We woke up at 9am.  That’s right, 9! I remember feeling like I hadn’t slept at all, even though I had gotten over 9 hours of sleep.  Once again, I’d like to assert that I know myself well enough to realize that this wasn’t normal for me, even during a high mileage bike trip.  I eased myself out of bed and hobbled to the bathroom, limping again because of the spot above my left knee to the inside. I leaned onto the sink and put my head in my hands.  Despite walking up half of White Bird to save my knees, I had still re-aggravated the issue.

I walked back into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, almost in tears. I told Chris about my knee and the rest of my issues, and how I didn’t know what I needed and what was best for me. As I broke down into tears, Chris offered to let me quit. He cradled me in his lap while I cried indecisively. 

I’m sure by now, most of you who aren’t cyclists are screaming “JUST QUIT YOU IDIOT” in your heads.  But the truth is, despite how awful I felt, I was having the time of my life on this trip. My health had slowly fallen apart for the last two and a half years, and it had been exhausting and demoralizing to go through so many doctors and not find any answers.  I realized that when I went back home I’d probably be going home disabled, and I didn’t know if or when I’d ever be able to do something fun like this ever again. I desperately needed a break. I loved my life and the people in it, but this illness was finally getting bad enough to defeat me. I wasn’t ready to go back home to the real world.

Chris and I talked about being able to handle pain ourselves but not standing to see the other person in pain, which is why Chris was so willing to let me quit right now.  I thought he’d be frustrated or that he’d try to push me, but instead he happily gave me an out. I briefly almost accepted, but then cried about how I wasn’t ready to quit and that the route was easier than I had expected and mentally I was still in the game.  I also mentioned that it would probably be easier to get home from Missoula. I sent a message to my mom, saying that we might be returning home soon.  In the meantime, I had two more days to pretend that I was racing across the country. Two more glorious days of not thinking about doctors.

Chris called for a room at the Lochsa lodge near the top of Lolo Pass, and made sure they knew we might be there after hours.  We headed outside for a test ride, and found that with my new seat position I was perfectly okay to ride, even though it hurt when I was off my bike [Chris:  This is exactly how my achilles injury was during our trip down the pacific coast the previous year.  It’s strange how you can hurt so much you can barely walk but then somehow pedal just fine].  Since we only had 110 miles to go that day, we stopped by the Subway next to our hotel for a slow sit down lunch.  We ordered a total of seven 6-inch spicy Italians because they were having a crazy deal on them. 3 for me and 4 for Chris, plus soda and chips [Chris: $12!].  Very important differences: we toasted the ones we were eating in store, but not the ones for the road.  Chris put cheese on his but I skipped it because for some reason I can stand the thought of salami warmed in the sun, but not cheese.  Because that makes a ton of sense. I ate one 6 inch sandwich and saved the other two for later. Then we finally hit the road for the day….at 11am.  I felt a lot better after the crying session.

The scenery quickly turned into vast farmland with lots of yellow flowers and significant rollers.  It was gorgeous, but a little bit slow due to the frequency and steepness of the hills. We hit Lamb Grade, infamous among racers due to a long, steep, white knuckled descent.  Once again, with our hydraulic disc brakes this hill was the most fun of our entire trip. I whooped and hollered with joy as I flew around the corners, this time almost crying with happiness.  Remember how on day 3 I told the folks at Spoke’n hostel that there was a place I was really looking forward to seeing from pictures and video, but I didn’t actually know where it was? Well, I think this might have been it.  I stopped halfway down to fully appreciate the lush bright green hills dotted with occasional evergreen trees. I felt very at peace and thankful that I was still out here, if even for only a few more days.  

We descended over 1500 feet in 3ish miles, and then suddenly the temperature increased by 10 degrees at the bottom.  It hovered around 80, but in the shade of trees the day still felt pleasant. We giggled at all the cows in the valley walking around with actual cowbells clanging in the breeze.  We’ve ridden through a LOT of farmland over the years, but never come across a real life cowbell.

2 or 3 miles later we hit a gas station in Kooskia to get everything we’d need for Lolo Pass, knowing it might be the last time we’d have access to services that day.  A pack of motorcyclists were hanging out at the station and we all had to take turns waiting for the single bathroom. Not only did we fill all our bottles, but I also shoved chocolate milk and soda into my jersey pockets.  Chris tried vanilla milk for the first time, being one of the few poor souls out there who doesn’t enjoy chocolate. [Chris: No pity necessary, chocolate’s boring!  There are so many other good flavors out there]

The climb up Lolo starts not long outside of Kooskia, beginning with a famous sign that says “Winding road, next 99 miles”.  I turned my music on and settled in for the long haul. My only job for the rest of the day was to climb up a shallow slope for approximately 85 of those 99 miles.  The entire pass looked the same: a winding road next to a roaring river on the right and a cliff towering above us to the left, with thick pine trees all around and no towns.  We kept a good steady pace, and luckily the good weather held. The temperature was in the mid to upper 70s and felt extra pleasant with the addition of a light breeze coming off the river that carried refreshing little droplets of mist. 

