This is a blog (web log) of my bicycle trip from Seattle toward my home in Minnesota. If you'd like to read about what happened, I recommend you start at the beginning by clicking here. That's a link to the first posting. Or, if you prefer, you can go straight to the first day of riding by clicking here. When you get to the bottom you'll see a link that says "Newer Post." Clicking on that will take you to the next day's posting.
It'll make a lot more sense if you start at the front. Enjoy, and Happy Trails!
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Saturday, August 11, 2007
the prologue and the epilogue....
This is a blog, short for web log. It's a daily account of my bike trip from Sedro-Woolley in Washington towards my home in Minnesota. If this is your first time to visit this website you might want to start at the beginning. With a blog, the beginning is at the very bottom. If you look on the right side of this page you'll see the Blog Archive. There's a small gray triangle to the left of the word July. Clicking on that will open up older postings. Start with the one at the very bottom and work your way up. It will (hopefully) make more sense if you do it that way.
Friday, August 10, 2007
the cycling is complete, too....
8/10/07
I woke up early (AGAIN! sigh... ), but at least I got my shorts on the right way today. The room was dark with the shades pulled down and the curtains drawn, so I peeked outside to see if it was light yet.
It was raining.
This wasn't the light, misty rain of yesterday - this was rain... heavy, round drops that felt like a thick finger tapping on you when they hit you. I didn't know how long it would take me to ride 24 miles today, but I hoped not more than three hours. I figured that the latest I should leave is 7:30. I loaded my bike, then for the next twenty minutes I hung out in the lobby eating the free muffins that the motel offered for breakfast while trying to come up with a way to get to Shelby that didn't involve a large amount of water falling on me, but nothing came to mind.
I didn't bother with my rain suit, though I haven't thrown it away. I'm having a formal burning ceremony when I get back. Instead, I used my windbreaker, which seemed to work better.
It appeared there was no way to avoid getting wet, so I started pedaling.
As I rode, the cold began creeping in just behind the wetness. Something else about being wet is that it doesn't prevent other parts from hurting.... my butt hurt.
Okay, that's it. I'm taking tomorrow off.
Riding through the rain: I was cold, I was wet, my butt was sore, I wasn't able to see much of the scenery.... there's really no other way to describe it.... I was pretty miserable.
And then...
I wasn't.
It's weird. I don't know what changed. Was it the fact that I was in another state riding my bike instead of working? No. I love my job. Was it the beauty of the countryside? No, and is that a hammer I see suspended in the air? Maybe it's just an acceptance of the way things are. I don't know, but peering through my foggy lenses, my socks squishing with each turn of the crank, my windbreaker thoroughly soaked (but working better at repelling water than my rain suit).... Well, had you been able to see me, you would've seen the corners of my mouth turn up.
I was having fun.
Ten miles into the 24-mile ride, it stopped raining.
When I passed the Shelby City Limits sign I had averaged 15.0 mph. I pulled in to a convenience store and bought a few food items to take with me on the train. I didn't want to risk not having any chocolate for a 20-hour train ride. Things could get ugly.
From the convenience store I rode to the train station where I was given (for ten dollars) a bike box. I removed the pedals from my bike, turned the handlebars sideways, and slid my bike into the box. Although it said I wasn't allowed to put any other items into the box, I also slipped my sleeping bag and a few other things into it before sealing it with the tape they gave me. What's one more crime when you're wanted in two countries?
Shortly after arriving at the train station two other bikers pulled up, Brad and Brad, from Madison, Wisconsin. They had taken close to the same route I had, but left much later than me. They took a shortcut, not having traveled into Canada, and averaged more miles per day. Brad (no, not that Brad, the other one) had a racing bike and they took turns pulling a Burley trailer with all of their gear. Neither one of them had panniers. Nice guys, like every other biker I've met.
********************
The end of a bike trip is always anticlimactic. Nothing earth-shattering happens, you just finish. But I did think about the trip during the train ride back to Minnesota.
I thought about the people I'd met, and the kindnesses large and small that I'd been offered every single day of my trip. I thought about how many of the people I met shared their lives with me. Out of respect, I didn't pass on everything they told me... the difficulties in their lives and the fears they were facing, the cancers, the marital problems, the alcoholic relatives, and the financial problems. I appreciated their openness and frankness.
I thought about how, not surprisingly, my faith in humanity was renewed. In spite of what you see on television, I've found that people are basically good. The Gary Altmans, the Rose Baileys, the Jack and Linda Heermans, the Tom and Carolyn Sullivans... they're everywhere. I've found it to be true on every single trip I've taken in the past, and on this one too.
I thought about bicycling, about how when you're on a loaded touring bike you have everything you need in the entire world. Things are simpler, LIFE is simpler, and you can go anywhere your bike can take you.
This trip, like every other trip I've taken, was an adventure for me... getting up every day and not knowing what was going to happen, and not even knowing how or if I'd be able to deal with it, but ready for the challenge and the fun.
I hope it was for you, too.
Miles 23.81
Maximum speed 31.4 mph
Average speed 14.9 mph
Time 1.36:02
Cumulative mileage 923.34
addendum:
If you read my blog, I would consider it a personal favor if you'd sign the guest book at the bottom of the page. Under the green rectangle there are some light blue letters that say "sign my guestbook." (It's kind of hard to see) You don't have to make your email address public; you can keep it private. Nor do you have to leave a comment. Simply signing it would be great. (though if you can't think of anything to write, perhaps you could tell me your favorite story) If you're interested in contacting me, my email address is markwbingham at hotmail dot com.
If you enjoyed reading about this trip, you might also enjoy reading about one of my other trips: www.markonabike08.blogspot.com
I woke up early (AGAIN! sigh... ), but at least I got my shorts on the right way today. The room was dark with the shades pulled down and the curtains drawn, so I peeked outside to see if it was light yet.
It was raining.
This wasn't the light, misty rain of yesterday - this was rain... heavy, round drops that felt like a thick finger tapping on you when they hit you. I didn't know how long it would take me to ride 24 miles today, but I hoped not more than three hours. I figured that the latest I should leave is 7:30. I loaded my bike, then for the next twenty minutes I hung out in the lobby eating the free muffins that the motel offered for breakfast while trying to come up with a way to get to Shelby that didn't involve a large amount of water falling on me, but nothing came to mind.
I didn't bother with my rain suit, though I haven't thrown it away. I'm having a formal burning ceremony when I get back. Instead, I used my windbreaker, which seemed to work better.
It appeared there was no way to avoid getting wet, so I started pedaling.
As I rode, the cold began creeping in just behind the wetness. Something else about being wet is that it doesn't prevent other parts from hurting.... my butt hurt.
Okay, that's it. I'm taking tomorrow off.
Riding through the rain: I was cold, I was wet, my butt was sore, I wasn't able to see much of the scenery.... there's really no other way to describe it.... I was pretty miserable.
And then...
I wasn't.
It's weird. I don't know what changed. Was it the fact that I was in another state riding my bike instead of working? No. I love my job. Was it the beauty of the countryside? No, and is that a hammer I see suspended in the air? Maybe it's just an acceptance of the way things are. I don't know, but peering through my foggy lenses, my socks squishing with each turn of the crank, my windbreaker thoroughly soaked (but working better at repelling water than my rain suit).... Well, had you been able to see me, you would've seen the corners of my mouth turn up.
