Category Archives: friends

Mega Pain

Having thoroughly enjoyed the inaugural Mega Geyserland Gravel Grind, I was keen to repeat it – this time in the reverse direction. The only drawbacks I saw in going anti-clockwise would be a likely headwind across the Waikato on the first day and having to ascend the many back-to-back staircases on the Waikato River Trail. Some were concerned about riding the Timber Trail in reverse (south to north), but after Easter’s ride – I prefer that direction.

Reasonably fit from bikepacking trips through the NZ winter and the regular bike-commute, I was hoping to match last year’s time. I was however becoming concerned a quick eight-hundred kilometres so soon before flying to Canberra for the Hunt 1000 might be a bit exhausting. I’d had my eyes set on the Hunt for a year, looking to challenge myself over the rugged Snowy Mountains all the way to Melbourne. The stunning scenery I’d seen posted from last year’s event was also a big draw. I knew I’d be challenged severely with 28,000 metres of climbing over only a thousand kilometres of riding (much of that hike-a-bike in unpredictable mountain weather), so going in fatigued would not be helpful…

Alas, I couldn’t turn down more quality North Island bikepacking. I did, due to lack of annual leave, at least do the optional Eastern loop at Labour Weekend and not attempt that as well before the Hunt. So once again I found myself gathered with about fifty other bikepackers in Rotorua’s Government Gardens about to set off into the overcast day over a route of gravel roads, trail and some seal to link the good bits together.

It was a leisurely start for me, as I realised that my new SPOT tracker wasn’t quite talking to the tracking site properly. But with plenty of riders and traffic around, it was better to concentrate on riding and chatting. The climb up the Mamakus was familiar before branching off to ride Cecil and Leslie Roads in the opposite direction to that I was used to. It seemed much easier this way – but that was probably related to it being the first day of the ride, not the fourth. With quieter roads I was able to start sorting out my tracking issue, and a five-minute stop in Putaruru put it to bed. I could get back to simply riding and looking at the countryside.

I remembered to look back and take a photo of typical rolling Waikato dairy country.

Pete caught up to me again and we rolled on at a reasonable pace. Down to the Waikato River, over the Arapuni Dam and back to Oreipunga Road I pointed out the little “shelter” (I’m still unsure what it was, except it was walled on two and one half sides and about one and a half metres tall) I slept in on my final night the previous year. I do enjoy riding with Pete, a similar pace to me there is a font of bikepacking knowledge to tap. Alas, it was not to last.

I’d only previously experienced magpies swooping and touching once, in Hawke’s Bay, and had forgotten it was a thing. But one particularly territorial bird was set to remind me, following us along the road continually diving for my helmet. Then it would sit on a fencepost for a bit, watch us and then swoop again. This continued for quite some time until finally, for no good reason besides exasperation, I reached for my drink bottle and turned to ward off the bird waving the bottle up behind me.

Just like that, the long forgotten feeling of my shoulder dislocating became all too familiar again. Somewhat surprised since the surgery over six years ago had, up until then, been so successful I tried to yell to Pete to stop – but he was just far enough ahead and now receiving the magpie’s attention, that he didn’t hear. With just enough adrenalin pumping, I rode on one-handed to a farmhouse and help.

Rolling up just after the farmer, Bruce, had got in for lunch I greeted him with a rather helpless “I think I hurt my shoulder”. An ambulance was called (the dispatcher didn’t believe the magpie story for dislocating a shoulder), I tried to stay still on the couch with no food, drink or pain medication allowed. Thankfully Bruce was super helpful, getting a few necessities off my bike for me, and I could manage to send a few messages to loved ones – punctuated by the extreme pain with each little jarring as the adrenaline wore off.

I wasn’t really going to ask someone I’d just met to put my shoulder back in, so wait I did for the professionals. Good friend Luke happened to be working in Putaruru that day and had been watching the tracker – he very kindly came over and picked up my bike, arriving before the ambulance. After an hour the paramedics arrived and, with a bit of pain relief administered, thought they’d have a go at putting me back together. But it’d been out too long and the muscles were too tense – so on to a stretcher I went to be carted to Waikato Hospital.

