Day 5: Going To the Sun Ride - Lake McDonald Lodge, MT to Sandpoint, ID

Room with a view - Sandpoint, Idaho.

Day 5 was a day of great motorcycle roads.  The legendary #56 was fun - but look out for goats...moose...Click to Enlarge

Leaving Lake McDonald Lodge early, we whisked through the rest of the park and headed south on the #206 deliberately missing Whitefish and the traffic.  We linked up with the #93 and followed the west shore of the beautiful Flathead Lake.  The morning mission was to find breaky after about an hours ride and top off the tank.  We passed amazing views, quaint lakeside towns, and great breakfasty looking cafes.  Unfortunately, I had a bug up my arse, and decided to continue and get some miles under our tank, waiting for the perfect place, at the perfect time, that my perfect imagination had conjured up.  Unfortunately, reality was somewhat different.  And the further south along the lake we chugged, the more isolated, dry and flat the land became.  Eventually, I pulled into what I thought would be our last hope of breaky before turning West on the #28, which I knew to be a desolate stretch of highway from previous reading.  My wife tapped me on the back and told me we were on a reserve, and that the locals were looking agitated...

After turning right before Elmo, we hit the #28 which was gorgeous, but desolate.  But the scenery, rolling prairie turning to golden semi-desert, was no substitute for breakfast, so no pictures were taken.  Besides at 120kmh, I was concentrating on the jack-rabbits and gofers who had decided to wake up in fancy-dress as chickens.  We passed - I kid you not - another place called Lonepine...it was desolate, and there was a pine tree, once, I guess.  Soo, after 30 minutes of not seeing another vehicle, we finally stumbled upon the above, Cornerstone Cafe, in Hotsprings, MT. Although we couldn't see any hot-springs, we do seem to get lucky with our breakfasting places, and this was no exception.  There were two locals and a really friendly waitress.  The locals got chatting to us about Canada, and asked if there were "any Chinamen up there?"  Not sure how to answer, we discussed our heritage and when it became evident we shared some commonality (heritage that is, not politically incorrect generalisations, mind) they wooed us with their health problems.  They quizzed Iris on her medical knowledge, what their blood test and EKG results meant, and we had two instant friends. The food was fabulous.  A mixed medley of cubed steak, chopped peppers, hash and eggs with toast and, wait for it, marmalade went down a treat.  And cheap!  You can see where my interest lay.  Not only that was a gas station next door with 94, which, coincidentally, was about the temperature at 10am.

Shortly after leaving Hotsprings, the scenery started to change back to dry pine forest and hills.  It was very picturesque, although it was evident there had been a fire here in the not too distant past. The road began to wind up and over the hills, following what must have been the path of least resistance when wagon trains came through here.  This made for epic riding which was to continue until Bonners Ferry.  Joining the #200, heading northwest towards Thompson Falls, the scenery continues to green up and is considered a scenic by-way, throwing vistas and corners together as one.

Thompson Falls is a little town with all the amenities a 'cycler could need.  Great views too...

Arriving in Thompson Falls, there were no signs of falls, but I did find a spray wash to blast the bugs off and we sat overlooking the Clark Fork River.  This, like nearly all the rivers in the northwestern states, is heavily dammed.  There was a weir here, and while picnicking in the shade, guzzling fluids we bumped into two women who chatted about Canada, Canadian Husbands and politics.  Trump came up.  These two gentle, polite and warm-hearted women were going to vote for him, because, "Hillary is a liar."  What do you say?

By the time we reached Noxon, just prior to turning off onto the much awaited #56 and heading north, it was scorching.  Over 100F we pulled into a deserted lay-by - the Americans do such a good job of these - and took a rest.

Nixon in Noxon.  Another stop on the Clark Fork River, another watergate.

This public rest stop on a desolate highway was created by AVISTA the local hydro company to offer great views of their project and as a goodwill gesture to the locals.  It was barren, but well tended and had these great water spritzers for bikers...After soaking ourselves - literally- the next fifteen minutes was heaven..until we were bone dry again.

 

Turning right onto the #56 from just after Noxon and riding to Troy was amazing.  It was another...yes another... perfectly tarmacked, very lightly travelled (as in 2 cars and a truck) perfect ribbon of windy tarmack.  Elevation, curves and scenery.  Wildlife too.  We had be warned about moose (much of the north eastern side of the highway in spots was perfect marsh woods for them), but not about mountain goats.  

They're only skittish if you stop, apparently Darwin's theory has left us with only road-safe goats...

