Day 65: Fruits Of Labour

Before leaving Kooskia I draped my tent over a big flat stone to dry, still damp from the previous night’s sprinkler ambush. We were barely out of town before a serious climb presented itself, and I found I could forget all about spokes while winding up through the trees and out onto noticeably drier ground — the scenery out here seemed to reinvent itself at every bend.

Looking back down the climb.

The map addenda had promised a new bike shop in the next town, and after clearing the climb and riding the descent back down I counted my way along the building numbers only to discover I’d sailed straight past it — the place had already closed for good. By then the group had scattered; I found most of them holed up for lunch in the park pavilion, and it took some effort to peel ourselves out of the shade knowing another substantial climb sat waiting for the afternoon.

It was hot, steep, and the road, though freshly laid, was rough and coarse underneath us. Siemen and Wim went at each other the whole way up like Schleck and Contador, and by the top Wim was plainly regretting having raced at all — spent enough that he couldn’t even get his own bike to stand up, watched it tip over and barrel-roll a few feet down the slope, picked it up, and still couldn’t manage it. I caught the tail end of the whole performance on video.

The descent dropped us into what might as well have been hell’s canyon, someone having turned the heat up past reason, and the stretch came with no services at all. My water was running low by the time we found a ranger station, closed for the day, so we simply pushed on. At one roadside stop Siemen reappeared behind us, which surprised me — I’d assumed he was well ahead by then — but the heat had made him dizzy and he’d pulled over to rest in some shade further back. We rolled on toward Riggins with our throats gone dry, and then, in the middle of absolutely nowhere, a small building appeared advertising fresh fruit.

Inside was more fresh fruit than I’d seen the entire trip. I grabbed the two biggest, plumpest nectarines on offer along with some water, and demolished both of them in seconds flat, juice running down my arms and chin without the faintest concern from me. Saved.

I was pretty happy.

Wim and Jessica were already set up at the campground in Riggins by the time I rolled in — fifteen dollars a site, plus another two for a shower, which felt like daylight robbery. I paid for the pitch and skipped the shower entirely in favour of a free dip in the river beside it. Siemen, twenty-one and still a student on a tight budget, wasn’t keen on the fifteen dollars at all, and was seriously weighing riding on to find something cheaper when Terry stepped in and simply paid for him.

PS. No new spoke problems to report.