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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Peak time for cycling


Even on sunny spring days, Glacier cyclists usually must bundle up for the long descent. 
 (The Spokesman-Review)
Becky Lomax Special to Outdoors

Fat and skinny tires, even a tricycle or two, enjoy the freedom of riding one of the country’s most spectacular highways sans cars pinching them off the two-laned Montana road. As snow plows free miles of Going-To-The-Sun Road bisecting Glacier National Park, bicycles of all ilk take to pavement temporarily closed to motor vehicles.

Compared with summer when restrictions preclude bicycling during mid-day and shoulderless cliffs cause elbow scrapes with cars, the riding is worry-free – no car exhaust to inhale, no errant drivers gaping at the views instead the road.

Pending the progress of snow plows, spring cyclists on Going-to-the-Sun Road can ride the flats for five miles or climb up to 14 miles to dramatic cliffs, the realm of shaggy mountain goats. The intimate views and slow climbing pace cannot be matched in a car. You can see, hear, and smell the National Historic Landmark like no other time of year.

“In a car or on a bike, you see the park’s grandeur … but on a bicycle, you see detail – trilliums lining the road or a big pile of bear scat,” said Ron Brunk of Whitefish’s Glacier Cyclery.

Beginning mid-April and ending when Logan Pass opens to vehicle traffic, spring biking season on the closed road commences once the park service plows the road to Avalanche Picnic Area. Here, 75 or more cars cram into the small parking lot on sunny weekends, but it’s car-free riding beyond the gate as plows higher up whittle at 50- to 80-foot snow drifts in the road’s treacherous alpine stretches.

When Logan Pass opens, most commonly around Memorial Day, tourist vehicles clog the road for the summer. This year, however, the road may remain closed to vehicles well into June – especially as late snowstorms often prevent work. Glacier’s mountains had more snowfall this winter than they did in 2002, when Going-to-the-Sun Road saw its latest opening on June 28.

Cyclists also could find free wheeling on portions of the road during additional spring and fall vehicle closures as the Park Service embarks on a $140-170 million renovation of the road’s deteriorated alpine stretches.

Going-to-the-Sun Road is a fine family bike path for youngsters, oldsters, and all ages in between during the vehicle closures. While weekdays chalk up sparser numbers, weekends mutate into an event – you can easily pass 150 riders on sunny days.

Often, you’ll meet Glacier Cyclery owners Jan and Ron Brunk cruising uphill on their tandem. “It’s a huge social event,” says Ron. “In a car, you don’t interact with folks in other cars, but on a bicycle, you chat with everyone.”

Mountain bikes or road bikes with low gears are good choices for the tour. Once Going-to-the-Sun Road departs the valley floor, you’ll genuflect to the god of granny gears on the 1,100-foot climb to The Loop.

Because spring flotsam litters the road – gravel, debris, rocks, snowballs, and sometimes ice – some riders prefer fat, non-knobby tires to lessen road rubble vulnerability. The passing of 475,000 vehicles annually is hard enough on the pavement. The freeze-thaw weather cycles and avalanches work in the off-season to claw the road to pieces. Even a dual-suspension mountain bike will detect holes, grates and patches.

Avalanche to The Loop is the most popular trek. A nine-mile one-way ride – half flat, half climbing – grinds from the valley floor into big scenery. Along McDonald Creek accompanied by the whistle of varied thrushes, the first few miles spin by in high gear. As the road squeezes between Mt. Cannon and the Glacier Wall, digest the scent of freshly fractured timbers chewed up by winter snow slides. Hear avalanches crack and rumble overhead. Watch grizzly bears forage for emerging shoots. On the straights here, riders snag their first peeks at the jagged Garden Wall, a gravity-defying rock and snow buttress, and the frozen 492-foot-tall Bird Woman Falls clinging to its hanging valley.

Harlequin ducks bob for insects in McDonald Creek. Look for the male’s patent plumage – a blue-gray and rust body blotched with black-and-white patches. Harlequin pairs migrate inland from the coast to nest along swift-flowing streams. These rapids are one of the best places in the Lower 48 to spot these sea ducks during their inland visit.

Going-to-the-Sun Road angles into a relentless 6 percent grade as it heads north. Peel off layers; time to sweat. Local riders like Kalispell’s Mitch Moylan of Sun Road Cycles relish this ascent for the thigh-burning workout accompanied by spectacular scenery.

“It takes your breath away…literally,” he said. “It’s North America’s Alpe d’Huez,” he added, comparing the incessant incline to the Tour de France’s most famous climbing stage.

As spring scrapes its way up the Garden Wall, it wakes up life in its path. Delicate yellow glacier lilies line the road as snow melts. Blue harebells appear later. Waterfalls careen down hillsides. Golden eagles nest in cliffs and mountain goats scamper across vertical walls.

Visitors touch features in a different way when their freed from vehicles. Bikers can easily stop to run fingers over stromatolites in gray rock formations. Ancient blue-green algae fossilized into these circular formations, looking like a black and white version of Van Gogh’s swirls in “Starry Night.”

Stop for one of the best stromatolite photo ops in the two alcoves of the 192-foot-long west side tunnel framing snow-entombed Heaven’s Peak.

The Loop’s rock guard walls are a popular and scenic destination for lunch and a short nap. On big weekends, below snow-laden peaks and amid the charred sentinels of the 2003 Trapper Fire, The Loop looks more like a community picnic area with friends greeting friends. While many riders turn around at this hairpin, the hearty press on.

The need for road repair is apparent beyond The Loop. Guard wall pieces are missing, leaving an eerie gaping vortex that seems ready to suck a bike off a thousand-foot drop. Inadequate drains force water torrents rushing across the road, trailing rocks in the wake. Dodge these hazards and, despite the road’s rough shape, you’ll have the ride of your life.

Take your time. Dismount and enjoy the view at points where you wouldn’t be allowed to stop with a car – on sharp corners, the Haystack Creek bridge, and “Alps of America.”

Above the Loop the ride ends at Haystack Creek or Big Bend, depending where road crews are working. Snow walls border the road creating a natural refrigerator in this upper traverse. Wind chill can factor into a chilly ride on the fast descent. Experienced Going-to-the-Sun Road riders don gloves, extra layers, and wind gear while neophytes halt every few minutes to rub frozen fingers.

When the Going-to-the-Sun Road is gated, there’s no better ride to celebrate spring. No wonder Ron Brunk rides the road multiple times a year. “It’s the most magical scenic bicycle path in the world,” he said.