I was having fun.
Ten miles into the 24-mile ride, it stopped raining.
When I passed the Shelby City Limits sign I had averaged 15.0 mph. I pulled in to a convenience store and bought a few food items to take with me on the train. I didn't want to risk not having any chocolate for a 20-hour train ride. Things could get ugly.
From the convenience store I rode to the train station where I was given (for ten dollars) a bike box. I removed the pedals from my bike, turned the handlebars sideways, and slid my bike into the box. Although it said I wasn't allowed to put any other items into the box, I also slipped my sleeping bag and a few other things into it before sealing it with the tape they gave me. What's one more crime when you're wanted in two countries?
Shortly after arriving at the train station two other bikers pulled up, Brad and Brad, from Madison, Wisconsin. They had taken close to the same route I had, but left much later than me. They took a shortcut, not having traveled into Canada, and averaged more miles per day. Brad (no, not that Brad, the other one) had a racing bike and they took turns pulling a Burley trailer with all of their gear. Neither one of them had panniers. Nice guys, like every other biker I've met.
********************
The end of a bike trip is always anticlimactic. Nothing earth-shattering happens, you just finish. But I did think about the trip during the train ride back to Minnesota.
I thought about the people I'd met, and the kindnesses large and small that I'd been offered every single day of my trip. I thought about how many of the people I met shared their lives with me. Out of respect, I didn't pass on everything they told me... the difficulties in their lives and the fears they were facing, the cancers, the marital problems, the alcoholic relatives, and the financial problems. I appreciated their openness and frankness.
I thought about how, not surprisingly, my faith in humanity was renewed. In spite of what you see on television, I've found that people are basically good. The Gary Altmans, the Rose Baileys, the Jack and Linda Heermans, the Tom and Carolyn Sullivans... they're everywhere. I've found it to be true on every single trip I've taken in the past, and on this one too.
I thought about bicycling, about how when you're on a loaded touring bike you have everything you need in the entire world. Things are simpler, LIFE is simpler, and you can go anywhere your bike can take you.
This trip, like every other trip I've taken, was an adventure for me... getting up every day and not knowing what was going to happen, and not even knowing how or if I'd be able to deal with it, but ready for the challenge and the fun.
I hope it was for you, too.
Miles 23.81
Maximum speed 31.4 mph
Average speed 14.9 mph
Time 1.36:02
Cumulative mileage 923.34
addendum:
If you read my blog, I would consider it a personal favor if you'd sign the guest book at the bottom of the page. Under the green rectangle there are some light blue letters that say "sign my guestbook." (It's kind of hard to see) You don't have to make your email address public; you can keep it private. Nor do you have to leave a comment. Simply signing it would be great. (though if you can't think of anything to write, perhaps you could tell me your favorite story) If you're interested in contacting me, my email address is markwbingham at hotmail dot com.
If you enjoyed reading about this trip, you might also enjoy reading about one of my other trips: www.markonabike08.blogspot.com
Thursday, August 9, 2007
the cycle is complete....
8/09/07
6:15 is really too early to wake up for a person who doesn't like mornings. That's probably why I put my shorts on backwards. Fortunately, I realized it... uh, almost immediately.
I rode downtown to the convenience store where I bought breakfast... a chewy, tasteless pastry. I also bought two packages of beef jerky and a couple of other items to eat along the way, and refilled my plastic jug of Gatorade. I didn't know how far I'd be able to make it today, but I planned to ride my little heart out and either make it all the way to Cut Bank or stop exhausted on the side of the road and pitch a tent.
I showed the cashier my map to make sure I was on Highway 2. I'm only on it for about three miles, then I turn onto 501. He wasn't sure either, and we looked at one of the store maps to figure it out. We determined that the road right in from of the store was Highway 2, so I was set.
When I went outside to stash all the food in my handlebar bag, the cashier came out to talk to me. He let me know that if I go the opposite direction, 501 is only about two blocks. I can catch it there. I thanked him, and took off.
However, when I got to the intersection I didn't see a sign for 501. I stood there a moment, waiting for the inspiration which never came, then decided to turn around. Was I willing to trust a guy who just finished a twelve-hour graveyard shift in a convenience store? Normally, I probably would, but... Not here. Not now. I appreciate his help, but I just can't afford to make a wrong turn. I rode back past the convenience store pretty fast and hoped he didn't glance outside.
I left the store at 7:00. It was 50 degrees, and there was a misty rain falling. I was getting wet, but not particularly cold. As I was riding through the rain, I thought that there was a certain symmetry that I had started my trip in the rain, and now I'm ending it in the rain.... the cycle is complete.
I didn't stop much, but when I did I was struck by the complete silence. Nothing muffles sound like the mist, and there were no sounds to muffle out here in these open spaces.
Today was all about cadence. I focused almost totally on my riding, and especially my cadence. Through my rain-soaked, fogged lenses, I looked at and enjoyed the scenery, but mostly I concentrated on keeping the crank spinning at a high RPM.... I had to put some miles behind me unless I wanted to sleep on the side of the road. I had a slight tailwind, more of a breeze, for which I was grateful. Eventually, the mist became lighter and lighter, then eventually stopped altogether after an hour and a half or so. I kept my jacket on, unzipped and with the sleeves pulled up, because it's so bright and hard to miss even in this overcast weather.
I reached Del Bonita about 9:15. Shortly after I arrived, I saw a glimpse of the sun. I hadn't been drinking much, only about one bottle over the 32 miles. Since I knew there may not be any more water between here and Cut Bank I went inside to refill that one bottle.
The two ladies inside were old hands at this. Since this is the only stop for 72 miles, they've seen just about every biker who comes through. One of the ladies even said that they let people pitch a tent in her backyard, as well as let them use the shower.
We talked about the weather, as I frequently do with people I meet, and I felt like a really stupid American. She was using Celsius and I had no idea about how hot or cold it was. When she told me the temperature last week, I just raised my eyebrows, looked really impressed and said, "Ooooohhhh."
At 9:45, the clouds almost instantly all but disappeared.
Around midmorning, I came to the slow realization that I was probably going to make it all the way today. Of course, I had mixed feelings... I was excited that I was going to make it all the way, yet saddened by the fact that this would be my last day. I've been having a lot of fun.
The Border Patrol officer at the Del Bonito crossing was all business. Unsmiling and monotone, he asked if I had anything to declare. No. Do I have any weapons, etc. No. Do I have any meat products.... I started to say, "You bet. About a third of the way down my colon. I had some great ribs last night," then give him a manly-sounding, "Heh, Heh."
Then, in the back of my mind, I seemed to recall that they do body cavity searches at the border.
"No, Sir, I don't."
Meat products? Wait... I remembered the beef jerky in my handlebar bag. Does that even count? Regardless, it's no problem. As long as I don't have to open my handlebar bag I'm okay... he'll never see it.
"May I see some identification, please."
"Sure. It's right here in my handlebar bag."