Memories of the ambulance ride include Geoff the paramedic keeping me talking (not that difficult when I’ve a lovely inhaler-thing of pain relief to suck on), mentions of photography at Lake Louise, me looking at the machine that goes bing, jarring and wrenching with pain over every bump in the road, and increasingly incoherent messaging. Eventually we were off the country roads, on the highway and then backing into the Emergency Department.

Comfortable? Not really. Drugged? Certainly.

At least turning up in an ambulance (still a little disappointed there were no flashing lights) in obvious pain meant that I didn’t have to wait long. An X-ray to confirm just where everything was (I had a pretty good idea – not in the right place) and then it was time for the entonox.

Something not quite right here.

Entonox, and a lot of noise, was enough to relocate my shoulder the previous time in London. But not this time. So a general anaesthetic it was. I wasn’t out for long and when I woke I wasn’t sure that my shoulder was back together – it was, everything had relaxed enough to get it back in. It still felt sore; the disadvantage of being out when it’s put back in is that one misses out on the ecstatic moment of going from extreme pain, then “pop” and pure bliss.

A few more X-rays were taken to check on it and for me to give to a specialist back home; suddenly I was discharged with a pile of paper and I found myself slightly groggy trying to work out just how I ended up in central Hamilton and what on earth I was to do now. Standing in my cycling clothes, arm in a sling and realising I don’t really know anyone in that city was not really what I had planned for the day. Definitely an adventure of a different kind.

That’s better.

Thankfully, Dad’s cousin and his wife lives only a little out of the city. Sure, it was a couple of years since I’d seen them – what were the chances they were even home? To my surprise Liz answered the phone, to her surprise I was in need of being rescued. Nothing was too much trouble – I was fed, put-up for the night, ferried around (hospital pick-up, pharmacy run and then driven all the way back to Rotorua) and generally looked after. It was incredible and very welcome, lovely to catch up too with a lot of family news and history shared. Strange twist for the day was working out that I did my shoulder just outside Bill & Liz’s son’s farm.

Back to Rotorua sooner than I expected, Bill dropped me at my car, I had a nap for a while before Luke rode around and drove me back to his house. As my “don’t drive, operate heavy machinery or make important decisions for twenty-four hours” elapsed, I was pretty confident I could drive home left-handed. With a few stops, it was manageable and I was pleased to be home Saturday evening – facing rather different challenges than I expected for the next little while.

There started four weeks of being in a sling again and getting used to doing a lot of things one-handed. The pain eased after ten days or so and I was fairly quickly able to get good mobility back in my shoulder. The Hunt 1000 trip was canned, for this year; but having eventually got back on the bike, I quickly found another new (to me) event to sign up for. I’m still waiting for an MRI and then, I guess, deciding whether I’ll have surgery again. I’m not particularly keen on six months of rehab, and therefore no biking – but if my arm’s going to intermittently decide to be somewhere it shouldn’t be, surgery might be wise. Next year will tell…

Thanks to all that supported me through my short time of injury and incapacitation.

Long Labour Weekend Eastern Loop

With a bit of unfinished business from not completing the Easter Eastern Loop, another shoulder-season long weekend seemed perfect opportunity to complete it. I had planned to do so in a few weeks’ time as part of the Mega Gravel Grind event, but find myself with insufficient leave. Pete decided to join me so far as Rotorua; meeting at work, we drove north to Wairoa, locked the car and left in search of supplies for the remote section the following day.

A pair of SIR9s ready to leave Wairoa.

Cloudier than expected, the threatened rain didn’t come to anything, and the southerly pushed us on our way north out of town and past Frasertown.

We followed the Wairoa River for an hour or so through sheep and beef country.

While a sealed road, with next to no traffic it was most pleasant and with a couple of climbs we made good progress to Tiniroto. I’d phoned the previous day and made sure the pub would be open. They stayed open just for us, even managing to rustle up homemade pies and hot chips. The community centre was even available for us to sleep in. That is how we found ourselves sleeping in a play centre adjoining a village hall.

The large hall looked perfect for a three-wheeled race circuit.

Sleeping quarters for the night; I could brush up on my ABCs and traffic awareness.

Quite cosy inside, we didn’t realise it was frosty until departing the following morning. Is it even worth keeping a pie tally? I had my fourth of the trip for breakfast.

Would stay again. The sun just starting to make it over the first-thing-of-the-day climb.

