Tuesday
Taking Highway 35 alongside the shores of Flathead Lakemade for a picturesque start to the day. There were plenty of roadside stall selling cherries, so Gaz had some for breakfast while I tucked into my usual omelette with all the trimmings. The cafe had an outside patio where we opted to sit, but the waitress accidentally knocked the sign above the table, showering Clive's food with dead flies and dried guano. He was less than impressed!
Down Highway 93 to Missoula, then Chris suggested that we all make sure we had fuel at Lolo as there was no more for 100 miles. Seven of us then heard him say that we should take the next right onto Highway 12, Lolo Creek Road.
Highway 12 leaves Montana and crosses into Idaho following the Lochsa River, becoming The Northwest Passage Scenic Byway through Clearwater National Forest. It is very high on my list of "Worlds best roads wot I have ridden". The bends are mainly long sweepers, but there is the odd tight one to keep you on your toes. Fairly early on, I saw a sign saying "Winding road for the next 99 miles". I was just thinking how great a picture that would be, when a deer jumped out of the bushes to my left and ran into my path. Avoiding action to go behind it would put me head-on with a pick up truck, so I was very pleased when the deer jumped again and disappeared. By the time I had remembered the sign, and my heartrate subsided, I was a few miles away.
This is not the sign you are looking for.....
The temperature had climbed again, and my gauge reached 39 degrees, so all vents open and plenty of iced water in my camelback. Johno found a spot to dive in, and I was very tempted to join him!
Can you see him?
There he is. His bike is half a mile upstream though....
Pulling in at Lowell for a milkshake, we worked out that Little Mark had gone the wrong way, and suspected that Clive was way ahead of us.
I offered to ride back for an hour to look for Mark, which would take me as far as my fuel would allow before returning to Lowell. Chris saw through this straight away.
"You just want to ride this road again." He said, laughing.
This sign makes me chuckle every time I see it.
After 45 minutes of hooning back the way we'd been, and seeing nothing only Harleys, I pulled in to water the bushes. As I walked back to the bike, I heard more engines and looked eagerly up the road. Another bunch of Harleys, but Little Mark was bringing up the rear! I waved to him to carry on while I grabbed my lid, then set off after him. It took a good few minutes to make up the ground, but then armed with foreknowledge of the road I wound it on and invited Little Mark to follow. He tagged on behind and we flew in formation back to
Lowell, where my tank was in dire need of refilling. We exchanged stories of how the day had gone, he miss-hearing the directions and riding 80 miles the wrong way before realising and retracing his steps. He was also pretty sure that Clive was in front of him at that point, not us.
Before we left Lowell, I mentioned the 99 miles sign, and the hope that there would be one at the other end that I could photograph. Little Mark also asked that we
could back it down a bit, as he was knackered after the extra miles! Sure enough, there was a sign at the end, and I got the shot I wanted.
Much awesomeness!
A little further on I pulled out to pass a dark green pick up, Mark duly following. I had clocked the driver spotting us in his mirrors, and had waited for a clear space before gunning it. Imagine my surprise when blue lights started flashing in my mirrors? Not again!
Indicating that I had seen the lights, I rode on further as there was nowhere safe to stop, eventually pulling into a side street. As we got off the bikes I apologised to Little Mark for not spotting the epaulettes on the driver's shoulder.
"No worries" he said, "leave this to me!"
The officer addressed me first though, asking if I knew why he'd pulled us up. I meekly suggested that it could be because we were a little over the speed limit?
"You were going very fast!" He said, wagging a finger at me sternly. I could see Mark wriggling his way out of his jacket, complaining that he was very hot. I wondered what he was doing, but when the officer saw Mark's t-shirt, his attitude changed completely and became very friendly. When Mark explained what a bad day he'd had, and that he'd lost his wallet as well, I thought we were about to get a police escort to the hotel! I can't remember exactly what the t shirt was, but
it certainly made the difference between a ticket and a caution!
We cruised the rest of the way to Lewiston, meeting up with the rest of the lads at the hotel, but still no Clive as yet.
Chris suggested we visit a micro brewery near the hotel where we could get some local beers, and order in pizza. This sounded a good plan, and after changing
and meeting up in the lobby, Clive walked in! He had done a marathon day, most of it in the wrong direction, and a lot of it at high speed. He was definitely ready for a beer!
Walking into the micro brewery, the barman asked if we were the English bikers, and told us that the first round had been paid for by the Instructor/Rider coach of the Virginia Rider Training Program. He had met some of the early arrivals at the hotel, and knew we were coming here for a drink. Very decent of him!
The pizzas went down well, as did the beers, and when we wandered back to the Hotel each bike had an Iron-butt medal sat in the filler cap recess, again courtesy of the Virginia Rider Training Program.
Mark