The Crazy Canucks of Lolo Pass

By Tom Neal
Bigfoot Trails Basecamp | Independent Adventure Media

I met Mom and Dad for a long weekend ride to Montana, with plans to come back through Lolo Pass.

The first part of the trip was pretty boring. We cruised up I-5 to Highway 18, then onto the old, boring I-90 across Eastern Washington. Somewhere around Davenport, we caught Highway 25 north toward Kettle Falls, and that's where the ride finally got interesting. Fucking beautiful riding up that way. The Columbia River views were amazing, and it was a hell of a lot better than droning along I-90.

Once we got to Kettle Falls, we picked up 395 back down toward Spokane, got back on I-90, and eventually made our way to St. Regis for the night.

I was having some trouble with my rear tire, so the next morning we headed into Missoula to the Harley shop. We got there about an hour before they opened because we wanted to be the first ones through the door. As soon as they opened, I explained what was going on and told them I needed a new tire ASAP. They hooked me up and had me back out the door in about an hour.

From there we headed down to Lolo, fueled up, and turned west onto Highway 12.

Highway 12 was fucking awesome. I'd put that ride way above the Tail of the Dragon. We were ripping down the highway and it was hot as fuck, well over 100 degrees, so eventually we pulled into some little podunk gas station to get water and Gatorade.

We parked in the shade and were sitting there hydrating when these two guys came hauling ass into the parking lot on motorcycles. I'm not sure which was louder, their bikes or the guys riding them, but they were definitely happy as fuck.

They got off the bikes screaming about how exciting the ride was and ranting and raving about the highway. They were stopping for beer because they were heading down the road another couple of miles and camping along the river for a couple of nights. Apparently the beer was going in the river to cool down.

I swear I thought these fuckers were tweaking on crack or something.

Nope. They were just high on life.

I started bullshitting with them for a while, and at some point one of them yelled out, "HEY! Want some moonshine cherries?"

Shit, man. I LOVE real shine.

The only problem was that we still had another hundred-plus miles to ride before we stopped for the night. I'm not much of a fan of cherries, but I tried one anyway. Holy fuck, that was good. I wasn't sure about the cherry itself, but that little bit of moonshine flavor with it was damn good.

The more I talked to these guys, the more I wanted to say fuck it and stay. I wanted to break off from the ride with Mom and Dad, hang out with these crazy fuckers for a day or two, get wasted, and learn how to be carefree like they were.

I found out they came down from Canada every year. They'd camp along the river, ride the highway, drink some beer, and basically just enjoy life. They were having the kind of fun that doesn't seem to require much planning. They were just out there riding motorcycles, camping, drinking beer, and enjoying the hell out of themselves.

I remember thinking that I envied guys like that. I'm just too serious all the time.

We stood around bullshitting and hydrating for about twenty minutes before Mom and Dad and I finally had to get moving. We said our goodbyes, mounted up, and headed west toward Washington.

The rest of the ride was great, and I'll always remember Lolo Pass and Highway 12 for the ride itself. It's one of those roads that sticks with you.

But what really stuck with me were those two crazy Canadians we met at that little gas station.

Fifteen-plus years later, I don't remember their names. I don't remember exactly what kind of bikes they were riding, and I sure as hell don't have any pictures of them. Back then, I wasn't taking pictures of everything like we do now.

But I remember those two guys.

I remember how fucking happy they were to be riding that road, how they were camping along the river, and how they were handing moonshine cherries to a couple of strangers they'd just met.

And I remember wishing I could stay with them for a couple of days and learn how to relax a little and just enjoy the ride.

That's what I remember about Lolo Pass.

The road was incredible.

The crazy Canucks made it a story.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tom Neal is the founder of Bigfoot Trails Basecamp, an independent adventure media project built around real experiences. He’s spent most of his life around vehicles, motorcycles, racing, travel, and projects that tend to take longer and cost more than originally planned.

After decades of doing all that stuff, he’s learned that the best stories usually aren’t the ones you planned. They’re the people you meet, the places you stumble across, the things that go wrong, and the moments you never expected.

That’s what he wants to capture with BTB.

He doesn’t want to write about adventure from the outside. He wants to go experience it, then tell you what happened.

Bigfoot Trails Basecamp | Independent Adventure Media