The three kilometre climb helped us warm up; losing more altitude than we’d gained did not. Extremities curled and numbed, our gloves and socks better suited to the weather that was forecast for the rest of the weekend – sunny, still and warm spring days.

Finally the sun hit us; generally not whizzing downhill helped alleviate the chill in our digits.

The familiar climbs and descents continued as we zigged and zagged east and west, slowly making northward progress through farmland – only stopping once to let a mob of steers be driven past us. It feels most rude to be out riding bikes and holding up people going about their work. I particularly enjoyed the Waikura valley back in April, this time was no different. What was different was the incredible number of kowhai in their bright yellow bloom. Quite used to seeing one or two of these native trees in flower, this was on a scale I had not seen before – fantastic.

Finally we were on a gravel road, and pleasingly it did not have the sustained patches of fresh, uncompacted drudgery and toil that I remember from Easter.

This view was as good as last time.

Switching to following the Hangaroa River for a while led to mild climbing, and then a bit more heading north to the next valley – the Wharekopae. We did spy one of those brilliant golf courses in the middle of nowhere – where the chief turf control experts are someone’s ably employed flock of sheep.

A brief stop at Rere School to have first-lunch and fill bottles plonked us on some seal to Rere Falls.

This was about the only place I saw multiple people last time; this time – not so much.

Past the Rere Rockslide, the road reverted to gravel and the climbing continued with only brief respite as we rose five hundred metres or so.

But with skies and views like this, the climbing was easy-going.

Crossing the watershed we joined the headwaters of the Motu, State Highway Two briefly, and then made it to Matawai to refuel and restock supplies.

Down the road a bit, Motu village had an open cafe! Just in time before closing for more ice cream and cold drinks.

Motu village sights

A fine forty minutes of climbing took us up the Motu road and over into the Bay of Plenty. Losing some of that height, we rolled down the road to the Pakihi Track trailhead. At five in the afternoon, we figured we could get out of twenty kilometres of singletrack through dense native forest before dark – that the first half was markedly downhill and the second half gradually down helped our estimation.

The trail was in perfect condition and we had much fun. Halfway down I learnt valuable lessons of what spares to take. Slashing the sidewall of my rear tyre over rather innocuous (or so they seemed) rocks, I couldn’t seal the tubeless up and it turns out the tubolito spare tube I was carrying was rubbish. Thankfully Pete was better prepared and borrowing one of his tubes, I didn’t have to face a ten kilometre walk out. Taking things a bit easier, we made it out with about an hour of daylight and twenty kilometres of easy roads to Opotoki remaining.

After filling our bellies at a popular local takeaway shop (it may have been the only one open in town), creature comforts proved too tempting and we found an old hotel that would let us store our bikes inside. My first two-hundred-plus kilometre day since Easter, it wasn’t overly difficult – Pete’s and my pace for such touring riding seems well matched.

Saturday morning got off to a good, if slower, start…

State Highway Two, again, took us west out of town showing off much of the Bay. Nice to see Whale Island from the other side to three weeks prior.

Pete had been told of a backroad alternative to Taneatua – it broke up what would have been eighty kilometres of flats very nicely. Up steeply through lifestyle blocks, the road turned to gravel as we entered forest and rode along a ridge, still climbing.

A potential bivy spot? Probably not. After brief stretches of pasture, we went back into the shade of native forest losing all our height to blast back to a short stretch of highway to Taneatua.

Time for a milkshake and a pie – this one pork and watercress (when in Taneatua…), voted best of the trip – beating off numerous competitors.

Nearing Awakeri, I couldn’t resist peeking in at a rally of old trucks. This one of significance because this company use to cart for us a bit when I was growing up, and was owned by parents of a primary school classmate. Strange the things one sees while bikepacking.

Off the stretch of well-built highway (judged mainly on the ample shoulder), we were finally back to hills – climbing to Manawahe on the road we’d descended three weeks earlier. Around the tops of Lakes Rotoma and Rotoehu there was some lovely native forest, a rugged four-wheel drive track and much gravel as production forests surrounded us. At the top of Maniatutu Road Pete continued on the course back to his home in Rotorua, while I diverted north to head to Te Puke.

Why is it only this year that I’ve notice cabbage trees in flower? They look so different to what I’m used to.

