August 30 — 2024
Words // Nicole Cordingley
Photos // Chloe Jimenez

I gazed longingly at a little white puff of a cloud in an otherwise deep blue sky, willing it to morph into a thundercloud. Rain would be the perfect excuse to steer my mountain bike from the steep, rocky climb ahead down an escape route toward smooth pavement.

It was only Day one of our three-day mountain bike adventure from Stanley to Ketchum, Idaho, and I was already exhausted, wondering how we would make it ninety-plus more miles. The two mountain towns are only about an hour's drive apart, but that drive parallels four named mountain ranges and crosses one.

Chloe and I love to plan adventures together. We became fast friends several summers ago in Stanley, a dirt road town positioned as the gateway to Idaho's 2.4 million acre Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness and nestled into the base of the Sawtooth Range. It's ideal for ambitious mountain biking, among other adventures.

Our friendship is built on shared adventures, overcoming challenges, and maybe some planned adversity. We're eternal optimists, so our adventure planning often lulls us into sufferfests. This is how I found myself, seven miles into a hundred-mile bike ride, wondering if there's even a fraction of a chance of rain in the forecast.

While we waited for the mountain biking trails to melt out this spring, we meticulously planned our route, keeping a few goals in mind. First, we wanted to rack up the views, which meant we wanted a lot of ridgeline mileage. Second, we wanted to maximize our time spent riding single track. Third, we tried to maximize fun, so we decided against true bikepacking. Plus, the trails that best met our first two requirements are pretty technical. Instead of bikepacking, we planned our route to intersect with roads where we could either set up a campsite ahead of time or shuttle a car to serve as a base camp.

Stanley's trails are infamously rugged. Think what early mountain biking was like: riding a bike on hiking trails. Many of Ketchum's trails are the opposite: chocolate highways crafted for mountain biking pleasure.

With the mix of rough and refined single track we would ride, plus about 30% of our mileage on dirt roads, picking mountain bikes was a challenge. We needed mountain bikes that could handle a wide range, so we chose Juliana's Wilder and Joplin bikes. We thought the lightweight, cross-country designs would help us make miles on dirt roads and ease steep climbs. We were wrong when we thought they might limit us through rock gardens and built-out mountain bike trails. The Wilder and the Joplin crushed everything on our route. They were truly the perfect mountain bikes for this adventurous trip.

Our adventure began with a 5am alarm, which we promptly snoozed twice. We stumbled out of our trucks, mumbling for coffee, and into pre-dawn light and the cold dew that blankets the Stanley Basin each summer morning. Arriving at the trailhead in a fog from the Salmon River, we weren't sly about dawdling through breakfast and packing. When we could delay no longer, we shed our layers of puffies and shivered onto the trail.

Our early start rewarded us with a stunning view of the Sawtooth Range in the defining glow of morning summer sunlight. We followed the ridgeline and incredible views to the top of a 3800' climb with so much hike-a-bike that I started praying for rain.

We were excited to start the downhill and tackle a trail new to us, Martin Creek. It's far enough from trailheads and rugged enough that mountain bikers rarely use it. We loved it. The descent undulated through lodgepole forest, exposing views of the White Cloud range to the east. After ten stream crossings we lost count. Rock gardens were mixed with steep, smooth, flow sections. We passed through burn zones and paralleled Martin Creek on a hillside that frequently felt a little too much like a cliffside.

The next segment was Williams Trail, the latter half of a favorite ride in the Stanley area, Fisher-Williams. After a few frustrating crashes on the poorly maintained Martin Creek Trail, reaching a familiar trail was a welcome relief.

The next day, our ride started on pavement–a welcome change for our aching bodies. Soon, we hit the dirt road and took it twenty miles to the top of Galena Pass, following the old carriage road. As we climbed, I was content to let my mind wander to the horse-drawn buggies that once used this route, contrasting sharply with our carbon mountain bike steeds.

At the top of Galena, we were excited to return to single-track. We hooted and hollered to play on a trail again, riding right to Galena Lodge and late lunch burgers.

After refueling at Galena, we topped off our water bottles and headed east on Galena Lodge's perfect single-track. After yesterday's rough miles, these well-groomed trails had us giddy. Eight smooth miles took us to a campsite we had set up the night before starting in Stanley. Inflated pads, standard-sized pillows, and a cooler full of food felt like luxury.

The second day, with dirt road miles and smooth single-track, turned out to be a respite between two tough days.

Once again, our early morning alarms came too fast. We started on the Herriman trail, and if we had any wits about us, we would have taken its mellow, steadily descending grade 20 miles to Ketchum. But we didn't, so we took a right onto Baker Creek Road for the Osberg Ridge trail.

Osberg Ridge oscillates upwards in a series of continuous climbs and winding downhills. A rainbow of wildflowers frames breathtaking views of craggy mountains in every direction. Even if I didn't want to climb anymore, I was so grateful to be there. The first seven miles of the trip were mentally the hardest. Although my body was tired and sore, it's a lot easier to just keep pedaling when you've already found momentum.

We realized our mistake near the top–we were out of water and in the middle of a dry ridgeline. There was only one way to go, though... so we kept pedaling towards Adams Gulch. Unlike a couple days prior, this wish for water was so I could keep going, not so the ride would end. The overgrown Upper Old Adams Gulch trail left us cursing. With every break in the trees, the view of Ketchum town grew closer and the parch in our throats more acute.

We hooted when we hit the parking lot at Adams Gulch, but it was at the sight of a water fountain on the Ketchum bike path that we really celebrated. As we crashed on our pads by Redfish Lake that night, after a long-desired shower, we laughed through the solidifying memories of our trip. The raw edges of type-two-fun moments softened. The trip was exactly what we had hoped for months ago, curveballs and all. We had fun on mountain bikes perfectly suited to our cross-country adventure, rode a ton of varied single track, and were constantly surrounded by incredible views.

Take a look at Nichole and Chloe's other adventures and be sure to sign up for the Juliana Journal to read more stories like this!