It took about fifteen seconds to find my wallet without actually opening the top of the bag and using touch only, but it seemed a lot longer. "Some weather we've been having, eh?"
I gave him my driver's license and he took it inside. When he returned he asked me if I was a pilot. I was impressed, especially since I haven't flown a plane in three years. Again, I considered asking him how much I owed the library for those two late books, but.... no, I don't think his sense of humor is similar to mine.
Besides, I'm already on the lam for sneaking a knife into Canada and not paying for my campsites. I didn't want him to know that The Librarians are after me, too. My life of crime is going to catch up to me someday, now that The Librarians have me on their list.
As I re-entered the United States, I was this time welcomed into Montana. I guess the border patrol told them I was coming.
Or maybe The Librarians.... they're smarter.
The wind picked up and it varied from a crosswind to a partial tailwind.
Now, instead of the silence, I could hear the wind in the wheat. Occasionally, I could hear a grasshopper.
I've heard some people say that parts of Montana have no speed limit. I happen to know that's not true. It's just that the speed limit varies from car to car, depending on the amount of horsepower.
My route took me through the Blackfeet Indian Reservation.
As I told you earlier, you get to know the sounds of your bike. Now I was hearing a new sound. It almost sounded like the ping of a spoke breaking, but when that happens your rim goes out of true and your brakes start rubbing against the brake pads. Besides, this was happening way too frequently... three or four times a minute. I finally figured out what it was.... tiny grasshoppers (there were thousands) were jumping into my spokes and getting batted down.
About eight or nine miles from Cut Bank my left calf started cramping. I never get cramps riding. I tried favoring it and kept gimping toward my destination.
As I pedaled through the outskirts of Cut Bank (pop 3329) I was amazed.... never in one place have I seen such a large collection of mobile homes. There were single wides, double wides, and triple wides. They were placed end-to-end, perpendicular, and in an "L" shape. Lots of dirt yards, not much grass. I saw a lot of oil well-related companies and used cars. Lots of barking dogs chained near front doors. Leaning against a rickety chain link fence there was a dirt bike for sale with the words, "Git-R-Done" painted on it.
I'll bet I have some relatives here.
After five hours and seventeen minutes, 74.3 miles, and an average of 14.1 miles per hour, I entered Cut Bank. I had done it.
I pulled in to the Subway Deli and turned on my phone. I noticed I had a message from Heather and when I listened to it, learned that she had some mildly alarming news. Things were about to get complicated....
In spite of the fact that someone had specifically told her that Cut Bank had a station that would be able to accommodate bikes, she had just learned that they can't. The train has neither a bike rack nor a baggage compartment. Oh well, that's not that big of a deal - I'll just take my bike to the local bike shop. I've done that on several occasions. They'll box it up for ten or twenty bucks, then mail it to my house for another sixty or so. However, as I soon learned, Cut Bank doesn't have a bike shop. In fact, the closest one is more than a hundred miles away.
Okay, now I'm starting to worry a little bit. I can catch the train here, but I'll have to leave my bike. I guess I could paint "Git-R-Done" on it and try selling it, but I'd really like to keep it. Over the last three weeks I've become somewhat attached to it (and I'm not only referring to the saddle, which I plan to have surgically excised from my butt as soon as I get back home).
I rode through the downtown area and stopped at City Hall. I went inside and told the lady at the desk my situation and asked if she had any suggestions. After some consideration she suggested I try UPS. There's one in town, but they don't open until 4:00, another hour and a half. I rode in that direction and stopped at the Super 8 Motel across the street from UPS. They didn't have any single rooms, and the doubles were close to a hundred dollars. Understandable, in a mobile home resort town like this.
Realizing that I'd be camping if I didn't get a motel pretty quick I called another place and reserved a room. It was on the other side of town, a little more than a mile and a half away, and I pedaled there immediately. On the way I stopped at the Visitor's Center and made the same inquiry. The answer was the same... try UPS. My hopes were hanging on a thin UPS thread.
By the time I got my room rented and my bike unloaded, it was time to ride back to the UPS store. After I arrived, and waited a while for my turn, I learned from a helpful employee named Katy that they COULD ship it.
...if only they had some boxes. She'd ordered them three weeks ago and was still waiting. She didn't even have some small ones that she could cut and tape together to make a bigger one.
Think.
"Well, let me ask you this...," I said, my mind stretching for options. "If I call the bike shop in Great Falls and make arrangements with them so that they can ship my bike, you know, give them my credit card number and everything, do you know of anyone who can take it there? I'd be happy to pay them to do it." She considered a minute and said she'd try to think of someone. I gave her my phone number and pedaled back to the motel.
On the way I passed a sign advertising rental cars. AHA! I can rent a car, drive to Great Falls in the morning, drop off my bike, then be back in Cut Bank in time for the 10:45 train.
In my motel room I made calls to the two rental agencies, but it was now after 5:00 and they were closed. I then called the bike shop in Great Falls to find out if I could even make arrangements with them. The guy at Knickerbikers was friendly and helpful, and said that he would be happy to take care of it.
It would cost $20.00 to box and anywhere from $175 to $200 to ship. "Isn't that a little.... steep?" I asked. As I mentioned above, it usually costs about $60.00 - $80.00 to ship. He said that they charge that much because they don't even do it themselves; they hire a middleman. In fact, he was thinking of discontinuing the service because you never could please anyone when you box a bike up.
I told him I'm still looking for someone to deliver it to him and he suggested that I not give him my credit card information until I make some final delivery arrangements. He also told me there's a bike shop in Havre, and gave me the number. It's about the same distance from me.
I called Havre and talked to the owner, Roger, and told him my situation. I asked him if he could tell me about how much it would cost to ship. He laughed caustically and said, "Sure, buddy, I've got a magic scale right here that will tell me how much your bike weighs and how much it'll cost to ship. OF COURSE I can't tell you!"
"I see.... Can you tell how much it'll cost to box it up?"
"Forty bucks. Go ahead and give me your credit card information and I'll mail you the bike later."
I told him that I'm still looking for a way to get it there and I'd give him the information after I found someone.
In a pig's eye, I will.
Time's running out....
I wondered if I could find a bike box somewhere else and still ship it UPS. I had forgotten to get the number of the local UPS office (it's not possible to get it by looking online or calling the national number - you only get voicemail options), so I climbed back on my bike and rode back across town. When I talked to Katy she said that I could do that, and suggested that I try Alberton's grocery store. A small glimmer of hope arose.
I pedaled down the street to Albertson's and went inside. A young, redheaded man named Jonathan was the first person I saw. I asked him if there were any boxes and he told me they had plenty. As we were walking to the back of the store I let him know why I needed them. He stopped in midstride and asked why I don't just ride to Shelby and catch the train there. They can accommodate bikes.
As it turns out Jonathan rides bikes. He's been on the train I'm taking, and they DO have a baggage compartment in which you can ship your bike... you just can't load the bike in Cut Bank because there's no station. However, if I ride to Shelby, 24 miles down the road, I can box and load my bike there.
I immediately pulled out my phone and called Amtrak. I learned that there was a train leaving from Shelby daily at 11:40. I needed to be there by 10:40 in order to box my bike. Sorry, but the Saturday train, the day after tomorrow, is sold out. Yes, we have one seat left on tomorrow's train. I reserved it.
