Spokane Valley, Washington

Sandpoint, Idaho

Friday, June 20, 2004

Westbound: Ritzville to Spokane Valley Eastbound: Sandpoint, Idaho to Plains, Montana

Spokane Valley, Washington to Sandpoint, Idaho

This was a day that began on a high note, had some uncertainties of route and weather, yet ended positively. Having taken the short day between Moses Lake and Ritzville, the trip from Ritzville to the eastside of Spokane was straightforward. With a restful afternoon on Thursday, an early start on Friday was not a big challenge. After a good night’s sleep, I was up and out to McDonald’s for breakfast. The weather seemed ok and I looked forward to a short but pleasant day.

The route to Idaho was via WA SR 290, a mile or so up Argonne from the Interstate’s interchange. I took some back streets from the motel and managed, this time, not to get lost. SR 290 is more of a truck route than a tourist route, but it has a satisfactory shoulder for the most part and does not have excessive traffic. Soon I reached the state line and took my only “Welcome to” picture of the entire journey. Oops. Was that rain?

My first (and last) picture of a welcome sign.

It was. Not much, but definitely wet. Having sent my warmer top back home Thursday afternoon, it was only fitting that a cold front had shown up. I was warm enough moving along and even while stopped, but the front also brought light showers.

It’s funny. A little rain when one is dry seems an intrusion. Once wet, it’s just the environment. I got going again and rode ahead of the little squall. That established a pattern. Every time I slowed or stopped, the rain would catch me, I would resume or speed up, and I would outpace the precipitation. If I let a few raindrops be a signal to speed up, I could return to warmer, dryer air.

In Idaho, the road was not quite as nice and not quite as busy, an acceptable tradeoff. I was watching for Diagonal Road which, according to DeLorme’s Street Atlas, would shunt me from Idaho 41, the continuation of WA 290, to U.S. 95 into Sandpoint. My careful route work the night before suggested Diagonal Road would be a straight shot to get me from Rathdrum to North Pole. Because it also went alongside a railroad, I anticipated and Topo seemd to confirm that it would be quite level. When I got to Rathdrum, I wandered the center of town for a few moments until the rain caught me and encouraged resumption of forward progress. Just north of town, I found Diagonal Road and turned right with joy in my route finding. Diagonal Road was straight, level, and nicely wooded. That guy at the rest stop knew what he was talking about! Look, Ma, no trucks!

And then the pavement stopped.

I was a couple of miles into the boonies, more than I wanted to back track but without a clue as to how far the unpaved stretch would last. It wasn’t too bad but I was riding on Primo Comets that have no tread and not so very much width. I continued, less in confidence and more in a desire to avoid the rain that dogged me. After another mile or so, I flagged down an SUV coming in the opposite direction. A nice young woman—these days almost all of them look young to me—shared that the road remained dirt for quite a ways. I would, however, soon cross a paved road which I could take north and then turn east. I could stand the loss of the shortcut promised by Diagonal Road. The paved route she sketched was no longer than the route I would have otherwise taken. I thanked her and got going before the sweaty clouds found me again.

The few miles up to North Pole were really nice riding once I regained the pavement. From there I had an easy time reaching Old US 95 which took me back alongside the railroad and into Athol. By then it was nearly 11 am, I was hungry—I didn’t make the connection until days later, but a Sausage McMuffin Breakfast is not enough to start a day—and both damp and cold. There was nothing wrong with the day that having kept my Polartek knockoff shirt would not have prevented. That puppy is good in rain at 40 degrees. This day—and subsequent days at 50 degrees—would have been cake had I not shipped it home the day before. My Coolmax shirts were better than cotton but not warm enough. This issue would affect the next two days and cost me an unplanned extra night. Upon reaching U.S. 95, I stopped at a good looking restaurant and enjoyed a barbeque beef sandwich with heaps of crisp french fries. When I found I had only about 40 more miles to reach Sandpoint, I took my time over lunch, enjoyed my book, and tried to warm up and dry out.

By the time noon approached, I figured I needed to get going and free up my booth for the lunch crowd. The weather held the rest of the afternoon. The route had a few decent hills but nothing to complain about. Eventually the ACA route joined U.S. 95 from the left and I started to watch for the bike path that would lead to the bridge into Sandpoint.

Opinions differ greatly with respect to Multi-Purpose Bike Paths. I continue to try them, each time hoping for that quiet, smooth ride, free from traffic and danger. With the exception of an hour on the Western Maryland Trail on the antepenultimate day of this tour, I have been repeatedly disappointed. Multi-Purpose means that cyclists must share with walkers, skaters, joggers, and runners. On most of my rides, competition for space has not been an issue. When it has been, I exit immediately. With more of them than me, they are entitled to use the path at 2 mph and I am happy not to threaten them with my 10 to 18 mph. My complaint is that even on a quiet day, such as my ride into Sandpoint, the path remains dangerous because it is constructed for walkers not cyclists. These paths routinely have crossings that require a full stop and restart even if the adjacent road does not stop. Worse, most of them have unmarked, sudden dips and turns that threaten control of a bike at any double digit speed. After skidding through an ambush turn, I promptly left the bike path for U.S. 95 until I could see the bridge directly in front of me. Shortly before reaching the bridge, in one of the few instances of rude behavior I encountered in more than 3,000 miles, a motorist tried to encourage me back onto the path “where I belonged.” I did not reply.

The Bridge to Sandpoint

The bike path across the water into Sandpoint is the previous highway bridge. It is wide, flat, straight, and potholed. Nonetheless, it beats fighting traffic. As I recall, the exit from the bridge was safer for pedestrians than cyclists but it did lead to the streets. I stopped at a gas station to figure out where the bike store was. I wanted to have a mechanic look at my brakes.

Downtown Sandpoint is really neat. I found the bike store. The mechanic wasn’t available right then so I said I would check into my motel and return later. The Motel Six is north of town but not by much. It’s just passed the Kootanie cutoff. The Super 8 is closer to food but the Motel Six seems nicer. I was certainly satisfied with my room. After unpacking and taking a shower, I rode slowly back to town, turned my bike over to the mechanic, and sat in the front of the store amidst the clothing that pays the bills and enjoyed my book. After an hour or so the mechanic found me to report that he had fine-tuned the brakes but could not determine why they were rubbing the wheel. I thanked him, paid my bill and rode back to the motel. I considered some options for dinner but elected to have a pizza delivered.

While I waited for the pizza, I used my new Earthlink account to check my email, catch up on newsgroups, and so on. I found a posting from Ken Kifer that said he was in Sandpoint, headed west to meet Moni and the Phred Dream Tour. Wow! I immediately emailed Ken, hoping to meet him for breakfast. In doing so, of course, I forgot that Ken camped, hit libraries every couple of days, and would not be likely to see my invitation until he was miles westward and I was into Montana. Ken, ever the gentleman, responded a few days later and wished me well on my tour. He had continued west to meet Moni et. al but wanted to reach the Pacific as long as he was so far west. By the time he saw the ocean, returned eastbound, visited Canada, and got home to Alabama, he had covered around seven thousand miles. And after crossing the continent and back, and countless other journeys, he was killed near his home by a drunk driver. Let’s never forget.

63.82 miles in 4:42 on the bike for an average of 13.5 mph.

Back up to Tacoma to Sandpoint

Westbound: Ritzville to Spokane Valley Eastbound: Sandpoint, Idaho to Plains, Montana