The View from 10,000 Feet

Just when I think it can’t get any more Idaho than this, it does.

I was already pretty impressed. When we left the truck this morning, we went from graded road to muddy two-track to rock-strewn railroad grade to shale-covered hillside. Then we took on some dense, wooded singletrack and a fire road through an alpine meadow.

All in the first 10 miles.

I had heard that when it came to trail riding, Idaho had it all. And from what I’d seen, I believed it. But nothing prepared me for what would be waiting for us at 10,000 feet on top of Railroad Ridge.

It’s one thing to see Idaho’s rugged mountains from far away. It’s quite another to be right in the middle of them—looking down.

Hauling fast on dirtbikes, we climbed past the treeline and continued arcing over an expansive grass-covered dome. The trail was wide, and the only real obstacles were the occasional steel cables crossing at odd angles—leftovers from the mining era.

Chuck Wells, Idaho’s state trails supervisor, aimed his bike over the harsh terrain toward the highest part of the dome, and the rest of us followed. As we approached the top, the mountains beyond slowly rose up—and up and up and up. Finally, we arrived at this spot, where the horizon is blocked by an unbroken rock wall, thousands of feet high.

“They call it the China Wall,’’ Wells says. “You can see why.’’

It’s a geology lesson in 3-D, with the rock buckled and folded by incredible pressures. Looking down, you can see debris that’s built up in the cracks, having fallen from the sheer face. And way below, a shimmering blue lake hides in the bottom of a valley.

Despite gale-force winds that are typical of the harsh and ever-changing weather at 10,000 feet, we can’t force ourselves to leave. We just keep staring at the mountains, and the fast-moving clouds skimming inches over our heads.

What’s amazing is that this otherworldly view, in the heart of the Sawtooth National Recreational Area, can’t be more than 20 or so miles from the paved road.

At the northern tip of the Sawtooth National Forest, the recreation area is surrounded by mountains of four distinct ranges—Sawtooth, Boulder, White Cloud and Smokies—which contain more than 50 peaks over 10,000 feet, along with about 300 alpine lakes.

And it seems like you can see most of it from Railroad Ridge.

The best part for those of us on two wheels, though, is the fact that the area contains more than 250 miles of motorized-recreation trails—at least for now. In spite of the numerous existing dirt roads and trails, major portions of this area are targeted as part of a “Roadless Area Conservation’’ plan being proposed by the Forest Service.

Fortunately, Idaho’s off-road riders are on the case, and at this point, it doesn’t look like that plan’s going anywhere. However, it’s a reminder that there are no guarantees of anything, even in a trail-rider-friendly place like Idaho.

Trail-rider friendly? Oh yeah. Idaho has, in fact, an astounding 9,000 miles of trail accessible to motorized vehicles. Yet somehow, it remains a secret to the rest of the world. Colorado, Washington, Utah and California are all well-known as riding paradises. But Idaho has more of everything, except reputation.

“The biggest problem we face is making people aware of what’s here,’’ says Ernie Lombard, chairman of the board of the Idaho Department of Parks and Recreation.

And what’s here is, in a word, fantastic, as we find out in a ride through the Sawtooth. There’s exceptional scenery, challenges for any level of rider, and plenty of history to uncover.

In fact, the ride down from Railroad Ridge takes us on a jeep trail leading to the old mining camp of Livingston, where we find the remnants of a coal tipple and other buildings, plus an old bulldozer and vintage Sterling truck quietly rusting by the side of the road.

Livingston has clearly been abandoned for decades, but all that is recent history in comparison to the geologic forces that have been acting on this area for eons—and continue to this day. As recently as the ’60s, nearby earthquakes cracked walls and sent boulders tumbling down the steep slopes into town.

Livingston also happens to be the jumping-off point for one of the best trails on the planet—or at least the parts of it we’ve seen. Mark this one on your must-do list: the Livingston Mill-Frog Lake Trail.

It starts in the valley as a narrow ribbon of dirt threading among tall pines, with occasional wooden bridges leading over creeks. It’s tight, but well-groomed, making it easy to fall into the rhythm of lefts and rights.

Soon, you start climbing and get an introduction to the type of riding that Idaho is known for: sidehill traverses. Basically, the whole state seems to be covered by narrow paths barely pitched into the side of a mountain. It can be disconcerting until you learn the trick of weighting the outside footpeg to help drive the bike into the slope. That, and forcing ourselves to look farther ahead on the trail, rather than right in front of our tires, gets us through, right up to the point where we reach the first of a series of ultra-tight switchbacks.

All that’s required here is that you turn your bike 180 degrees in about its own length, all while aiming straight up the hill for that moment.

And as it turns out, the uphill switchbacks are the easy part. They get really tricky heading down, when you end up pointing your bike straight down the hill, with all the weight on the front wheel, while you try to guide it onto the pencil-thin thread of trail leading away.

Right-hand downhill switchbacks are especially tough, since you’d sort of like to take a dab with your right foot, but you also desperately need to use the rear brake as well. You can choose one or the other, but either way, it requires a full-on act of faith to commit the bike to a line you hope ends up with you rolling down the trail, rather than sliding down the slope.

Riding with a group of Idaho veterans, for whom this is second nature, we account for most of the tipovers. But the views of forested hillsides rising to snowcapped mountains easily makes up for such small inconveniences.

By the time we cross a few more ridges, then descend into the wide valley containing Frog Lake, we’re pretty hungry. Luckily, the lake provides the perfect spot for a picnic lunch, with dappled shade, cool temperatures, comfortable surroundings and great views. I could nap here all day, enjoying the buzz that comes from a perfect day on the trail.

Reluctantly, we eventually gather up the Power-Bar wrappers and mount up. Chuck suggests we head back on a alternate loop that he admits might be “little tougher’’ than what we’ve ridden.

Now, normally I’m not the kind of guy who likes turning around and re-riding a section of trail when there’s a whole world of unexplored dirt out there. But anyone who knows Chuck understands that “a little tougher’’ to him means you should bring a block and tackle. And besides, the route we’ve taken in is, without a doubt, the best trail I’ve ever been on.

It’s a no-brainer. Several of us say goodbye to the diehard group, heading back along the Livingston Mill-Frog Lake Trail.

And you know what? It’s just as good the second time.