Homeless In Northern Idaho / New Friends with Old Faces

Everyday I strive to learn and understand more of this life that I was gifted. And the only thing that I have come to a definitive answer on is that things, simply put, just work out. The mental state that I choose is sometimes my only constant, since life is full of uncertainty. You, me, and the next person can’t say for sure what will happen tomorrow – we only have right now; we only the happiness that we choose.

After college, I knew I wanted a grand adventure but I couldn’t seem to find someone willing to commit to freedom the same way I wanted to. Many plans were made and broken in the months following my graduation. Eventually I came to the realization that if I wanted to experience the world the way I needed to, I would have to take control of my own destiny. And I would have to risk it alone.

So I did what any sane human being would do: I loaded up my 90s model Nishiki Cascade Ridge mountain bike and started riding, solo, to Canada. The goal was to ride my bike daily, experience new places and people, and as always attempt to learn more about myself. 

My Rig at Mount McCaleb Idaho 

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Through this journey I learned that Northern Idaho is an insanely beautiful gem – the kind of place that humbles you and reminds you that you are alive. The Rocky Mountains separate the states of Montana and Idaho with a powerful series of enormous mountains and densely-forested terrain (its a lot similar to the terrain that I grew up exploring in Colorado --the only difference is that there is less than half the people and more than twice the wildlife.)

That morning started just like many others on my bike tour. The sun woke me up early, so I would follow by shaking the morning dew from my tarp and opening a map. (Planning during this time in my life was rudimental and liberating.)

For example, when it came to cooking, I would cook up whatever I purchased for breakfast the night before from the nearest local corner store. And as far as camping went, I would choose to set up camp in a place about a hundred miles down the road from said corner store.

My only goal at the time was to make it to Vancouver by Canada Day (that is July 1st for all you American readers.) I was stoked that life was good and that I was continuously surrounded by beautiful, never-ending countryside.

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I packed up my minimalist camp in Challis, Idaho and planned on riding along the Salmon River towards the continental divide. The beautiful and ever-reliable World Wide Web reassured me that there was another free river-side campground in North Fork, Idaho – just south of the Idaho-Montana border. I lubed up my chain, topped off my  26” Continental “Town and Country” tires, and sped off.

Let me just take a moment to explain the Salmon River region of Idaho.

HOLY CRAP.

There is a well-preserved, unmatched beauty accompanied by the luxury of a small, and endlessly gracious, population. This area is an outdoorsman’s wet dream. Just take my word for it and check it out, okay?

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US 93 winds its way through the mountains, staying alongside the river-wide valley with flourishing wildlife. I often daydream about this road and wonder what it was like during the days of Lewis and Clark. Every blind curve offers a new, magical lookout – home to bald eagles, moose, deer, and big-horn sheep.

At this point, things were going incredibly smoothly and my energy levels were high. I was being fueled by, not only the amazing scenery, but the moose steak that was graciously gifted to me the night before (plus a little extra energy boost from that sweet Colorado grass.) Stops along the way were often limited after I learned to consume my daily dose of calories (mostly in the form of peanut butter) as I rode.

The day was coming to an end and I could see some storm clouds forming in the distance ahead of me, hinting that there would be rain before the next day. Around six-thirty that evening, I rolled up to where I was supposed to be setting up camp for the night. But, to my unforeseen misfortune, I was greeted by a barbed-wire fence and a NO TRESPASSING sign.

“Great.”

I knew that I needed to find or establish a shelter before I lost daylight – which seemed, now, to be fading fast behind the steep peaks of the area. I had passed several boat launch areas miles back that would have sufficed, but the spirit of adventure continued to push me up the mountains toward the unknown. It didn’t take long before I realized that I had gotten myself into a sticky situation.

I was standing on the side of the road with my bicycle at a fast-approaching dusk. Ahead of me, an old Ford pickup was shouldered and an old man was climbing into the cab with an equally old black labrador. Having not seen anyone else for quite some time, I climbed aboard my two-wheeled, ticket-to-see-the-world and pedaled towards him.

“Excuse me – do you happen to know of a place in this area that I could set up camp? I was planning on staying at the site back there in North Fork, but it's closed.”

There was a long, slightly awkward pause as the man in his mid-70s stared at me and my bike.

“Yeah, you can stay on my property just up the road here – mile marker #__.”

He put his pickup in drive and rolled away before I could ask any more questions.

I followed the truck up the mountain pass and rolled into his driveway to see him sitting in front of a fire in a small log cabin. As I approached, I noticed a couple of beers and a small, say, hand-canon, accompanying him on the log where he was sat.

Phil offered me a seat on a log adjacent to him and a cold Coors Light. I accepted gratefully and the rest of the night ensued with magic. He is an incredible man who has been living in the mountains of Idaho for most of his life. We exchanged countless stories around the fire and finished off a six-pack. It's incredible how much faster a beer will hit you after you’ve ridden 80+ miles on a bike.

We sat and talked until the rain started around eleven o’clock (I even spent a drunken hour chopping wood for my new friend --a little token of my gratitude.)

“Well I usually sleep in a bit so I probably won’t see you in the morning. Have a good trip and be sure to stop by next time you are in the area.”

Phil went inside his little cabin and shut the door. I laid out my tarp next to his old Ford and zonked. No worries.

A few days after the story - Coeur d'Alene Idaho