See this guy? I'm glad we met...
I seriously considered trying to find a ride to Shelby that evening... just leaving the motel room in Cut Bank and getting another one near the train station in Shelby. I simply wasn't able to ride an additional 24 miles, not with my calf starting to cramp after riding more than 80 miles today, and I didn't want to risk anything happening in the morning that might prevent me from getting to the station.
But, I'm really too cheap to do something like that.
Besides, I really hate giving up my motel with a view out the window like the one I have:
And really, what could happen?
So, the adventure continues for at least one more day.
I sure wish I had checked the weather....
Miles 82.9
Maximum speed 42.6
Average speed 13.3
Time 6:13:53
Cumulative miles 899.53
6:15 is really too early to wake up for a person who doesn't like mornings. That's probably why I put my shorts on backwards. Fortunately, I realized it... uh, almost immediately.
I rode downtown to the convenience store where I bought breakfast... a chewy, tasteless pastry. I also bought two packages of beef jerky and a couple of other items to eat along the way, and refilled my plastic jug of Gatorade. I didn't know how far I'd be able to make it today, but I planned to ride my little heart out and either make it all the way to Cut Bank or stop exhausted on the side of the road and pitch a tent.
I showed the cashier my map to make sure I was on Highway 2. I'm only on it for about three miles, then I turn onto 501. He wasn't sure either, and we looked at one of the store maps to figure it out. We determined that the road right in from of the store was Highway 2, so I was set.
When I went outside to stash all the food in my handlebar bag, the cashier came out to talk to me. He let me know that if I go the opposite direction, 501 is only about two blocks. I can catch it there. I thanked him, and took off.
However, when I got to the intersection I didn't see a sign for 501. I stood there a moment, waiting for the inspiration which never came, then decided to turn around. Was I willing to trust a guy who just finished a twelve-hour graveyard shift in a convenience store? Normally, I probably would, but... Not here. Not now. I appreciate his help, but I just can't afford to make a wrong turn. I rode back past the convenience store pretty fast and hoped he didn't glance outside.
I left the store at 7:00. It was 50 degrees, and there was a misty rain falling. I was getting wet, but not particularly cold. As I was riding through the rain, I thought that there was a certain symmetry that I had started my trip in the rain, and now I'm ending it in the rain.... the cycle is complete.
I didn't stop much, but when I did I was struck by the complete silence. Nothing muffles sound like the mist, and there were no sounds to muffle out here in these open spaces.
Today was all about cadence. I focused almost totally on my riding, and especially my cadence. Through my rain-soaked, fogged lenses, I looked at and enjoyed the scenery, but mostly I concentrated on keeping the crank spinning at a high RPM.... I had to put some miles behind me unless I wanted to sleep on the side of the road. I had a slight tailwind, more of a breeze, for which I was grateful. Eventually, the mist became lighter and lighter, then eventually stopped altogether after an hour and a half or so. I kept my jacket on, unzipped and with the sleeves pulled up, because it's so bright and hard to miss even in this overcast weather.
I reached Del Bonita about 9:15. Shortly after I arrived, I saw a glimpse of the sun. I hadn't been drinking much, only about one bottle over the 32 miles. Since I knew there may not be any more water between here and Cut Bank I went inside to refill that one bottle.
The two ladies inside were old hands at this. Since this is the only stop for 72 miles, they've seen just about every biker who comes through. One of the ladies even said that they let people pitch a tent in her backyard, as well as let them use the shower.
We talked about the weather, as I frequently do with people I meet, and I felt like a really stupid American. She was using Celsius and I had no idea about how hot or cold it was. When she told me the temperature last week, I just raised my eyebrows, looked really impressed and said, "Ooooohhhh."
At 9:45, the clouds almost instantly all but disappeared.
Around midmorning, I came to the slow realization that I was probably going to make it all the way today. Of course, I had mixed feelings... I was excited that I was going to make it all the way, yet saddened by the fact that this would be my last day. I've been having a lot of fun.
The Border Patrol officer at the Del Bonito crossing was all business. Unsmiling and monotone, he asked if I had anything to declare. No. Do I have any weapons, etc. No. Do I have any meat products.... I started to say, "You bet. About a third of the way down my colon. I had some great ribs last night," then give him a manly-sounding, "Heh, Heh."
Then, in the back of my mind, I seemed to recall that they do body cavity searches at the border.
"No, Sir, I don't."
Meat products? Wait... I remembered the beef jerky in my handlebar bag. Does that even count? Regardless, it's no problem. As long as I don't have to open my handlebar bag I'm okay... he'll never see it.
"May I see some identification, please."
"Sure. It's right here in my handlebar bag."
It took about fifteen seconds to find my wallet without actually opening the top of the bag and using touch only, but it seemed a lot longer. "Some weather we've been having, eh?"
I gave him my driver's license and he took it inside. When he returned he asked me if I was a pilot. I was impressed, especially since I haven't flown a plane in three years. Again, I considered asking him how much I owed the library for those two late books, but.... no, I don't think his sense of humor is similar to mine.
Besides, I'm already on the lam for sneaking a knife into Canada and not paying for my campsites. I didn't want him to know that The Librarians are after me, too. My life of crime is going to catch up to me someday, now that The Librarians have me on their list.
As I re-entered the United States, I was this time welcomed into Montana. I guess the border patrol told them I was coming.
Or maybe The Librarians.... they're smarter.
The wind picked up and it varied from a crosswind to a partial tailwind.
Now, instead of the silence, I could hear the wind in the wheat. Occasionally, I could hear a grasshopper.
I've heard some people say that parts of Montana have no speed limit. I happen to know that's not true. It's just that the speed limit varies from car to car, depending on the amount of horsepower.
My route took me through the Blackfeet Indian Reservation.
As I told you earlier, you get to know the sounds of your bike. Now I was hearing a new sound. It almost sounded like the ping of a spoke breaking, but when that happens your rim goes out of true and your brakes start rubbing against the brake pads. Besides, this was happening way too frequently... three or four times a minute. I finally figured out what it was.... tiny grasshoppers (there were thousands) were jumping into my spokes and getting batted down.
About eight or nine miles from Cut Bank my left calf started cramping. I never get cramps riding. I tried favoring it and kept gimping toward my destination.
As I pedaled through the outskirts of Cut Bank (pop 3329) I was amazed.... never in one place have I seen such a large collection of mobile homes. There were single wides, double wides, and triple wides. They were placed end-to-end, perpendicular, and in an "L" shape. Lots of dirt yards, not much grass. I saw a lot of oil well-related companies and used cars. Lots of barking dogs chained near front doors. Leaning against a rickety chain link fence there was a dirt bike for sale with the words, "Git-R-Done" painted on it.
I'll bet I have some relatives here.
After five hours and seventeen minutes, 74.3 miles, and an average of 14.1 miles per hour, I entered Cut Bank. I had done it.
I pulled in to the Subway Deli and turned on my phone. I noticed I had a message from Heather and when I listened to it, learned that she had some mildly alarming news. Things were about to get complicated....