We didn't stop in troy, but it looked like a nice place.  More beauty...what to do!  Bonner's Ferry was much lauded as a final destination for us, but, luckily we had booked into the Edgewater BW hotel in Sandpoint.  Bonner's Ferry had some quaint shops, and nice downtown, but I'm glad we had chosen to press on for another half hour and reach Sandpoint, that is, until we got lost in Sandpoint's maze of dead end, one way, no left turn sides streets.  With a small scale map and no GPS, we had to resort to - I know, I know, asking for directions.  Of course, he'd never heard of it, he spent to much time trying to get surreptitious looks at my wife's derriere.

In Bonners Ferry for a Beer and Bite.

Ahh, but Sandpoint was worth it.  It's a great town - very picturesque and full of great eateries.  We got the hotel, decamped, and went for a swim.  Later I completed the onerous task of oiling the chain - the sum total maintenance needed on the trip (read it and weep, you Harley riders).

Pend Orielle Lake (1150 feet deep!).  There was a nice collection of racing sailing hardware moored here.  Not bad for a lake.  A lake where the US Navy tests subs, weapons and sonar...I kid you not.

 

Food that night was excellent and a short walk away at Arlos Ristaurante... It gets mixed reviews on Trip Adviser, but all I can say is it was excellent while we were there.  Great food, great service, very reasonable, great views from the deck of the passing boat traffic, and a honking big black spider which dangled down over the next table from the parasol and frightened the annoying vegetarian away.   Can't say better than that.

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Going to the Sun Ride, Day Two: Golden, BC to Three Hills, AB via Drumhella, AB

Day 2: Golden, BC to Brown, AB. Click to enlarge.

As we locked the “his and hers” panniers onto the bike after breakfast the next day (mine was the small one with the exhaust cut-out, but I digress), we bumped into the American Harley Rider and his Canadian wife.   The bike had New York plates and that instantly got our attention.  They had met online years ago, and she’d moved down to get married.  Since then, every summer they planned a trans-continental ride.  I haven’t got time here to list off the places in North American they’ve ridden to; it would probably be easier to list the ones they haven’t.  They had lots of questions about BC and we chatted and chuckled for about an hour.  We steered them towards the Arrow Lakes and Nakusp, which we had stopped at on our last ride.  He proudly showed me his bike, trailer and the many upgrades he had done to it to make it reliable and comfortable, including a massive oil cooler from a diesel truck sticking out to port on on the crash bar.  It didn’t look very aerodynamic, but he swore by it after experiencing a near seize with the HD aftermarket Screaming Eagle accessory oil cooler.  A simple flick of the switch, he said, and you could watch the oil cap thermometer drop by a staggering 100f in minutes, even when idling in the Arizonan heat.  I imagine if the engine failed, you could flick the switch and be supersonic in seconds flat for as long as the battery lasted, which wouldn’t be very long as every known accessory to man (and frighteningly, woman too) would suck the juice from the battery quicker than the fan would blow the froth from your latte-maker onto your wife’s heated socks.  His only fear was a repeat of a final drive belt failure caused by a small rock, which he had suffered once before.  The whole back end needs to be removed in order to replace that. He looked at the big Zuke and said he envied the chain and water-cooling; Iris looked at the plush seat on the big HD, and I could tell, briefly entertained the 90s wife-swap fad.

The scenery around Takakkaw Falls - Turn left after Field, BC

Stopping in Revelstoke for coffee the previous afternoon, a pair of HD owners had told us about Takakkaw Falls.  While the falls were amazing, they were really tickled with the tight switchbacks to get up there and the short walk to the base of them, where you could be frozen bathed in the mist erupting from base as they hit the pool below.  So our first stop, en-route to Banff for lunch, was the short 60km ride to the Takakkaw Falls turnoff after the small hamlet of Field, BC, set in a small flood plane with an exquisite backdrop of mountains.  Turning left, we ground to halt when we saw a sign indicating that this was within a national park, and moneys would be taken at a booth further up the road.  Riding on, we expected to see a booth but never did.  It was only on the way down, that we saw we had missed one hidden on a turn-off to a camping spot.  Fancy that.  We had passed a few parks vehicles on the way up, but none had bothered to check us.  Parking was the same.  Cars were flaunting their multi-dollar passes, but our bike was studiously ignored.  Sure enough, the ride up was both spectacular and exciting.  Cars had to make three-point turns to make the switch back corners, but we were able to glide around, with no problem, apart from being blocked by incompetent drivers doing five point turns.  But, I have to disagree with the riders we had spoken too that morning: the jewel in the crown wasn’t the road-as good as it was-but the spectacular Takakkaw falls.  Quoting the Parks site is probably the way to go here:

Tumbling 254m (830 feet) in one stretch and 384m (1,260 feet) in total, Takakkaw Falls are among the highest in Canada and the gateway to some of Yoho’s most beautiful hiking. Feel the spray at the base of the falls or enjoy views from afar. Accessible mid-June until mid-October to small vehicles and bicycles only due to steep, tight switchbacks.

