Cold like it was in Idaho

One time at Thanksgiving at my sister-in-laws up in Nampa I was trying to ride a bit. Keep in shape, find some form, get the fuck out of the house – take your pick. It was a hazy bubble of fog/mist/cloud that followed me around as I rode. When I got way out into the farm land (and none of Nampa is far from wide open nothingness) the curtain closed behind me as fast as it opened before me. It was so cold that when I found a hill, and Nampa is a bit on the flat side of things, I’d ride it two or three times to try and get the feeling in my legs back.

My bottles froze. First a little ice on the sides and top, then more and more to where I couldn’t get hardly a drop to drink. It became a game, how much of this can I take? How hard am I?

I used to drive down from Moscow to the valley Lewiston and Clarkston lie in, so I could ride where it was ten degrees warmer and the roads weren’t iced up. Shit was awful. Windy and fucking freezing cold. I’d park by the bridge between Lewiston and Clarkston and start out with a quick jaunt the riverside bike path down towards Asotin. Once there I usually turned inland and poke around on Asotin Creek Road, Cloverland Road and State Route 129. Dear God, it was awful.

One time, back on one of those Godforsaken canyons, I rode pack a field where I cow had just been born. Nobody was around. Just me, the cold roadway, a fence and the cows. I clipped out and stood there as a young calf slowly wobbled around and it’s mother tended to a steaming pile of afterbirth. It was, in a word, surreal. One of those moments on the bike when you wonder what in the hell am I doing out here?

Another time, I climbed on of the aforementioned roads, I can’t remember which one, working my way up the winding switchbacks, and the light rain I felt down in Asotin turned to slow as I reached the cloud base. The snow built up on the sleeves of my jacket, a piece of shit windbreaker I picked up at some shit store in stupid ass Moscow, but it sufficient on that day. As long as I was climbing. I pretended I was Andy Hampsten on the Gavia as I bravely plowed forward toward glory. I rode past lonely barbed wire fences and endless windswept fields of grass without ever seeing one car. My bottles froze as the snow came down sideways. Then I turned around and froze my ass off all the way back down to the warmth of my waiting Buick in Lewiston. Days like that I hit up the Hardy’s drive thru for a hot roast beef sandwich before I drove back out of the valley.

Fuck it. Flagstaff isn’t cold. I can deal with this.

Tonight’s link dump:

[mountain wingsuit?] biertijd.com
[450 full kegs] hosted.ap.org
[bike snob drops gems] thebikeshow.net
[space bootie] guardian.co.uk
[it's not fascism when we do it] oldamericancentury.org

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About big jonny

The man, the legend. The guy who started it all back in the Year of Our Lord Beer, 2000, with a couple of pages worth of idiotic ranting hardcoded on some random porn site that would host anything you uploaded, a book called HTML for Dummies (which was completely appropriate), a bad attitude (which hasn’t much changed), and a Dell desktop running Win95 with 64 mgs of ram and a six gig hard drive. Those were the days. Then he went to law school. Go figure. Flagstaff, Arizona, USA

4 thoughts on “Cold like it was in Idaho

  1. Back when I lived in colorado I used to ride up around nederland on the the coast to coast in the winder and my waterbottle would sometimes freeze. I was standing on the side of the peak to peak in a snowstorm trying to get some frozen water out of my bottle when this old dude on a peugot pulled up saw my dilemma reached down and flipped over my other water bottle in it’s cage. Then he rode off without a word. Since then on freezing days I flip my bottles and no more frozen spouts. Gotta love them bluehairs.

  2. …regarding yer links::

    …mountain wingsuit—how do they land ?…
    …450 full kegs—where will they land ?…
    …bike snob drops gems—in a different land !…
    …space bootie—far, far away from land !…
    …it’s not fascism when we do it—the liberty of our sweet land !…

    …time for me to get off my trip & come in to land !!!…

  3. I remember those days, riding with Univ. Idaho teammates in
    Lewis-smell, 1700ft lower than Moscow. One time I rode with Travis Brown (no relation) and Minus, we did all 3 climbs and my shifter froze up on the way back down on the last one.

  4. I was just out in Moscow about a month ago. I took my cross bike out and rode some of the Moscow Mtn, trails and then climbed the Old Lewiston Grade Rd. before flying home. As a 240lb clydesdale from Florida, that climb got my attention attention! Unfortunately the wind was so bad, I couldn’t really enjoy the descent. Headwinds so strong I could barely spin out a 48×12.