In spite of the fact that someone had specifically told her that Cut Bank had a station that would be able to accommodate bikes, she had just learned that they can't. The train has neither a bike rack nor a baggage compartment. Oh well, that's not that big of a deal - I'll just take my bike to the local bike shop. I've done that on several occasions. They'll box it up for ten or twenty bucks, then mail it to my house for another sixty or so. However, as I soon learned, Cut Bank doesn't have a bike shop. In fact, the closest one is more than a hundred miles away.
Okay, now I'm starting to worry a little bit. I can catch the train here, but I'll have to leave my bike. I guess I could paint "Git-R-Done" on it and try selling it, but I'd really like to keep it. Over the last three weeks I've become somewhat attached to it (and I'm not only referring to the saddle, which I plan to have surgically excised from my butt as soon as I get back home).
I rode through the downtown area and stopped at City Hall. I went inside and told the lady at the desk my situation and asked if she had any suggestions. After some consideration she suggested I try UPS. There's one in town, but they don't open until 4:00, another hour and a half. I rode in that direction and stopped at the Super 8 Motel across the street from UPS. They didn't have any single rooms, and the doubles were close to a hundred dollars. Understandable, in a mobile home resort town like this.
Realizing that I'd be camping if I didn't get a motel pretty quick I called another place and reserved a room. It was on the other side of town, a little more than a mile and a half away, and I pedaled there immediately. On the way I stopped at the Visitor's Center and made the same inquiry. The answer was the same... try UPS. My hopes were hanging on a thin UPS thread.
By the time I got my room rented and my bike unloaded, it was time to ride back to the UPS store. After I arrived, and waited a while for my turn, I learned from a helpful employee named Katy that they COULD ship it.
...if only they had some boxes. She'd ordered them three weeks ago and was still waiting. She didn't even have some small ones that she could cut and tape together to make a bigger one.
Think.
"Well, let me ask you this...," I said, my mind stretching for options. "If I call the bike shop in Great Falls and make arrangements with them so that they can ship my bike, you know, give them my credit card number and everything, do you know of anyone who can take it there? I'd be happy to pay them to do it." She considered a minute and said she'd try to think of someone. I gave her my phone number and pedaled back to the motel.
On the way I passed a sign advertising rental cars. AHA! I can rent a car, drive to Great Falls in the morning, drop off my bike, then be back in Cut Bank in time for the 10:45 train.
In my motel room I made calls to the two rental agencies, but it was now after 5:00 and they were closed. I then called the bike shop in Great Falls to find out if I could even make arrangements with them. The guy at Knickerbikers was friendly and helpful, and said that he would be happy to take care of it.
It would cost $20.00 to box and anywhere from $175 to $200 to ship. "Isn't that a little.... steep?" I asked. As I mentioned above, it usually costs about $60.00 - $80.00 to ship. He said that they charge that much because they don't even do it themselves; they hire a middleman. In fact, he was thinking of discontinuing the service because you never could please anyone when you box a bike up.
I told him I'm still looking for someone to deliver it to him and he suggested that I not give him my credit card information until I make some final delivery arrangements. He also told me there's a bike shop in Havre, and gave me the number. It's about the same distance from me.
I called Havre and talked to the owner, Roger, and told him my situation. I asked him if he could tell me about how much it would cost to ship. He laughed caustically and said, "Sure, buddy, I've got a magic scale right here that will tell me how much your bike weighs and how much it'll cost to ship. OF COURSE I can't tell you!"
"I see.... Can you tell how much it'll cost to box it up?"
"Forty bucks. Go ahead and give me your credit card information and I'll mail you the bike later."
I told him that I'm still looking for a way to get it there and I'd give him the information after I found someone.
In a pig's eye, I will.
Time's running out....
I wondered if I could find a bike box somewhere else and still ship it UPS. I had forgotten to get the number of the local UPS office (it's not possible to get it by looking online or calling the national number - you only get voicemail options), so I climbed back on my bike and rode back across town. When I talked to Katy she said that I could do that, and suggested that I try Alberton's grocery store. A small glimmer of hope arose.
I pedaled down the street to Albertson's and went inside. A young, redheaded man named Jonathan was the first person I saw. I asked him if there were any boxes and he told me they had plenty. As we were walking to the back of the store I let him know why I needed them. He stopped in midstride and asked why I don't just ride to Shelby and catch the train there. They can accommodate bikes.
As it turns out Jonathan rides bikes. He's been on the train I'm taking, and they DO have a baggage compartment in which you can ship your bike... you just can't load the bike in Cut Bank because there's no station. However, if I ride to Shelby, 24 miles down the road, I can box and load my bike there.
I immediately pulled out my phone and called Amtrak. I learned that there was a train leaving from Shelby daily at 11:40. I needed to be there by 10:40 in order to box my bike. Sorry, but the Saturday train, the day after tomorrow, is sold out. Yes, we have one seat left on tomorrow's train. I reserved it.
See this guy? I'm glad we met...
I seriously considered trying to find a ride to Shelby that evening... just leaving the motel room in Cut Bank and getting another one near the train station in Shelby. I simply wasn't able to ride an additional 24 miles, not with my calf starting to cramp after riding more than 80 miles today, and I didn't want to risk anything happening in the morning that might prevent me from getting to the station.
But, I'm really too cheap to do something like that.
Besides, I really hate giving up my motel with a view out the window like the one I have:
And really, what could happen?
So, the adventure continues for at least one more day.
I sure wish I had checked the weather....
Miles 82.9
Maximum speed 42.6
Average speed 13.3
Time 6:13:53
Cumulative miles 899.53
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
things flatten out and wind down....
8/08/07
I survived the night without being attacked by a bear, and without being arrested for smuggling weapons.
Yesterday when I arrived at the camp, I was unable to pay for my campsite because I don't have any Canadian money. When I left this morning, I became a wanted man in two countries.
It was 55 degrees when I left. I had a couple of downhill miles, then climbed most of the morning. I took my jacket off early, but as I climbed through the mountains of the Blood Indian Reservation the temperature dropped and I eventually put it back on. The weather since Eureka has been pleasant, with a high of around 80F.
The scenery is still gorgeous.
Off to the left I can see Sofa Mountain and the thousands of burned-out trees from the fire in 1998
Pedaling along the road it occured to me: I'm a roadside attraction, like a baboon in the zoo or something. I occasionally see a driver nudge a passenger and point to me.
But instead of "Look honey, it's a two-headed goat," or "Hey kids! You don't want to miss this! Look at the 14-toed gooberonoumous!" it's "Wow... a bicycle tourer. I didn't know they migrated this far north. I wonder if he's lost or something."
I reached a scenic lookout point, then began a long descent. There's only one thing worse than a sidewind when you're going downhill (it's true, a headwind is better than a sidewind if you're going downhill), and that's a gusting sidewind.
I maintained a death grip on the handlebars, and braked more than I wanted to. By the time I reached the bottom I was actually tired and had to rest.
From here on out, most of the terrain will be relatively flat. I'm officially out of the Rockies and, if I were to continue with unlimited vacation time, I wouldn't see any significant mountains until I reached the other side of the continent.
Here's a picture of what I'm pedaling through now.
