a sewing or bootmaking device. Apparently the French Canadian fur trappers who first did business with the local indians (native) reckoned that they had hearts as hard as an awl, the implication being that they were shrewd businessmen. Nice story, don't know if its true. But it suggests to me it was the indians who were doing all the trapping, and the French taking all the credit. Some things never change!
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