Twelve Hours of Disco, Give or Take Ten

I've been craving novelty all year so I got a wild hair to do a new event, Twelve Hours of Disco in Salmon. I was lucky to find three guys who agreed to join my team with minimal arm-twisting: my always-intrepid housemate Alex, friend and pub regular Eric, and random kid I met skiing, Cy.

The forecast was dismal so we crammed the Subi with as much precipitation prophylaxis as possible and rolled out Friday afternoon. The venue is a pit surrounded by sagebrush hills and moto tracks. I slept warm and dry under a rainfly and canopy but the outlook was grim in the morning. Bike tires packed up with gritty mud on the trip to and from the johns and big mean storm clouds threatened. The start was postponed and postponed again. It finally got underway at 9:30 and Cy with his jammy pack and seven inch bike fought his way off the start line. I warmed up and waited. A lot of guys went off course and showed up twenty minutes early. Bummer. Cy came in late because he'd backtracked instead of cutting the course. 

At least my fender game was on point
All pics courtesy of Vivian, awesome team cheerleader and photographer

I took off and mashed as hard as possible. Fastest lap time was on the line and I really wanted it. The course was nondescript, a ribbon of dirt meandering up and down. I was wary of letting loose on the smooth descents because the trail was hemmed in by tiny cacti with vicious quills. 

The wind roared and rain fell as I finished. When Alex wasn't astride his bike in the transition zone I knew the race was on hold. While I was changing out of my wet muddy gear the skies opened and the officials made the call--no more Disco this year. 

Thanks to GTBC for keeping us dry AND well-lubricated

We had a decision to make--pack up our sodden belongings in the rain or start drinking and hope for the best. Fortunately the Teton Tailgaters opted for the latter. Alex and Eric were good sports about not getting to ride. It was a long pleasant day of draining kegs, playing dress-up, standing around the fire, hiding from cloud bursts, and eating food cooked by the Pocatello crew (the hardiest partiers of all). 

Teton Valley's finest 

When the sun came out, the costumes did too

 The next morning showed much more promise. The local shop owner gave us a guide book and directed us to a fast-drying ride north of town. We climbed out of the drainage on a mellow mining road and contoured the velveteen hills on a half track covered in elk droppings and balsamroot. The descent was a dream, alternating between alpine choss and forested loam.

Riding bikes in Salmon does not suck
Pic cred: Cy, who takes beautiful pictures for a living

The radiator on the Subi was leaking and gave off an artificial maple syrup smell so we loaded her up with goop and coolant and headed south to find a much-ballyhooed hot spring. We hiked up a canyon to reach the cascading warm pools overlooking the rocky landscape. An hour of soaking made me sluggish and happy but time waits for no man; we had to get back to "real life" at some point. The drive home was fueled by sour candy and punctuated by radiator checks.

Goldbug Hot Springs: not your usual riverbank cow puddle

I love exploring the playgrounds of Idaho and driving through its vast empty country beneath unfathomable skies. We chased huge curtains of rain into the valley and the Tetons glowed pink and azure. What did I do to be so lucky, going out to play with people who are down for adventure and then coming home to this arresting place.