Traffic annoyed us early on, but became increasingly sparse as the day wore on.  Occasional logging trucks came roaring by, but mostly respected our space. The grade was definitely there, not shallow enough to call it imperceptible, but also not troubling at all.  We stopped once to eat a sandwich near the river and once or twice to pee, but for the most part we just kept a move on. My legs felt pretty recovered now since we were past the 1st week, and my knees were doing fine as long as I didn’t go crazy with the pedaling.  Just don’t ask me to walk anywhere. I was even able to keep pace with Chris, for the first time since day 2.  

As we meandered along the river, I took some time to reflect on our experience thus far.  This was another great time to fit a cry in. I’ve never been so torn in my life. I was so happy to be out on the road, and so sad that I had failed to get a diagnosis before the race started.  I bitterly told myself that it wasn’t fair, that after all I had been through I deserved a break. I deserved to stay out on this road for longer. At that moment, I wondered if instead of scratching, I should continue on at an even slower touring pace.  Surely, even if I became more ill, I could still ride 50 miles in a day? At that rate, I would be so slow that my legs would barely feel anything at all. We could stay out for the full 6 weeks we had requested off of work, even if we only made it to Colorado.  One half of me bargained and pleaded with the other to find a way to make this work. It couldn’t be over, it just couldn’t. Forget finishing the race, I just wanted to feel alive for a while. I floated my idea to Chris while we rode along.

We stopped for another roadside nap in the early evening near some pit latrines.  Once again, I just couldn’t stay awake any longer despite the 9 hours of sleep and relaxed pace. I slept briefly on the pavement and then took half of a 5 Hour Energy shot.  Afterwards the sun started to set, which happened quickly and early in the midst of so many trees. The temperature dropped along with it, and the wind coming off the river suddenly chilled me to the bone.  We continued on, feeling a sense of dejavu because the whole day had looked the same. Were we somehow riding in circles instead of making progress? At one point, I experienced a bunch of heart palpitations in a row and became dizzy and disoriented.  Suddenly I grew nervous about how far Chris was from me, and I shouted at him to ride near me so that he would see if I fell off my bike.

So then we reached mile 110 and the dreaded rounding problem came into effect.  What is this, you ask? Well, when Chris and I looked at our services spreadsheet every day to plan stops, we often rounded the numbers we saw on the spreadsheet.  We spent the whole day saying that Lochsa Lodge was 110 miles away, but it turns out the Lochsa Lodge was closer to mile 112.5 for the day, and the longer we went without seeing it the more paranoid I became that we had somehow missed it.  With no street lights or building lights, the pass was pitch black at night. I became convinced we’d never find the lodge and that we would have to keep going all night. The road steepness starts picking up just before the lodge too, which didn’t help.

We arrived around 9:15 PM just after the lodge kitchen had closed, but the bar was still open.  Chris stepped inside to see if he could get some food, but we couldn’t. Luckily, we had known that would probably be the case, so we had rationed our supplies.  We walked over to our cabin, which they had left unlocked for us with the key inside in anticipation of our late arrival. Their wifi supposedly only worked at the lodge, not in the cabins, but it turns out it didn’t work anywhere at all.  Before settling in for the night, we pushed the ‘okay’ button on our spot trackers to let our family know we were safe. Each of our trackers were set up to forward a message on to our mothers, although we found out later on that this feature wasn’t working consistently.  

Chris and I bartered our remaining food.  I wasn’t hungry but I was craving salt, so I gave him my final 6 inch sub sandwich in trade for his remaining club crackers.  We were now completely out of food. We both showered, and I removed the braids from my hair to see how it was doing after 9 days without washing.  We decided to give ourselves another full night of sleep, and that we’d hang around for a sit down breakfast the next morning. We picked out potential stops at the 100 or 150 mile mark, but didn’t think too hard about it. 

We turned off the lights, and enjoyed the silence of the mountain.  I drifted off to sleep easily, but was frequently jolted awake by excruciating pain inside my knees.  For some reason I didn’t understand, the tendonitis mostly hurt during the day but the inside of my knees hurt 100x worse at night, especially when I moved them at all while sleeping. I tried propping them up in various positions, but nothing quite did the trick. Thankfully, I was so tired that I was able to fall back asleep after each pang of pain.

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Grangeville, Idaho to Lochsa Lodge: 110 miles