Back on the flats, with another pit stop for refuelling, it was only fifteen kilometres to ride in to Te Puke. It was a little odd to be riding into a town that was for so long home – yet one I’d never really ridden into before. A little annoyed that I spent so long there and didn’t explore more around the area on bike – as I was finding out, there were plenty of gravel roads and hills to seek out.

Lovely stay with one of my second-families, it must have been two years since I was last in town. One of the reasons for the diversion from the posted route was that I’d finally be able to ride some of the gravel roads that I knew were lurking above Te Puke and would connect me to Rotorua. It really was as simple as riding up my old street, past my primary school, past the house (I guess) I’ve lived in the longest and just keep on going.

Quickly the houses turned to orchard after orchard (mostly kiwifruit, but far more avocados than I remember). For half-seven on a Sunday morning, the road was ridiculously busy – orchard workers heading off for the start of the day.

This cute old hall stands at the end of a straight – for some reason I barely remember it, despite no doubt having passed it many times. Admittedly, it’s been restored – but not out of nothing.

A long gradual climb (of only a few percent) had me looking back over the coast and long-familiar landmarks. Ten kilometres up the road, I’d climbed enough that the orchards ended and pasture began – it gets too frosty up here for kiwifruit growing. The sou-wester I was riding right into was sapping my energy and my breakfast soon wore off; I was definitely underdone on supplies and I felt my mood slipping in the cool, cloudy and windy morning.

The gravel started and promptly deposited me in deserted native forest. Most pleasant Sunday morning riding out of the wind.

Out into the open again, the hills around Rotorua beckoned.

Pine forest clad the climb to the Rotorua-Tauranga highway, which was busy enough and this section has two deep gorges to whizz into and grovel out of. Leaving the highway before Lake Rotorua, I wanted to go somewhere new – in this case, Kaharoa which I’d never heard of. But with the sun coming out, the wind at my back and a slight descent – I thoroughly enjoyed rolling past. There was a bit of a climb out of the valley, before dropping all the way down to the lake and taking the road less-travelled back to the route.

Twenty kilometres took me into Rotorua, passing and being passed by a large contingent of roadies out for Sunday morning (they were surprisingly chatty and interested in the bikepacking weekend), led me to a pit-stop at Pete’s house. The bike got a new tyre to replace the slashed one and I was well-fed – thanks Pete!

The climb out of Rotorua to the south-east doesn’t seem like two hundred and fifty metres worth as the cycle path is so smooth and the wind is usually helpful – as it was this time.

Mt Tarawera just as I entered Rerewhakaaitu.

A glorious afternoon for riding, I made good time over the hundred kilometres to Murupara. The third time I’d covered some of these roads this year, things were rather familiar.

Clouds were starting to gather over the Ureweras as I rode the final straight into town.

Sunday evening of a long weekend, I wasn’t sure if I’d find places open to eat. Thankfully I did, but downtown was pretty dire – one of those places where everyone you meet warns you to lock up your bike. Still, all I met were friendly and, despite sticking out like a sore thumb, I had a most pleasant evening. Rooms weren’t much more than camping (for good reason), so with those clouds amassing I was soft and slept inside again.

Labour Day was a glorious day for the final hundred and sixty kilometres back to my car – another three-pie day, which is not really related to the glorious nature of the day. For the first few hours there was little traffic, and what traffic there was was local and very considerate. My third bikepacking trip across here, the hills came and went – my legs still felt good after three days of riding and I was thoroughly enjoying the surroundings, the climbing challenges and not having to nurse a painful knee.

This was one of quite a few marae I saw around here that are remarkably well turned out.

I only got chased by dogs once, and in a quite different spot to normal (Te Whaiti as opposed to Te Waiiti – actually, those look remarkably similar place names); but the dogs were chased away by a passing car. Ruatahuna now has a fancy new community centre (store, cafe, gas station, accommodation that I’d quite like to stay in, and so on). Unfortunately it’s all closed on Sundays and Mondays, so I just rested in the shade and ate. The closure did lead to the quote of the day, probably the trip, from a friendly local passing by: “Come back tomorrow and the community centre is open. You can get a coffee and a mean feed. Chur bro.”.

Predictably, the holiday traffic markedly increased in the afternoon and I was occasionally choked in dust. Still, the scenery through these parts is stunning.

Panekiri Bluff standing above Waikaremoana.