"Relatively flat" doesn't mean "flat." There are still some long, gradual hills, but nothing with a steep grade. That sidewind became a tailwind once I turned the corner and I was going 20 mph uphill. I don't know what that is in kph, but I think I'm still okay....
Mountain View was the first town I came to that day, and the first opportunity to get some food. After 24 miles I was somewhat hungry, but not starving. There were two items on their menu, something fried and a "pizza pop." I learned that a pizza pop is pizza which is folded over and and sealed, much like a calzone. I ordered the pizza pop and watched her pull one out of the freezer, cut the corner of the plastic it was in, and stick it in the microwave. MMMMmmmmm.... just like home cooking.
When I went to pay for my meal, I opened my wallet and...
my credit card was missing.
Nothing will stop space and time like being in a foreign country on a bicycle with no currency, then realizing you're missing a credit card. I could remember the last time I used it, at Lake McDonald Lodge, and vaguely remembered putting it back into my wallet.
Fortunately, I did have a backup card and pulled it out of its slot, wondering where in the world my other one could've gone. Well, I sure wasn't going back to look for it anywhere.
I finished my lunch and went out to my bike. When I searched through my handlebar bag I found it in the bottom. It must've fallen out of my wallet at some point.
It's only 16 more miles to Cardston, my stop for the night. Cardston is the end of the day for me because my map says there are no services for the next 73 miles after Cardston.
Plus, I stink.
The ride to Cardston was easy and upon my arrival I immediately began looking for Elvis impersonators.
All of the motels were the same price with the same amenities, so I chose by name... The Flamingo Motel.
Once there, I unloaded my gear and rode to the library to upload some pictures and blogs. I was placed on a waiting list and told to come back in fifty minutes.
From there I went to a bank where I exchanged some US dollars for Canadian dollars. I only exchanged $40.00, but you'd think I was a weapons smuggler or something considering how long it took and how much identification they required.
Then, back to the library where, because of their security system, I was unable to upload any pictures. I did post some blogs, though.
After washing some clothes I went out to eat. I always ask people in town where the best place to eat is. Unanimously, I was told the Cobblestone Manor. It has some local historical significance. The waitress (Carly) and I chatted about bicycle touring and she mentioned that her mother might be interested in doing something like what I'm doing. Hi Carly's mom... if you're reading this, I hope you consider it.
One interesting thing I learned about the area is that Cardston County is a dry county. There's some type of treaty with the Indians which doesn't allow alcohol to be sold.
As the days are winding down, it looks like Cut Bank, Montana, will be my final destination. Heather checked to make sure the Amtrak train stops there, so I'm all set. All I have to do is get there....
Later, back in my room, I worried about tomorrow. Other than a small grocery store, there is absolutely nothing between here and Cut Bank.... no campground, no motel.... Just lots and lots of farmland. If I have a headwind like the one I had yesterday, I simply won't be able to make it. I know my limits, and it's not physically possible for me to ride 73 miles into a wind like that.
I think about what I should do and decide that, one last time, I'm going to wake up early and pedal as long as I can and as far as I can. If everything goes well, tomorrow's posting will be the last one you read.
Miles 44.36 (I had only ridden 41 upon my arrival in Cardston; the extra few are tooling around town)
Maximum speed 38.6 mph
Average speed 12.2 mph
Time 3:37:48
Cumulative mileage 816. 63
I survived the night without being attacked by a bear, and without being arrested for smuggling weapons.
Yesterday when I arrived at the camp, I was unable to pay for my campsite because I don't have any Canadian money. When I left this morning, I became a wanted man in two countries.
It was 55 degrees when I left. I had a couple of downhill miles, then climbed most of the morning. I took my jacket off early, but as I climbed through the mountains of the Blood Indian Reservation the temperature dropped and I eventually put it back on. The weather since Eureka has been pleasant, with a high of around 80F.
The scenery is still gorgeous.
Off to the left I can see Sofa Mountain and the thousands of burned-out trees from the fire in 1998
Pedaling along the road it occured to me: I'm a roadside attraction, like a baboon in the zoo or something. I occasionally see a driver nudge a passenger and point to me.
But instead of "Look honey, it's a two-headed goat," or "Hey kids! You don't want to miss this! Look at the 14-toed gooberonoumous!" it's "Wow... a bicycle tourer. I didn't know they migrated this far north. I wonder if he's lost or something."
I reached a scenic lookout point, then began a long descent. There's only one thing worse than a sidewind when you're going downhill (it's true, a headwind is better than a sidewind if you're going downhill), and that's a gusting sidewind.
I maintained a death grip on the handlebars, and braked more than I wanted to. By the time I reached the bottom I was actually tired and had to rest.
From here on out, most of the terrain will be relatively flat. I'm officially out of the Rockies and, if I were to continue with unlimited vacation time, I wouldn't see any significant mountains until I reached the other side of the continent.
Here's a picture of what I'm pedaling through now.
"Relatively flat" doesn't mean "flat." There are still some long, gradual hills, but nothing with a steep grade. That sidewind became a tailwind once I turned the corner and I was going 20 mph uphill. I don't know what that is in kph, but I think I'm still okay....
Mountain View was the first town I came to that day, and the first opportunity to get some food. After 24 miles I was somewhat hungry, but not starving. There were two items on their menu, something fried and a "pizza pop." I learned that a pizza pop is pizza which is folded over and and sealed, much like a calzone. I ordered the pizza pop and watched her pull one out of the freezer, cut the corner of the plastic it was in, and stick it in the microwave. MMMMmmmmm.... just like home cooking.
When I went to pay for my meal, I opened my wallet and...
my credit card was missing.
Nothing will stop space and time like being in a foreign country on a bicycle with no currency, then realizing you're missing a credit card. I could remember the last time I used it, at Lake McDonald Lodge, and vaguely remembered putting it back into my wallet.
Fortunately, I did have a backup card and pulled it out of its slot, wondering where in the world my other one could've gone. Well, I sure wasn't going back to look for it anywhere.
I finished my lunch and went out to my bike. When I searched through my handlebar bag I found it in the bottom. It must've fallen out of my wallet at some point.
It's only 16 more miles to Cardston, my stop for the night. Cardston is the end of the day for me because my map says there are no services for the next 73 miles after Cardston.
Plus, I stink.
The ride to Cardston was easy and upon my arrival I immediately began looking for Elvis impersonators.
All of the motels were the same price with the same amenities, so I chose by name... The Flamingo Motel.
Once there, I unloaded my gear and rode to the library to upload some pictures and blogs. I was placed on a waiting list and told to come back in fifty minutes.
From there I went to a bank where I exchanged some US dollars for Canadian dollars. I only exchanged $40.00, but you'd think I was a weapons smuggler or something considering how long it took and how much identification they required.
Then, back to the library where, because of their security system, I was unable to upload any pictures. I did post some blogs, though.
After washing some clothes I went out to eat. I always ask people in town where the best place to eat is. Unanimously, I was told the Cobblestone Manor. It has some local historical significance. The waitress (Carly) and I chatted about bicycle touring and she mentioned that her mother might be interested in doing something like what I'm doing. Hi Carly's mom... if you're reading this, I hope you consider it.