The Falls.

 

They are staggering, and the backdrop is spectacular.  Worth a ride.

Lunch in Banff was at the Wild Flour Bakery, sitting out on the sidewalk deck in the sunshine.  A child at the next table was giving her parents a sage lesson in dispute-resolution using a firm but calm consistency, as in she had it; they didn’t.  This was the typical power-struggle about food that all parents know well.  The child, who had succeeded in tying the doting parents into exasperated knots using logic, then emotional blackmail and finally setting mum and dad at each other’s throats, sat resolutely refusing to pile into her untouched sandwich as it withered in the sun.  Moments later, a small smile tickled my chops as the child victoriously tucked into dad’s pie and iced cream parked in front of her.  The parents sat silently watching.  Spent.  Yet another reason to travel by bike.

The ride to the Royal Tyrell Museum, just north of Drumhella was my first experience of riding the Prairie.  The novelty wore off quickly.  We cut off the TC1 at Morley, AB, and followed the Bow River to Cochrane, which initially was squiggly and picturesque.  Then we turned north on the #22.  Reading the small highlighted line on the map through a plastic weatherproof cover on my tank bag was not easy, but when the rain started, it became harder still.  Luckily, we were on dead-straight prairie roads and the navigation became easier than staying awake.  I played little games, like looking at road signs and wondering why the hell they’d call a place Balzac?  As if by association, mine started to complain.  The monotony was momentarily purged as we made a right turn and headed east near a place called Dogpound.  Again, why?  Surely there was something, anything, else you could have called your home hamlet? 

Heading east for 127km on dead straight single-track-township roads was, again, a novelty at first.  But, my God, the horizon never gets closer.  Looking ahead to the east, winding the throttle on and tickling well into the triple digits, didn’t make anything come closer, except the (sorry kids) fucking huge, dark thunderhead now looming off to the northeast-which at least offered a contrast to the yellow and brown fields on either side.  The storm seemed to be tracking south in sync with us.  Great.  The rain had sprinkled, but ahead there was a solid line of black cloud, with a skirt of heavy mist which looked suspiciously like rain exploding off the horizon and bouncing about 500 metres high.  More as an excuse to give my balzac a break, I stopped and sagely suggested we don the wet gear, knowing in my heart of hearts, that this would, at best be futile effort to delay the inevitable drenching we were both going to get.  Wifey, though, was blissfully unaware of the upcoming magnitude of the deluge to come.  Good thing.

It was about at a place called “Acme” – I kid you not, Acme! - that we were bombarded by raindrops the size of balzacs.  By the “Carbon” turnoff, we were dry.  The storm blew through quicker than fart on a stag night. and we began to see a small deviation in the road on the horizon.  Fixedly, I stared at this spot, mesmerised by the potential turn.  We shot down into what is called a coulee.  I genuinely wondered if I could remember how to make a turn on a bike, and whether we were too fast for this 60 degree turn.  Wow.  I swear to God, that this coulee was, at that time, the most beautiful spot I had ever seen, and that included the Takkikaw Falls earlier.  We dipped below the surrounding brown prairie into an olive-green wonderland, essed brilliantly through water-chewed rugged deserty canyons, over a bridge, flew passed a jalopy being driven by a cowboy hat and a blade of wheat, and up and out of the oasis to follow the Red River on our left shoulder. 

The museum was great. 

From Drumhella to Three Hills is 45 minutes north then west through more interminable prairie.   The only thing of note in Three Hills apart from our nice hotel – The Best Western Diamond Inn - are the appalling reviews of the food in the attached, air conditioned, “Bell 720 Restaurant”.  Those reviews couldn’t be right could they? Yep.  Don’t order the cold wallpaper glue with hot water and bits o bacon, advertised as Fettuccine Carbonara.  For the full experience, bring your own Parmesan as they were out the night we were there.  But, strung out by the ride, I downed the stuff and smiled while I supped my beer.  Day 2 done.  

Sure hope the riding improves from here.

Day 3: Three Hills, Alberta via Wayne, Dorothy, Dinosaur National Park and Turin to Lethbrdige, Alberta