Diggin' Stanley

STANLEY, Idaho—We wound our way north out of Sun Valley up a narrow mountain road toward the mountains. Above us, gathering gray rain clouds made the ascent seem a little foreboding as we headed toward Stanley, Idaho, a less civilized destination compared to the comfortable opulence of Sun Valley. The skies sagged with a thick measure of moisture and we braced for the coming onslaught, regretting that we hadn't brought anything to cover the saddles of our bikes.

About halfway up Galena pass, we hit the first rain—a steady drizzle that made it seem like the monsoon season had started early here in Idaho. But just minutes later the shower ended and the clouds began to thin. Soon enough the air was dry again. The rain we had experienced seemed like nothing more than a brief mirage in the oppressive heat that had settled over the region.

We stopped briefly at the Galena Lodge for a cup of coffee and to drop off a few copies of Mountain Flyer to the little bike shop/sporting goods niche that had been created at one end of the establishment. Lodge owners have carved an impressive array of trails into the thick woods up here. On July 26th, mountain bike racers from all over the region will compete in the sixth-annual Galena Grinder, part of the region's Knobby Tire Series. The Grinder includes a cross country race and a marathon on the gnarly trails near the top of the pass. Some $2,000 in prize money is at stake for the race, which seems to get bigger each year.

Unfortunately for us, our schedule didn't permit us to sample Galena's singletrack.

Over the top of the pass we could see Stanley in the valley below. The tiny community sits quietly in the shadow of the Sawtooth Mountains along the cold, churning waters of the Salmon River. While it would be easy to brand the area as an outdoors paradise this time of year, one look at the Sawtooth peaks to the west—with their still-generous packing of winter snow—betrays the area's arduous winters.

Only about 90 people call the area home year 'round. Winters in Stanley are some of the coldest in the nation, and mountains of snow paralyze the community in a state of suspended animation all winter long. The worst winters close the passes in and out of Stanley, leaving residents to fend for themselves in the biting cold sometimes for weeks at a time.

But on this day Stanley was dressed as a fetching summer maiden. Colorful wildflowers punctuated her lush green meadows with shocks of purple, yellow, red and blue. These florets flooded the valley with an inescapable aroma so sweet and pure that you could almost hear it as a high-pitched buzz—as odd and unlikely as that may seem.

We settled into the wonderfully comfortable Valley Creek Motel and RV park, a strange little paradise in a town so tiny. We thought because of its size, Stanley would be home to rundown "rustic" cabins or unsettling little murder motels, but the Valley Creek was a clean, spacious sanctuary that offered a quaint kitchenette and stunning views of the Sawtooth mountains.

After a restful night of sleep in the cold mountain air (morning temperatures were in the high 30s), we were saddened to watch the morning skies darken as dense rains moved in from every direction. Soon the entire valley was drenched. We wrote off the possibilities of riding for the day and dejectedly searched through the tiny general store for a deck of cards after eating an outstanding breakfast at the Sawtooth Bakery.

A while later we happened upon a pair of young mountain bikers in one of the local stores. We gave them a couple of copies of Mountain Flyer and asked them about rides in the area. Because of the rains, we thought we'd have to ride Fisher Creek—Stanley's signature trail—the next morning, which would have created a time pinch for us, particularly since my riding skills are still pathetically weak as I continue to slowly recover from the Crippling Mystery Illness

The bike dudes looked at the drying skies and encouraged us to ride the trail that day. As dry as it had been, the rains would not create any mud and actually would firm up the trails nicely, they said. Not only that, but the cool air would make the nine-mile climb almost palatable.

We changed our plans on the spot and soon we found ourselves at the trailhead and ready to ride.

If you've never ridden Fisher Creek, I believe it really is one of those epic rides that everyone should do at least once in their lives. Although everyone says it's a downhill ride, you shouldn't go into it half cocked. The first part of the trail is a nine-mile climb up a fire road. Your efforts are instantly rewarded with a swooping plunge down some tight singletrack through an area that was severely burned in 2005. Brightly colored flowers are a stark contrast to the blackened sticks that remain in the burned area. It's a strange juxtoposition of life and death that is inspiring and humbling.

Most people don't talk about it, but after the first descent you have to climb again for quite a while until you reach the epic ride down that makes the trail famous. There are not many places to ride that offer an uninterrupted three miles of swooping downhill through nice dark forest (this part wasn't burned). The ride just keeps going and going and going, and pretty soon it almost seems as if you're asleep and dreaming of ripping down an amazing singletrack fantasy land. Simply amazing is all I can say.

The descent spits you out in a meadow, where you have to make a short climb before the last mile of super-fun downhill back to the trailhead. This is the type of singletrack that God dreamed of when he was creating humans who would ride bikes. Or something like that.

Because the sun doesn't set up here until outrageously late in the day, we had plenty of daylight left to goof off in around the area before dark.

Once twilight arrived, slumber was easy and fast, particularly after our ride at Fisher Creek.

One good thing about Idaho's undercurrent of geologic turmoil is that there are plenty of hot springs. There are several in the Stanley area alone. The next morning, with the valley socked in under a cold fog, we decided to give our legs a treat by visiting one of the more convenient ones at the crack of dawn.

Just off the highway in lower Stanley, someone has taken an old oak barrel and plopped it at the edge of the Salmon River. A pipe out of the rocks pumps scalding water into the tub, and here you can soak away your troubles with little effort.

We found the waters luxurious, if not a little too hot. But with the air temperature outside hovering just below 40 degrees, the tub was an incredible treat. Partway through our soak, a mink ventured toward us, only to be driven away by the sight of my man-boobies. Thanks to them we've found a lot of solitude this trip, although I am hesitant to brandish them unless absolutely necessary.

See you on down the road.