One interesting thing I learned about the area is that Cardston County is a dry county. There's some type of treaty with the Indians which doesn't allow alcohol to be sold.
As the days are winding down, it looks like Cut Bank, Montana, will be my final destination. Heather checked to make sure the Amtrak train stops there, so I'm all set. All I have to do is get there....
Later, back in my room, I worried about tomorrow. Other than a small grocery store, there is absolutely nothing between here and Cut Bank.... no campground, no motel.... Just lots and lots of farmland. If I have a headwind like the one I had yesterday, I simply won't be able to make it. I know my limits, and it's not physically possible for me to ride 73 miles into a wind like that.
I think about what I should do and decide that, one last time, I'm going to wake up early and pedal as long as I can and as far as I can. If everything goes well, tomorrow's posting will be the last one you read.
Miles 44.36 (I had only ridden 41 upon my arrival in Cardston; the extra few are tooling around town)
Maximum speed 38.6 mph
Average speed 12.2 mph
Time 3:37:48
Cumulative mileage 816. 63
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
going to the sun, and beyond....
8/07/07
I should have known better than to ask a crazy man what time if gets light. It's definitely still dark at 5AM.
I packed as quickly as I could and left at 6:22.
This is Going-to-the-Sun Highway, something I've been looking forward to for years. I don't know if I've really expressed how excited I am about today. Not much else could've gotten me out of bed at 5:00.
The morning was cold. Shortly after starting, my fingers went numb, then my big toes. I thought that after I got warmed up the numbness would go away, and it did, but it took a long time.
A fawn startled me about ten minutes after I started. I was looking left, and it was quietly eating on the side on the road only about four feet away from me when I noticed it.
I was happy to see that the smoke wasn't bad.
After about forty five minutes, I pulled up to some construction. They were doing some rock work. Traffic was stopped in both directions, and they were alternating which direction the traffic could go. While I was waiting for the pilot car to return and lead us to the other side, I began chatting with Belinda, the woman who holds the stop sign.
"It's a bit chilly today," she said.
"It is indeed," I replied as a drop of sweat dripped off my nose.
She goes by "Bo" and, as many people do, she told me a lot about herself. She's just a normal, everyday working American. I won't tell you all the information I learned, but I will share this. She's from Darby, which has a few hundred people, and is convinced it's a hidden treasure. Although it's set in a beautiful part of the country, housing is still affordable. Her three-bedroom, two-bath house rents for $465.00.
Do you remember how I told you every town is "famous" for something? Without me asking, she told me what Darby is famous for: David Letterman got a ticket driving through there.
The construction was great. It meant I had the road completely to myself for twenty five to thirty minutes, then I'd pull over and let ten or twelve cars pass.
I can see where this road gets its name, "going-to-the-sun." Not long after you start the ascent you can see, miles away, a sliver of light as the morning sunlight shines on the top of the pass. You are, literally, if not going to the sun then at least going to the sunlight.
I won't try to describe the beauty of Glacier National Park. I will say that while looking up at the surrounding scenery I regularly noticed that my mouth was open.... not from breathing hard but from awe and wonder.
People in cars were very courteous. No one was rude. One guy going in the opposite direction yelled out, "You're almost there!"
About fifty yards from the top of the pass I stopped to take a picture of the valley spread out before me. As I was taking the picture I heard a clicking sound behind me. When I turned around to see what could be making a sound like that, I saw a Bighorn Sheep standing in the middle of the road. It looked at me, bored, then slowly ambled away and disappeared. I snapped a picture, but it didn't turn out very good.
I'm at the top and ....
I Am An Animal. I climbed from 6:22 AM to 9:46 AM, averaging over 5.4 mph. Now, this is where a real cyclist will snicker or roll his eyes. Two things:
1) I'm not a real cyclist. I don't take myself seriously enough to be a real cyclist - I do this for fun.
2) YOU try lugging all this gear plus 100 ounces of water plus two weeks' worth of powdered donuts up this grade and see how fast you go. 9 mph?
oh. me too.
At Logan Pass I stopped at the Visitor's Center, but they didn't have any food or drinks so there wasn't much of a reason for me to stay there and hang out with a couple of hundred tourists I didn't know.
So, at the continental divide, 6,664 feet/2,025 meters above sea level, with a deep satisfaction of having reached a milestone in my life by finally accomplishing something I've wanted to do for years, I began rolling downhill on the other side of the continent.
I really didn't go very fast down the other side. The road wasn't very good and there was a dangerous crosswind, so I only went as fast as I could safely go.
But then the road became much better....
...and after that the crosswind became a tail wind.
YEEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!
On the way down (read: downhill with the wind) I saw some bikers and some mangled bikes on the side of the road. One of the cyclists appeared to have a bone sticking out of his leg and blood was spraying all over the place.
It even sprayed on me as I zipped by. I'm sure he'll be okay.
I hope I didn't hurt him too much when I ran over his other leg.
You know, come to think of it, that one guy looked a lot like Jesus.
(see Mark's Bicyclingisms Number One)
I took a few pictures on the way down. I've become quite accomplished at reaching one-handed into my handlebar bag, pulling out and turning on my camera, taking a picture, turning it off and replacing it.
These are all pictures taken during the descent.
In St. Mary, I ate at the Park Café. Everything looked good, but I opted for the veggie sandwich in keeping with my new diet. The guacamole and hummus added a nice flavor. I also bought one to go so I could have it for supper tonight.
As I passed Two Dog Flats and Chewing Blackbones I had a 20-mph tailwind, and felt like I was flying through space.
Then the road took a turn to the left, and that tailwind became a 20-mph sidewind. The wind was so strong that my bike was actually leaning to the left as I pedaled. I stopped outside a convenience store at the intersection of 89/17 to take a look at my map as the wind howled and roared in my ears.
What I saw made me want to fall to my knees and pound my fists onto the ground... another turn to the left. I looked a little closer at the map and my heart sank. Most of the way to my campground is uphill.
I went into the convenience store, the only building around, to consider my options. The cashier was pleasant and talkative, and I learned a whole lot about ospreys.
This intersection is only 29 miles from Cardston, which is on my route. I could take a shortcut which would move me farther east while also enabling me to continue blowing down the road with a tailwind. I could be there in an hour.
I listened to some new information about ospreys, then I put on my game face and walked out into the wind.... a headwind.
The next few hours were, without a doubt, the hardest of my entire trip... harder than riding through rain, harder than climbing going-to-the-sun, harder than my bicycle saddle after seven hours.
I climbed with a grueling and fierce determination, the wind blasting in my face. I had to dodge cowpies, a final insult.
If you turn the crank you're going to travel a few feet. If you turn it again you're going to travel a few more feet. Eventually, if the crank keeps turning, you're going to get to your destination. Just keep pushing on the pedals. Time disappeared, and my entire world consisted of making the pedals go round and round.
I finally arrived at the US/Canada border. There was a courteous but professional young woman in a cubicle who asked me what I assumed to be routine questions:
Do you have any alcohol? (Are these Canadians all alcoholics? Why is she begging alcohol off the tourists?)
Do you have any tobacco? (The alcohol isn't enough?)
