A Quest for the Idaho Gem (Video)

Photos and video by Chris Wilson

The Idaho Gem is a 250-mile rowdy, rugged, and always beautiful slug fest of a route that pulls no punches and leaves you sore, salty, and grinning from ear to ear. The name brings to mind a sparkling, hardened jewel set in the jagged granite crown of the mighty Sawtooths of Central Idaho.

• 
• 

The beta is there; it’s concise, and it’s mapped out, but there’s no feature-length YouTube video or Reddit thread or “Rigs of” post. Just enough of a mystery for me to let my mind wander about what kind of terrain really lies ahead. Am I running the right tires? Can I get away with a 40-degree quilt? I’m grateful for a little mystique. I’m grateful for a lot of things on this route: moments of clear air, a good buddy, lots of water, and sublime strands of singletrack in many variations. Find Chris Wilson’s video below, and read on for the quest.

The Weekend Warrior (on normal mode)

The weekend warrior theme is a little deeper than just getting after it Saturday-Sunday. I actually like to think of these routes as a type of “quest,” like playing the role-playing video games that consumed so many hours of my youth. Your party goes on a grand adventure; everyone’s skill set is slightly different. You go to towns, taverns, and inns (greasy dive bars and the occasional Motel 6); you trade at the market (local grocery store), and you have epic boss battles (climbing a big dumb hill). You lose health points from those battles and regain them with potions, hard tack, and salted pork (Gatorade and gas station hot dogs). Your party may have a few classes: a nimble rogue who can clean any climb, an aggro barbarian who straight-lines every rock garden, or a wise wizard you can call on when things don’t go as planned, with field-repair and re-routing expertise.

I think Chris and I probably both fall into the generic adventurer class: okay at most things on the bike, but never put down any real race pace. In my mind, Chris may align partially with a bard who can retell grandiose tales through his superb video editing and shooting skills.

Ketchum

This is a rather fine stepping-off point for an adventure. Great food options, relatively accessible parking, bike shops, and outdoor gear shops are available, so trade your wares and load up (don’t get overencumbered) as you head into the wildlands. The overlanding rigs and Ferraris driving around the golf course will starkly contrast with the remoteness and stout trails ahead.

• 
• 

Day 1…. I ate it.

I saw Chris out of the corner of my eye with his camera out. I was noodling along the trail, not particularly fast but descending, and then I realized: got to try and make it look cool for the video. Boy did I; I took a couple of hard cranks, clipped a rock, wobbled for a few feet, and I was down in some more rocks. Shaken and rattled, full of adrenaline, I knew I would be bruised but was feeling overwhelming dread that it might impact the rest of the trip.

I had a few other crashes over the summer; one had left me limping around for about two weeks. So it had been something that was really weighing on my mind. Rewind even further to leaving Portland: I forgot my change of clothes, my sun hoodie, riding shorts, merino socks. This was easy to fix, since Ketchum is an outdoor sports and gear hub, but I felt like a ding-dong, to say the least.

• 
• 

Riding into the evening, I had a feeling I could be letting myself down after training and focusing on this route since finishing up the Colorado Trail back in August of 2025; maybe worst of all, I felt like I could be letting down Chris too, putting the fear of feeling like a liability all too close to the forefront of my mind.

• 
• 

Of course, Chris never hinted at anything negatively, just happy I was okay, but as someone who identifies as my own biggest critic, it’s hard to shake. The next day, I still had a bike ride to do. I reached the first save point; my HP was down, and I had a good bruise on the front of my thigh and hip, but after a couple of hours of moving in the morning, I knew that I could keep things rolling.

The Quest Must Go On!

After more singletrack and even some fast gravel miles, we reached The Smokey Bar Store and Saloon; it was aptly named because, around this time, the smoke was beginning to make its presence known. We too made our presence known. As Chris and I walked into the establishment, we had a slight record-scratch moment: the patrons of the bar looked toward the salty and slightly haggard-looking cyclist walking in, and one of them looked at Chris’s microphone attached to his large shoulder-mounted camera and said, “What’s that, a squirrel hanging on ya?” The rest of the folks pushed up against the smooth wood bar let out a nice chuckle, and the air became instantly lighter. Funnily enough, on one of our last trips, a hiker’s dog was convinced the microphone on Chris’s camera was either a toy or an actual rodent too. We both ordered burgers, chips, two Cokes, and filled our water bottles.

• 
• 

After our burgers, we hit the gravel and did some climbing to descend to the hot valley below and the Boise River. We both fully submerged ourselves in the river in our clothes to attempt to cool off. It did the trick, and eventually we found ourselves riding along some nice jeep road and fording Bear Creek—one of the deeper creeks I’ve had to walk through with my bike, not fast but definitely up to my knees. We rode until around sunset through a pristine meadow and forest, then called it a night. I lay in my tent listening to the deer snort in the meadow as they came across our little camp for the evening.

South Fork Ross Fork

We woke up and pushed through more rugged terrain, but wildflowers and small streams accompanied us along the trail until we reached our summit, where things got interesting.