The undulations around the north of the lake rolled by and I grabbed some food and water at the store far earlier (two versus six o’clock) than I had at Easter. Three hours took me back to Wairoa; after the big descent from the lake, the rolling hills gradually wear thin. Well pleased to actually finish this loop, with a hundred kilometre addition, this time I took care to refuel plenty before the drive home. Seven hundred and forty kilometres in just less than four days – a good touring pace with sufficient hills. I’ll have to step it up a bit for the Mega GGG in ten days’ time (lack of leave and all…).





Day Twelve: Kimberley to Fernie, closing the loop

Following the exhausting and biggest day of the trip, it was unfortunate that due to the flights I got booking so late, we had to cover the same distance again to get back to Fernie in time for me to pack my bike and get to Calgary airport the following day. There was some talk of friends coming and rescuing us if necessary – I don’t think either of us liked the principle of this option.

The first leg of the day was to Cranbrook and timing our departure correctly meant Katie could join us on her bike-commute. What a commute – thirty kilometres of sealed rail trail. Views, hills, traffic-free, peace; my commute is pretty good, half on pathway around the coast, but this one I was a little envious of. In summer at least, I suspect I’d prefer my ride to work in the winter!

Getting off the pathway to look over the embankment across the surrounding valley.

A crazy smooth rail trail, especially after Salmo, it was well good for bikepack chatting.

Saying farewell to Katie as we approached town, we headed off to a recommended cafe for second breakfast. And third breakfast. It was warming considerably by the time we headed out of town, stopping for the last gas station stock-up of the trip, and found another rail trail. This one wasn’t so much pavement, but smooth packed gravel. We took it easy in the shade. Eventually we had to join the highway for twenty minutes, despite our attempts to follow some singletrack that didn’t end up going the correct direction. Coincidentally, some motorcyclists, who made our acquaintance the previous morning in Nelson, roared past during that short stretch of highway riding.

A quiet rural road through plenty of fields with many quaint old North American barns took us to the settlement of Wardner and the Kootenay River. The highway had crossed the river, so it was proper quiet; Wardner was small, without services or any place that looked worth stopping for lunch (or fourth breakfast, as the case may have been). We attacked a steep climb instead, the road getting even more rural and turning to gravel. By now we’d left all traffic behind, found somewhere to lunch and continued climbing before a big downhill back to the river. Also, we were back to meeting other people touring on bikes – albeit hauling two or more times more stuff than we were. I finally got fed up with having to inflate my tubeless rear tyre twice, or more, daily and used the small bottle of sealant I’d been carrying all trip. It improved somewhat.

More gravel roads to whizz down; and yes, still trees to be seen.

Back on the seal for a bit, it was certainly hot enough as we approached the bridge across the Kootenay for our last ice cream stop of the route. Mid-afternoon and hot, we still had fifty generally uphill kilometres to go before starting the drive back towards Canmore. Still a steady pace, Gray Creek Pass’s effects may have slowed us a little. Huzzah, more gravel, sustained climbing; this trip just kept on delivering.

Crossing the highway that took us to the US border on the day we set-off, we were trying to get back to the quiet road that would take us alongside the Elk River back to Fernie. Alas, there was a very large sawmill on the connection; that meant a lot of unnerving heavy traffic on a wide, unsealed and noisy road. Not at all pleasant. While a road was marked around the outside of the mill, it was touch and go as to whether we’d be able to sneak around or get stopped and turned around. By this stage, the desire to get back to Fernie was strong and the thought of backtracking appealed none.

Unfortunately, my last photo of a fantastic trip appears to been a very poor one of a Canfor sawmill; ho hum.

We snuck through unchallenged and on the outskirts of Elko we rejoined our first day’s route and turned for Fernie. We repaid all that altitude lost initially with a gradual, and at times undulating, ascent back to town. A great effort (considering Megan’s dearth of distance biking in the previous year) to put our two longest days of the trip, in heat that we were getting used to, back to back to finish twelve days and nearly twelve hundred kilometres later.

