Civil engineering

Sula, Montana to Salmon, Idaho. Wednesday, June 5, 2024.

I went to college surrounded by engineers. I was even going to be an electrical engineer myself, until I changed to biology. In the early 70s, engineers were a dime a dozen, so the field did not seem particularly glamorous. It wasn’t until I graduated that I realized just how special they can be. Simply put, they take science and apply it to real life situations.

My roommate was going to be a civil engineer, a field I didn’t understand. What was he going to do, move earth around? I remember a joke going around (please skip the next four paragraphs if you’ve heard this one)

Three engineers were having a discussion: what kind of an engineer was God?

The mechanical engineer marveled at the design of the human body. All those muscles, bones, joints, tendons, and how they all function in a coordinated, elegant manner. Clearly God was a mechanical engineer.

The electrical engineer countered that there is nothing more intricate than the human brain. Even the fanciest super computer can’t hope to approach the bandwidth, the learning, the adaptability. God was obviously an electrical engineer.

The civil engineer said “You’re both nuts. Who else, who else would run a sewer line right down the middle of a major recreational area?”

So maybe civil engineering, like Rodney Dangerfield, didn’t get no respect. Well, I sure respected it today. US 93 was built in 1934. I followed it as it climbed 2,600 feet through a tortured landscape. Around every bend I would see canyons, crags, impossibly steep slopes, snow capped mountains and wonder how are we going to get through that? Yet through a series of switchbacks, trestles, and graded banks the road kept going, smooth, never greater than 6% grade. It was just amazing. Built almost a century ago, it had been repaved and repaired, but the basic design was preserved intact. Wow.

My imperfect body struggled over this perfect highway. I can’t count the number of times I stopped to rest. Luckily, the traffic wasn’t bad, and there was always a decent shoulder. My dropper post made it easier to get going again. Despite two Frappuccinos as rocket fuel, it took me almost 5 hours to climb those 13 miles, topping out at Lost Trail Pass, 7,021 feet, the highest I’ve ridden my bike on this trip. The splendor was all around me, but nothing I could capture in a photograph, my only pic was a selfie at the pass, where I crossed back into Idaho.

After that, it was Easy Street. Still quite a bit of snow at the pass, but in the valley it was over 80°. I even had a tailwind. The narrative of Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce’s heartbreaking odyssey accompanied me by audiobook as I followed the Salmon River to its eponymous town. Stayed in my most rustic Warm Showers accommodation to date, an old trailer that had been rehabbed. But hey, it was comfortable and Brandon let me take a shower in the main house.

Distance 62 miles, 1,404 total. Time 10 hours with stops. Elevation gain 3,271 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria