With all due respect to the Proclaimers, I’m changing up the lyrics just a bit to serve my purposes tonight.
“But I would ride 500 miles
And I would ride 500 more
Just to be the man who rode 4,450 miles
But can’t say I didn’t get a flat anymore”
It was either this one, or Taylor Swift’s “Revenge”. I could also have gone with Mr. Pitiful. Whoever had 4450 in the “First Flat” office pool is the winner. Kelly thinks it’s her fault for mentioning a few days ago that I hadn’t gotten one yet, but memory is short and similar comments have been made previously on this ride without having to suffer the repercussions. What I believe is true is that Idaho got its pound of flesh today for the comments I made in my blog post yesterday. In the past, when I’ve had harsh words for a state, I have been out of that state before making my remarks. The only instance that I can recall when that wasn’t true was in my references to Tuscaloser, Alabama and I nearly quit the whole thing the next day.
The signs were everywhere this morning that this was not going to go well. My lovely room at the Motel 6 last night was directly across the hall from the lobby. That wasn’t a problem until the chatter started around 4:30 this morning. By 5:30, I’d pretty much given up on the notion of falling back asleep but since it wasn’t light out yet, I just sat in bed doing the Wordle, the Worldle, and the NYT Spelling Bee. I left a bit before 7 and rode across the parking lot to the Wendy’s looking for a breakfast sandwich. Alas, they didn’t open until 9. So I wandered next door to the convenience store where the best I could do was a package of Pop-Tarts and a little bowl of Lucky Charms, all washed down with a couple pints of milk. Then, I was confronted by a big wall display about Idaho. Almost as if someone had read last night’s post and quickly put up all these fun facts where I was sure to see them. At this point, I’ve ridden a grand total of 0.1 miles today but the hits were just starting.
One of my little rituals is to check the wind before I start, as if doing that will somehow make a difference. While heading west for 13 days from Minneapolis to Bozeman, I caught a headwind (not entirely unexpected) for 11 of them and a rainstorm on a 12th. In Bozeman, I turned south, and of course the wind was blowing straight out of the East. Today, my route was heading back east toward Wyoming so of course, the wind is blowing hard out of the East. I simply cannot get this right. I was struggling to move on the flat ground, knowing I had 100 miles on tap for the day and about 4000’ of climbs. I got to and through the metropolis of Ririe (pronounced RyeRee I was about to learn), population 656. About 6 or 7 miles past Ririe, I went through some road construction. About two miles later, I had a flat. I don’t know if the two were related. The culprit was some thin little piece of metal, almost like a staple.
They say it takes a village to raise an idiot. Well, thank God for the villagers today, or this idiot would still be sitting next to milepost 359 on route 26. The first thing that I couldn’t figure out was how to get the wheel off. When the bike shop in Albany rebuilt my rim back in June, they replaced the thru-axle with something I had never seen before and didn’t appear to have the proper tool to remove. After going through my hex wrenches unsuccessfully, I called Cousin Gil. About the only positive thing for the day was the flat occurred just past a cell tower so I could text and call, which came in very handy. After sending Gil pictures and video of the offending axle, we now had two people stumped. Since one of them was Gil, I was now getting a bit concerned. In a rare moment of clarity, I remembered the name of the bike shop in New York, called them up and sent them the picture. They were able to explain to me how to remove it. Should anyone care, it’s a Roberts axle and you just use a 5mm wrench through the hole to remove. Now we’re all a tad bit smarter.
Once I was able to remove the wheel, the real fun began. I dig through my tool bag where I have a pump, spare tube, a patch kit, wrenches, chain lube, and even a spare tube for someone else’s bike. I have some CO2 cartridges to quickly inflate the tire if for some reason the pump isn’t cutting it. What I didn’t have were any tire irons. Holy shit! The most basic tool in the bag. As Kelly later pointed out, there were 3 different sets of them on the floor of our garage. I found one makeshift one that was able to do the trick to get the tire off and the tube out. I put the new tube in and tried in vain to re-seat the tire on the rim. I had neither the tools or the strength to get it done. I wrestled with it for 10-15 minutes and was well over an hour into the ordeal when I look up and there’s an older gentleman standing over me asking if I need help. After assuring him that I did, he pointed to the Bonneville County Sheriff Department vehicle that had pulled up without me noticing. The man said his son probably had the right tools to help. I then met Officer Harris of the Backcountry Patrol Unit, one of 4 people to cover over 2500 square miles in eastern Idaho and help morons like me. Usually, they’re helping people who are off-roading, backpacking, or boating on one of the rivers. He also did not have the tire irons with him, but between the one I had, a screwdriver and his brute strength, we (he) finally got the tire back on. While we were spending a large chunk of the morning together, I learned he was a 6th generation Ririe-arian(?) and at 656 people, the town was at least twice as big as it used to be. While riding through town earlier, I had passed the cross-country team out for a morning run. His son was among the people I passed. I wonder if he was the one standing on the shoulder and not moving out of the way when I was riding past.
I finally got going again around 11:30 and had nearly 80 miles still to go. The good news was that during all my flailing around, the wind had largely gone away. Fun fact from Officer Harris: the East wind is the normal wind in the Snake River valley and when it blows in the morning, it lays down in the afternoon. Who knew? After a quick stop for lunch, I was making good time in the afternoon and was certain my luck was turning around. The wind was gone and I was on a stretch of fresh pavement that would last nearly 20 miles. I was also riding along a beautiful stretch of the river and then alongside a reservoir. There were definitely a few hills along the way, but I’ll take hills over wind 100 times out of 100. Eventually, I caught up to the road work where they were putting the fresh asphalt in the oncoming lane. Of course, this meant a 1-lane road and waiting for the pilot car to lead a line of traffic out about 2 miles. Of course, I got stopped in the middle of a nice little downhill. Of course I was behind a couple 18-wheelers so when we started going again, I couldn’t really make use of the remaining downhill. Of course, the 18-wheelers came to just about a complete stop right at the bottom and there was about a 400’ climb immediately up the other side. Of course, all the traffic took off up the hill, leaving me by myself in a sprint up the hill as fast as I could go so as not to hold up the traffic waiting to come the other way. I shouldn’t have worried, they didn’t wait. The pilot car turned around and started back the other way, with me huffing and puffing along a one-lane road trying to dodge oncoming traffic. After surviving all
of this, I was pleased to find myself still with a chance to get my 100 miles done and stay on track. I stopped in the little town of Alpine, got a drink and then noticed that there was road construction for the next 12 miles, unpaved with culverts, etc. Enough! I know when I’ve had it and that was it. I got a motel in Alpine. Live to fight another day.
The ominous sign in the the convenience store.
I had just been commenting to Claire the other day that I never see anyone exercising outside of the cities.
The middle one is a Roberts axle. I was trying to put a hex peg in a round hole.
It got better for a while The Snake River.
The Palisades Dam. On the other side is a reservoir that would be more beautiful if it was full. It’s not Lake Mead empty, but clearly all the rain that fell in Yellowstone earlier this year poured out of the park in the opposite direction.
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