“I
’m concerned about your safety.” The words from our bartender were leveled with the type of seriousness usually reserved for last call after a long night—you know, after you’ve consumed half the bar, just as you’ve stumbled off your barstool and right before the bartender reaches for the phone to call a cab. Or the cops. Except, in this situation, we had hardly even sipped our first beer. We weren’t disorderly. We were simply talking about a bike ride. Specifically, my friend Brian and I were debating the route of our Bitterroot brewery bike tour, which would consist of four craft breweries in the span of about 22 miles between Hamilton and Stevensville. We could take the bike trail along Highway 93, where we’d be safely off the busy road but riding past clusters of businesses and other development in the burgeoning valley. Our other option was the more scenic East-
side Highway, where we’d pass through the idyllic small town of Corvallis and alongside farms, historic sites and plant nurseries, but also face long stretches of road with little to no shoulder to protect us from fast-moving traffic. Brian and I were leaning toward Eastside. Our bartender was not. “I really am concerned about your safety,” he repeated. “People get clipped all the time on that road. You’ve got nothing to ride on. All it takes is one distracted driver and you’re done. I would take 93. Seriously.” “But … ,” I started to say, not sure how much I wanted to debate the issue. “But we do have helmets,” Brian offered with a smile. The bartender turned his back on us. We knew then we’d be taking Eastside.