I think Chris and I agreed this was one of the best descents of the entire trip, and maybe one of the favorites we’ve had while bikepacking—rowdy and engaging, nothing too spicy, but exactly how route creator Chris Marshall labeled it on Ride with GPS: “Sick DH.” We salivated like Pavlov’s dogs when we saw it coming up on the map. Okay, slight exaggeration, but it was awesome. It was that moment where things started to click for me: this is what we came for, an absolute blast and a romping good time through roots and rocks with good sight lines. I felt like I really started to shake the rattled feeling from my previous crash. A full-suspension bike with a little extra beef on the tires, I think, was a good choice for this route.

• 
• 

We rode the singletrack until we came to a gravel road that led to pavement by Alturas Lake, where folks were swimming and paddleboarding, no better place to rinse the well-earned dust and salt.

Mighty Redfish and its Sentinel

When I woke up, I was really feeling the irritation from the smoke and poor sleep quality. I had some serious funk in my chest and was coughing it up. We camped by the creek, which left our shoes, socks, and tents damp from the morning dew. The climb up to Redfish Lake was pretty manageable; we were pedaling! On singletrack!

In retrospect, camping by Redfish Lake would have been epic, but we camped on the other side to save ourselves the climb before bed. Arriving at the town of Stanley really felt like we had made some considerable progress in our journey, another save point and one of the best breakfast burritos I’ve had in recent memory, so good I got two. We bought out the local outdoor supply store of energy gels and electrolyte powders—their finest health and stamina potions.

• 
• 

The Salmon River paralleled the road ride out of Stanley, and despite the afternoon smoke and heat, trucks lined the river for what seemed like an idyllic fly-fishing destination. The climb out of Casino Creek was maybe the crux of the route. It was hot, and the terrain was steep; it got real. Sometime the next day, we reached Williams Creek Trail, and that trail was an absolute blast—a different vibe than the rawer backcountry-style trails we had experienced so far; it was smooth and wide open, with the occasional side hit to pop off of. This really added variety to the route.

The Gladiator, A Formidable Adversary

Sometime the day before our hike-a-bike up Gladiator Pass, Chris’s rear brake failed, and the lever pulled all the way to his grips, with some brake fluid leaking. It was an uh-oh moment. We decided to get to our planned campsite at the bottom of a gravel descent, where we came across a circle of Earth Roamers; this was a caravan of millions of dollars worth of vehicles—Ford F-550s turned into luxurious off-road RVs towing a trailer with damn near monster truck tires that unfolded into a full bar. They were kind enough to let Chris tinker with some tools on his brakes. The damage was done; air was in the system, and it needed a real bleed.

We came up with the plan to push up the Gladiator Pass and hope that Galena Lodge on the other side could do a bleed on Chris’s brakes, and hopefully that was all that it needed. We woke up and were pushing our bikes up a hill as the sun rose. This side of the trail didn’t get much traffic; it was serene, with wildflower-lined slopes and the kind of hike-a-bike where your handlebars and front wheel are way higher up the trail than you are, and you grab the brakes to ratchet yourself up.

We made it to the summit and began the steep, loose fall-line descent, and somehow Chris rode most of the two-mile, 1,800-foot descent to the purpose-built flow trails surrounding Galena Lodge using just a front brake. From there, I rode some bonus singletrack, and Chris beelined it to the lodge. I showed up at the lodge after my side quest to find Chris’s bike in the bike shop stand and some menus for lunch. Heck yeah.

In a truly serendipitous moment, I noticed a guy who looked a lot like Chris Marshall, who we’d been exchanging emails with before starting the trip. On a hunch, I went up and said hey. Sure enough, it was him, and you don’t often get such a candid, stoked moment. I think both Chris Wilson and I were excited to see him and share how much fun we were having; I think Chris Marshall was equally as happy to see us enjoying it. We got to give Chris a real thank-you for putting together a magnificent route that had been kicking our asses for almost a week.

• 
• 

The next day and a half were no gimmes. From our final campsite at Prairie Lakes (highly recommend), we traversed some seriously steep terrain with considerable exposure that probably accounts for the double black trailforks rating. From the Baker Lake area, we worked our way from Osberg Ridge to Adam’s Rib Trail. It was hot, dry, and dusty, and in that moment, I really think I was ready to put this thing to bed; I got a little complacent on water and ended up with very little left to get back to Ketchum. The descent from Osberg Ridge wasn’t a straight shot downhill; it undulated up and down for quite some time before a final rip to the pavement back to town.

• 
• 

I was feeling accomplished and proud of both of us. I convinced Chris we had to hit the pump track jump line across from the car before we finished. I thanked Chris for doing this ride with me… not like he would say no, but because there aren’t many people I know who would do this type of thing, and even fewer I would gladly bullshit with the whole time.

The adventurers rejoiced in jubilee over the finest feast in the land: big beer chalices and cheeseburgers at Grumpy’s patio.

Further Reading

Make sure to dig into these related articles for more info...