Day Twelve: Thirteen Miles Northeast of Lowman, Idaho to May Family Ranch Reunion Center

June 21, 2019

I turned on one of the Boise TV stations and learned from the weatherman that it was 28 degrees in Stanley, the next town on my route. I stuck my head outside the door to verify that this was the coldest day I've ever experienced while bicycle touring. And it was the first day of summer.

I put on all the cycling clothes I had with me: Leg warmers, arm warmers, ear warmers, those glove/mitten combination things of Joy's that I'd scoffed at before, but which I now was very, very glad I had with me.

I dropped off the room key at the restaurant, and didn't even consider ordering breakfast there; based on yesterday evening's experience, the "hotcakes" would likely have been 4 inches in diameter, and cost $15.

I immediately started a 21-mile climb.

I felt listless. Not enough food? Maybe I was just weary of the incessant climbing so far on this trip. Actually, the effort I was expending did keep me warmer. It was ridiculously cold.

As I was creeping up at 3.0 mph, a guy in truck pulled over to one of the wide spots. His name was Chris, and it sounded like he had just given up on his own tour of Adventure Cycling's Idaho Hot Springs route, after terrible weather, including snow yesterday. He was a nice guy, and asked if I needed anything. I feel a little bad because I was slightly out of sorts, and provided mostly monosyllabic answers to his questions.

I continued up to the summit, at around 7,000 feet, where it was cold indeed, and there was a little fresh show on the ground, and then started down.

I was surprised to see a couple on fully-loaded touring bikes. Each of them had four panniers as well as stuff strapped on their rear racks.

We talked for a while. They were doing their own route from (I believe) Denver to Everett, Washington. These two were hard-core, old-school bike tourists. When they told me that "We camp as often as possible", I replied "I camp as infrequently as possible."

I felt a slight judgmental vibe from them, although given my sort-of-sour mood this morning, I might have imagined it. They noticed that I was only carrying two panniers, and asked if I was carrying a camp stove (I never do.)

We talked about various routes we'd done in the USA (although the woman was quick to mention that "Europe was the best" for touring), and then I was truly surprised to hear that they had no interest in doing a coast-to-coast tour of America. Apparently the Midwest was "boring." Now that's an attitude I truly don't get. Perhaps, as I've been accused, I am very, very, very easily amused, but I've found interesting people and things in the "boring" states in the middle of the country. Say what you will about the uninteresting features of downstate Illinois, for example, but: At least you're not going to freeze your ass off there on the first day of summer.

There were some awesome views of the Sawtooth Mountains as I entered the town of Stanley.

Stanley was just a little too cutesy-touristy for my taste. Expensive lodging, tasteful wood-clad gas stations, etc. (Stanley is one of those places with a sign at the city limits informing you that "Building is by permit only", meaning: Everything has to look "right.")

I needed a hot meal, so I went into one of the restaurants. I immediately detected that service was lacking, as is often the case in these touristy places, so I took charge and grabbed the attention of a waiter, informed where I would be sitting and what I would be ordering, and basically let him know that I would be in charge of this experience.

This proved to be the correct course of action, as I observed multiple tables of people give up and walk out after being ignored by the waiters.

My food was as good as the service sucked, so I walked out satisfied.

I talked to a guy who was doing the Idaho Hot Springs tour with his wife and two kids. It sounded like they were giving it up after experience a scary white-out yesterday. The guy was from Gunnison, Colorado, and knew what he was doing, touring-wise, but I got the distinct impression from him that touring with his wife and kids maybe wasn't the most fun thing.

I looked on Google Maps and saw that there was something called the "May Family Ranch", located at about the right stopping distance for today's ride. I called and talked to an older lady who said that the place was usually used for large family reunions, but there was nothing going on right now, so I could have a large building (capable of sleeping 32) for myself for $40 - as long as I used my sleeping bag on the bed so she didn't have to change the sheets. That sounded fine to me, so I said I'd be there, and headed out into some great scenery.

I've seen less trash in Idaho than almost any other state - at least on the route I'm taking.

It finally warmed up a little, and the sun was out, so I was shocked when it started snowing. There was no accumulation - it melted on impact - but I was a little flabbergasted.

I arrived at the ranch to find a sort-of-random array of rustic buildings.

I walked up to the office, which is actually the May's home, and met them. Mrs. May's first words to me were:

"You're out here all by your lone-y? Doesn't nobody love you?"

Ha.

The Mays are a very nice older couple who purchased the ranch some time ago and turned it into a space with more than 130 beds for large family reunions. My instinct was confirmed when they told me that most families (and they themselves) were LDS (Mormon.) The Mays had 13 children. I told them that I didn't have any children, wasn't going to, and that I only had one nephew. Sometimes I do wonder what it would be like to be part of family so large that you have to rent an entire ranch to have a get-together.

I talked to Mrs. May for a while before Mr. May showed me where I'd be staying. I learned some of the following from Mrs. May about her life, as her oxygen machine made its periodic "puff" sound: She was a young widow, and Mr. May was a young widower when they married. Her first husband was killed in an earthquake in Alaska that also destroyed their home and their car. Combined, she and Mr. May had seven children with their previous spouses when they married, and then had six more together. The subject of hiking came up, and Mrs. May told me she hadn't hiked since she was struck by lightning as a teenager while hiking in the Tetons. Some of her companions had been killed by the lightning.

On that downbeat note, Mr. May and I walked over to where I'd be staying.

The building I had to myself was enormous. Sixteen rooms, plus a room with bunk beds, plus other rooms I didn't investigate.

I liked the place. It wasn't fancy - I'm guessing most of the work had been done by the Mays themselves - but I appreciated its modest charm. I randomly picked one of the rooms, lay out my sleeping bag on the bed, and went to sleep quickly, while there was still a little light outside.

Today's ride: 79 miles (127 km)
Total: 936 miles (1,506 km)

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