Last month, my husband and I took a drive to the Great Northwest, in part to ride the Tour de Whidbey, a benefit for the Whidbey Island (North of Seattle, in Puget Sound) General Hospital, and just a really pretty bike ride. There are lots of hills, some like Lookout Mountain, but nowhere as long, and many, many beautiful views of the Sound on one side and Pacific Ocean on the other. Several small towns and lots of pastoral landscape (where are my pastels?) in-between complete the picture-postcard experience.

Lise Neer

For Day One of our 3-day road trip, we scheduled a stop (and overnight) in Salt Lake City to visit an old high school friend, who turned us on to a sweet little breakfast place called The Blue Plate. Later that day, we jumped into the Miracle Hot Springs pool in Buhl, Idaho, and soaked and swam till our bodies agreed to be folded back into the car. Next was lunch at the Snake River Grill, a little roadside place in Hagerman, just off I-84, where the chef is quite proud of his game and fish dishes (we promised to return for dinner next time).

The main goal for Day Two was to check into our motel in Boise early that evening, then pedal with the Lost River Cycling Club. I had looked for cycling organizations on the Internet prior to the trip, hoping to score a nice ride along the route, and—bingo!—these guys were having their weekly “Hump Day” ride at 6:15 PM.

We found the start location at the last minute and saw about 15 riders in matching outfits, just about to take off. Tyler, Don, Eric and Mark stayed behind until we were ready to go, then took us on a tour through parts of town that appeared very walk- and ride-able, with marked bike lanes and low speed limits. Then we headed up a long, winding hill toward Bogus Basin Ski Area (thankfully, the elevation here is only about half that of Denver’s), until I noticed my rear brake was rubbing—didn’t someone in the 2004 Tour de France have a similar problem?—and the tire was low. Don had a good mini pump, and after I adjusted the axle in my dropouts, we were ready to fly back down the hill into town. It was 18 miles full of funny stories and friendly company. They have an excellent “no drop” policy on their rides, and filled me in on the local commuting scene. Seems there are lots of folks who ride between the towns of Caldwell, Nampa and Boise, as well as the local Air Force base, from which Mark had just retired. He told me his bicycle commute had been 60 miles EACH WAY. He looked the part. Then he announced he’d just completed the 206-mile tour from Logan, UT to Jackson, WY, known as LOTOJA (yes, within 24 hours). Tyler mentioned he was about to log about 100 miles just that day, starting with his 25-mile commute from Nampa, then a ride at lunchtime, then this ride with the club, and finally back home again. What a bunch of hard-bodies.

Day Three was pretty easy, lots of rest stops, and filling up the water jugs at one particularly tasty source at the rest area in Farewell Bend, OR (just up the road from the Ore-Ida factory). Farther North we hit Walla Walla, and Southeastern Washington Wine Country—yeah! Far too many wineries to visit in one hour, plus the problem of driving while tasting, so we limited it to just two, and purchased some sweet onion sausage from a walk-up window in downtown Walla Walla. Later that weekend, my sister-in-law’s mama from Manhattan (where they are used to good sausage, among other quality eats) gave it high marks.

Finally we made it to Seattle, and the island, my favorite paradise. The 450-rider Tour de Whidbey was awesome, with sunny, cool weather all day and charming hospital volunteers in charge of the rest stops. A couple stations even had boiled new potatoes, since someone on last year’s ride had suggested it. Personally, I hope they bring back the espresso at the West Beach stop, just prior to a killer hill.

While visiting the Sunday farmer’s market, we checked out the wine shop at Greenbank Farms, where the TDW begins and ends. The shelves were a bit depleted and employees were hurriedly restocking. They told us the cyclists just deluged the store after the ride, clicking around in their cleats and bike shorts. “And I didn’t think bike riders LIKED wine!” said the manager. He’s probably used to beer-loving mountain bikers.

This may sound more like a travel-blog than a commuter column, but it occurred to me that, as a cycling advocate, it makes sense to pay attention to local bicycling and commuting situations in other parts of the country, and share those stories with the gang back home. And packing a bike along on your next road trip (it’s amazing what you can stuff into a Subaru sedan) is a good excuse to take a break and ride along the way!

by Lise Neer, BikeDenver

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