Thirty years ago, one did not always have to consider whether a forest fire could trap you if you went biking or hiking in the back country. But in this decade of record heat, if you pedal that narrow winding road into the River Of No Return wilderness anytime between July and September, you have to consider weather, wind, topography and fuels. On a bike, there is no guarantee you can outrun a fast moving fire.
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Ten o’clock in the morning. It was the last of July and once again the morning was already hot and dry. Rod checked the time, and shook his head. Susan was very late. He was scheduled to drive her in her rig to her post on the Salmon Mountain Fire Lookout, and then to ride his cycle back, but with this late start he wouldn’t be home till dark.
The Forest Service office had a lot to consider and prepare for in this fire season, however, and it was hours later that Susan was finally ready to go. Rod now knew that he would be out till midnight, at least. They would be traveling out by car, and he would be pedaling his way back. He thought to stop and get fresh batteries for his headlight, but Susan was rapidly running out of time and they had a long way to go on a slow, rough road, so he didn’t.
Five o’clock, and another delay. At the Hell’s Half Acre turnoff, they were hailed by Reen in his green Forest Service rig. Reen looked haggard and his face wore a look of concern. His post was out in the middle of 2 million acres of combustible trees, with only one road out. ‘Keep an eye on the Deadtop fire’, he cautioned. ‘It’s just north of and below the lookout; monitor the smoke column’.
Seven o’clock p.m., and yet another delay. When they finally reached the trailhead to the lookout, Susan revealed that the long drive over rough roads had aggravated her sciatica. Rod offered to carry her pack the mile and a half up the mountain to the lookout. By the time he got back to the trailhead, the sun was very low in the west. He had 60 miles of mountain road to traverse to get home, and there was nothing to do except get going.
The trailhead looked out over the rolling expanse of the Selway River drainage and the surrounding wilderness, an untrammeled area the size of Connecticut. With the exception of the fire lookouts, a handful of ranger cabins, and a couple of backcountry landing strips, the Magruder Road that he was on was the only human construct in all of this 2 million acres laid out before him. One hundred miles to the south the tallest peaks of the Sawtooth range were just visible. The Seven Devils Peaks which overlook Hell’s Canyon, he imagined, were that squiggle on the southwest horizon. The Bitterroot range, dotted with small snow fields, loomed to the northeast; home was on the far side.
Four miles due north and straight down the slope, a column of smoke rose into the evening air; the Deadtop fire. Rod was comforted by the knowledge that, without a strong wind to drive them, forest fires don’t move much at night. Nonetheless, he needed to get moving away from this spot.
He climbed on the ATC four wheel cycle he had brought and set off east. He had water and a sandwich, but had forgotten his helmet. The ATC was no lightweight, and climbing the ridge soon had him sweating. In a couple of miles, though, the narrow road started downhill.

This was surely one of the great downhill bike runs of the western world. For most of an hour he descended, at speeds of 20 and 30 and more miles per hour, white-knuckling it through rocky sections and sharp switchbacks, trailing a long plume of dust, floating on pure adrenaline, till the Selway river and nightfall arrived simultaneously.
He crossed the old bridge and turned upriver. In three miles, he would leave the Selway and head up a tributary toward Nez Perce pass. No more rush, no more speed, now it would just be steady slow climbing.
Sometime after 10:00 Rod pulled off the road to take a break and wash his face. It had been two hours since he had left the Selway and he had been climbing steadily. Deep Creek rumbled down below in the darkness. He switched off the tail light, unclipped the headlight, and with it carefully made his way down to the water. It was clear and bracingly cold. He took off his glasses and submerged his face. It felt great to get the sweat out of his eyes. The cold water made him a little dizzy, and there was a roaring in his ears. He shook his head, but the roaring only got louder. An aura of light grew behind his closed eyelids, and he wondered if he was fainting. He opened his eyes, grabbed a rock so that he wouldn’t fall in the water and suddenly realized that the light was real. Just above him, unaware of his presence, a truck sped by in a cloud of dust. With it went his last chance for hitching a ride and getting home to his own bed tonight.
Midnight came and went. He pedaled on through the starlight, conserving his headlight. The four tires on gravel made a continuous crunching sound as the miles slowly rolled out behind him. Suddenly, a bump, and then only the hiss of tires on pavement. He had made it to the Lost Highway. This isolated stretch of abandoned pavement, part of some long ago pre-wilderness-designation development plan, was dotted with grassy breaks and frost heaves, but mostly provided smooth riding. It would cross the pass out of Idaho and then abruptly end when the road reached the valley bottom on the other side of the divide in Montana.
Two-thirty in the morning. The mountain air had cooled into the 40’s. The ATC rolled to a stop, and Rod leaned forward onto the handlebars. In a moment he was dozing, but a handlebar in one’s neck is not conducive to sustained sleep. The pavement retained and radiated some of the heat of the day, so Rod lay down on the road surface. It had been hours since the last car and he didn’t expect any more till morning. He drifted off to sleep on the pavement.
Rod startled awake. Something big was moving through the trees. As he sat up, it started to run, but away, not toward. Rod climbed to his feet. He was stiff, cold and shivering. He knew he needed to move.
In the saddle again, his legs complained, but he ignored the discomfort. His headlight was off, its remaining dim light now in reserve only for an emergency. In the dark, with no speedometer, there was no way to gauge his speed except by the gear he was in, which he couldn’t see, and the cadence at which his feet were moving. So he just pedaled and pedaled on through the darkness. He no longer cared that the Milky Way threw its veil of a billion stars across the night sky above, even though it was the one thing in the blackness all around that told him which way was up. He steered between the deeper blacknesses where the trees beside the road blotted out the stars. He knew he was hungry and cold, but it didn’t matter. He very much wanted to stop, but knew he couldn’t, so he just kept on, pedaling ahead and upward.
At 4:30, he finally crested the Nez Perce pass. At 46 degrees north latitude, the first light of midsummer morning comes early, and the starlight started giving way to a faint solar glow. The last of the Lost Highway pavement tempted him with a fast downhill run, and he mumbled to himself, “hell, yes”. Hurtling down the pass in the dim light, he leaned into the switchbacks, straining his eyes to make out the heaves and dips that could throw him off the road and into the rocks. Twice he would have launched, had it not been for the ATC’s catlike 4-wheel grip. The adrenaline rush brought him wide awake. As the road leveled out to follow the creek and the sky turned pale blue, he knew the last 15 miles were as good as done.
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Marty was awoken to early morning light by something grunting and banging around outside the bedroom window of the cottage in the woods. Slipping out of her warm bed, she hissed for the dog, opened the front door and commanded “get the bear”. But when she came around the corner, it was just Rod; a dust-covered, red-eyed, wild-haired, exhausted, stumbling adventurer. “I suspect,” he mumbled to Marty in greeting, “that I will think twice before doing that again”. “All’s well that ends well,” she asserted, and hustled him off to shower, breakfast and bed.