It was a fantastic trip and would have been so if planned months in advance – Megan certainly put a great route together. That I started riding in the heat of North American summer less than a week after being invited while skiing in the south of a New Zealand winter, made the adventure all the more incredible. A bikepacking expedition to be remembered for: trees, long gravel climbs, the heat, cheese, frozen burritos, ice creams, snap peas, shortbread, misplaced electrolytes, bears, eagles, ospreys, an owl, deer, chipmunks, ground squirrels, smoke, moose, picnic tables, mochas, amazing crepes, huckleberries, heinous-rail-trail and I’ve probably gone on enough…

Thanks to Megan for all the organising, excellent route-finding, having me along for a thoroughly enjoyable ride, putting up with my diversions (mostly food-based, but also navigational), and also for all the photos of me that I’ve purloined.

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Day Eleven: Nelson to Kimberley

Blasting down the hills of Nelson early Sunday morning, we couldn’t really tell what the day was like – it was so shrouded in smoke even at that hour. We found a lovely and popular cafe while waiting for the grocery store to open, then stocked up on food. Leaving Nelson, we crossed the west arm of Kootenay Lake on BOB – the big orange bridge.

The sun trying to break through the haze.

Not making a lot of headway through the particulates.

Heading east for the ferry from Balfour across the lake proper, we had thirty kilometres or so to go to meet our preferred sailing at nine fifty. An undulating road beside the lake had us going at a steady pace, while trying not to let our respiratory systems get too irritated – we made it comfortably to scoot in front of the motor vehicles.

For a free ferry, it was much larger than I expected – fitting a surprising number of vehicles, large and small, on and finding room for two bikepackers too.

Disembarking, we let all the vehicles pass before attempting our first hill of the day. A mere hundred and fifty metres, it was hardly even a warm up for what was to come. Not that that preventing us stopping for a tasty food stop – it would be sometime before we saw a shop again that day.

Back on the BC Epic route for much of the day, it was eminently preferable to the horror of the (/a) rail trail near Salmo the previous day.  We left the lake at Gray Creek and headed up, up and up some more.

A gravel road in generally good condition, this consistent climb was just wonderful. Climbing fifteen hundred metres from the lake, it wound its way up with fewer switchbacks than I would have suspected. Even with wildfire smoke obscured vistas, it was a beautiful climb as we focused on less distant views. Averaging out at nine percent gradient, it didn’t seem too bad as we kept a steady pace – with frequent stops to snack or chat to the occupants of the occasional vehicle out exploring.

Up and up.

Slowly getting closer to the pass, which was under the left of that peak.

Three and a quarter hours later, having ridden seventeen kilometres, we were well pleased to crest the pass. I’m sure that’s one of the biggest climbs I’ve done on a bike – loaded or not. We may have celebrated with frozen burritos. After a bit of a rest at the top (a shade over 2000 m above sea level), the much anticipated descent was upon us. First impressions: it was cold. For the first time in the trip, all our layers went on – and still we had chilly digits.

Yet we had exorbitant amounts of fun hollering our way down the long hill. The surface was sublime; generally sound and smooth, there was enough variety to really encourage moving around on the bike, blasting around corners, and hitting enough bumps and rocks to get modest, but still exhilarating, amounts of air.

A.

Complete.

Blast.

We may have thoroughly enjoyed ourselves… Well, I certainly did!

Megan setting the dust flying behind her.

Occasionally we slowed and stopped to appreciate the beauty around us.

The valley widened and flattened out, the surface getting oddly sandy – but not too difficult to ride on. Speed helped!

Enjoying the last of the fantastic gravel excursion in the late-afternoon light/haze.

Getting close to being back on the seal, we were surprised to ride out of a fire closure – very good timing, the area wasn’t closed when we rode in. Unfortunately extensive wildfires ravaged the area surrounding Kimberley in the coming weeks. Suddenly, a bear! The second sighting of the trip. I say that like it was exciting, but thankfully nothing of note happened – it ambled across the road and took off up into the trees.

Back on the pavement, despite our biggest distance and climbing day by far in the trip, Megan had excessive energy left and put the hammer down all the way into Kimberley, some twenty or thirty kilometres. I struggled to keep up after such a long day; I’d blame the gearing on my bike, but even I’m not buying that. We found Katie’s place as the sky darkened (due to approaching night, not smoke) and, exhausted, gratefully accepted kind hospitality. Always nice to meet bikepackers, I especially enjoyed the NZ bikepacking chat.

This was by far our biggest day of the trip in distance, climbing and time – but probably not quite as tough as the extended hike-a-bike dropping down to Idaho in the heat. A great day and another one to remember.