Sherman Pass

  Since Denver, I have been telling folks that I wanted to make it as far north as Whitefish, MT.  The reactions have always been the same, some terribly vague warning about cold weather and snow.  It’s a fair concern but my rebuttal never changed, “You can’t be on the road for six months and not run into bad weather.”

   There were whisperings about snow before I rode into Sandpoint.  The rumors made me reticent to take an extra day there but I had a cool place to stay and met some fun people there, so when I left Sandpoint I knew That I was likely going to have some wet and cold days ahead of me.  

   With wavering weather forecasts, my confidence grew that I wouldn’t actually snowed on.  I did pretty well for a couple of days but my luck eventually ran out outside of Colville (Caw-ville, they will correct you) on my way up Sherman Pass, a gradual twenty-four mile climb with minimal traffic.  It certainly wasn’t the hardest mountain pass, but it has to be the longest.  A small wintery mix of hail, sleet and rain greeted me for most of the climb.  I felt pretty sure that I wasn’t going to get hammered by the snowstorm that every news outlet was talking about, and then I got to the summit.  

  The wintery mix found its identity and a barrage of snow flakes and greeted me at the summit, as did a Sheriff who found Sybil and my presence baffling.  He warned me that the snow got worse on the other side, and that at about two thousand feet of elevation it turned into rain—“a complete deluge,” he said.  That warning was enough for me.  I pulled over turned on every damn light I had and changed into my rain slickers, which, unfortunately, meant that I had to drop clothes for a brief moment.  

   One very frigid minute later, I was suited up and ready to go, or so I thought.  As soon as I crossed the summit, I entered white out conditions. I couldn’t see a damn thing except the snow that so eagerly greeted me.  Within the first half mile, I could barely make out the white line that was supposed to separate me from the cars.  It was this same moment that I discovered my brand new pair of gloves, despite rocking a tough exterior, were not waterproof.  My hands were instantly wet and freezing and I decided then and there that if a car offered me a ride I would take it in an instant.  

  As if on cue, a blue Volkwagen station wagon pulled up next to me and rolled down its window.

  “Are you the Navy vet riding into Republic today?” The shadowed woman asked.

  “That’s me,” I answered as I eyed her trunk space.

   “I can’t believe you’re riding in this,” she said as she continued to drive next to me on the slick snow-covered roads.  “You’re so brave!  Good luck!” And she drove away and took all her car’s warmth and space with her.  

  I watched her tail lights go around the bend and hoped that I would see brake lights but I never did.  (Dierks Bentley anyone?) She expertly drove the switchbacks in the snow without ever tapping them, crushing my hopes a little more every time she pressed the gas pedal.   

   My hands were freezing, water started to leak through the zipper of my “impermeable” jacket, and I couldn’t look up any longer than a few seconds because of the frostbit wind. I had to look up occasionally to clear the shoulder for obstacles but for the most part I followed the white line without riding on it (they can be slick in wet conditions).  Because my hands were going numb, I occasionally tapped both brakes just to make sure I didn’t leave them at the top of the mountain. 

   After riding through an inch and a half of snow on skinny slick tires for a few miles, the snow turned to rain, but that just chilled me to the bone more.  I passed by a controlled forest fire and for a second thought about walking out to it to warm up.  It’s absolutely amazing what stupidity I will dream up when I am that cold.    I eventually convinced myself that that probably wasn’t the best of ideas and finished up the ten mile descent down the mountain followed by a short ride to Republic, where a very nice motel room with a hot shower was waiting for me.  

  The next two days I hitched rides over the passes to avoid a similar situation but did so with a pang of guilt each time we reached the summit and the conditions “weren’t that bad,” but I know it probably was the safer thing to do.