Do you have any weapons... firearms, pepper spray, knives? (No, I don't. Will I need them in Canada? I didn't realize the Canadians were so dangerous.)
Once I passed the border, I averaged just under 40 mph to the Belly River Campground. In spite of not having a weapon to defend myself against the dangerous alcohol-fueled, tobacco-smoking, weapon-wielding Canadians, I sure like Canada so far. Forty miles per hour.
About ten minutes after I passed the border I remembered that I was carrying a weapon... a small Swiss Army Knife. I wonder what the penalty is for smuggling weapons across the border. Probably somewhat worse than not paying for a campground.
At the campground, I chose a site and lay down on the picnic table. I just didn't have the strength to pitch my tent. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes I just lay there. Finally, slowly, I dragged myself up and began setting up my camp.
There's an expression in Texas about describing someone who looks the way I do: "He looks like he's been rode hard and put away wet."
Belly River Campground has no potable water. Apparently, they've had some contamination problems and took the sinks out of the restrooms. Now, the only place you can even get water is over at the group campsite, and it's still not drinkable. There's a well there but, unfortunately, there were no instructions.
Of course, you're thinking, "Instructions??? For a well?? What kind of idiot is he?" If you haven't figured out what particular brand of idiot I am by now, perhaps you should reread a few of the postings.
Regardless, if you look at this particular well you'll see what appears to be a drinking fountain on the left side. Trying to wash off with water out of a drinking fountain is pretty much impossible. There's also a reservoir, and a gold knob on top of it. After some trial and error, I learned that you pump up the reservoir and the water fountain will give you some drinking water... drinking water that you can't drink, that is. If you want water to come out of the downspout you pull up on the gold knob and the reservoir empties. Ingenious, those Canadians. And cruel. Eight or nine pumps of the handle, run around to the other side, lift the knob, get one and a half seconds of water. Repeat.
On the way back to camp I met Kurt and Phillipa from Calgary. They're taking a week off to do some traveling around the region. They didn't look dangerous.
The wind blew all evening and all night. It was an odd wind. It would blow 30 miles an hour for about ten minutes, then it would completely stop for a few minutes.
On top of the picnic table there was a sign taped which stated, "These items should be stored in your vehicle or the campground storage locker: food, stoves, pet food..." It gave a long list, citing the fact that bears are attracted to strong odors and they will maul whatever it takes to get to the food... tents, whatever. I thought of the olive oil can with the teeth marks in it I had seen at Gary and Rose's place in Ione. I'll make sure I put all of my stuff in the storage locker.
Then, there at the bottom, I noted the last item: "Any item with a strong odor." I thought about that a minute. Really, what item in my general vicinity has the strongest odor? That's easy....
Me.
I briefly wondered if the storage lockers are big enough to sleep in, but at that point I was so tired that I really didn't care if a bear decided to eat me. Besides, I've got my smuggled 2.25-inch/6 centimeter Swiss Army Knife.
No wonder the Canadians are all armed to the teeth. I wonder if they smell like me.
wow. what a day. i'm going to sleep.
Miles 66.34
Maximum speed 43.4
Average speed 9.3
Time 7:07:37
Cumulative 772.26
I should have known better than to ask a crazy man what time if gets light. It's definitely still dark at 5AM.
I packed as quickly as I could and left at 6:22.
This is Going-to-the-Sun Highway, something I've been looking forward to for years. I don't know if I've really expressed how excited I am about today. Not much else could've gotten me out of bed at 5:00.
The morning was cold. Shortly after starting, my fingers went numb, then my big toes. I thought that after I got warmed up the numbness would go away, and it did, but it took a long time.
A fawn startled me about ten minutes after I started. I was looking left, and it was quietly eating on the side on the road only about four feet away from me when I noticed it.
I was happy to see that the smoke wasn't bad.
After about forty five minutes, I pulled up to some construction. They were doing some rock work. Traffic was stopped in both directions, and they were alternating which direction the traffic could go. While I was waiting for the pilot car to return and lead us to the other side, I began chatting with Belinda, the woman who holds the stop sign.
"It's a bit chilly today," she said.
"It is indeed," I replied as a drop of sweat dripped off my nose.
She goes by "Bo" and, as many people do, she told me a lot about herself. She's just a normal, everyday working American. I won't tell you all the information I learned, but I will share this. She's from Darby, which has a few hundred people, and is convinced it's a hidden treasure. Although it's set in a beautiful part of the country, housing is still affordable. Her three-bedroom, two-bath house rents for $465.00.
Do you remember how I told you every town is "famous" for something? Without me asking, she told me what Darby is famous for: David Letterman got a ticket driving through there.
The construction was great. It meant I had the road completely to myself for twenty five to thirty minutes, then I'd pull over and let ten or twelve cars pass.
I can see where this road gets its name, "going-to-the-sun." Not long after you start the ascent you can see, miles away, a sliver of light as the morning sunlight shines on the top of the pass. You are, literally, if not going to the sun then at least going to the sunlight.
I won't try to describe the beauty of Glacier National Park. I will say that while looking up at the surrounding scenery I regularly noticed that my mouth was open.... not from breathing hard but from awe and wonder.
People in cars were very courteous. No one was rude. One guy going in the opposite direction yelled out, "You're almost there!"
About fifty yards from the top of the pass I stopped to take a picture of the valley spread out before me. As I was taking the picture I heard a clicking sound behind me. When I turned around to see what could be making a sound like that, I saw a Bighorn Sheep standing in the middle of the road. It looked at me, bored, then slowly ambled away and disappeared. I snapped a picture, but it didn't turn out very good.
I'm at the top and ....
I Am An Animal. I climbed from 6:22 AM to 9:46 AM, averaging over 5.4 mph. Now, this is where a real cyclist will snicker or roll his eyes. Two things:
1) I'm not a real cyclist. I don't take myself seriously enough to be a real cyclist - I do this for fun.
2) YOU try lugging all this gear plus 100 ounces of water plus two weeks' worth of powdered donuts up this grade and see how fast you go. 9 mph?
oh. me too.
At Logan Pass I stopped at the Visitor's Center, but they didn't have any food or drinks so there wasn't much of a reason for me to stay there and hang out with a couple of hundred tourists I didn't know.
So, at the continental divide, 6,664 feet/2,025 meters above sea level, with a deep satisfaction of having reached a milestone in my life by finally accomplishing something I've wanted to do for years, I began rolling downhill on the other side of the continent.
I really didn't go very fast down the other side. The road wasn't very good and there was a dangerous crosswind, so I only went as fast as I could safely go.
But then the road became much better....
...and after that the crosswind became a tail wind.
YEEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!
On the way down (read: downhill with the wind) I saw some bikers and some mangled bikes on the side of the road. One of the cyclists appeared to have a bone sticking out of his leg and blood was spraying all over the place.
It even sprayed on me as I zipped by. I'm sure he'll be okay.
I hope I didn't hurt him too much when I ran over his other leg.
You know, come to think of it, that one guy looked a lot like Jesus.
(see Mark's Bicyclingisms Number One)
I took a few pictures on the way down. I've become quite accomplished at reaching one-handed into my handlebar bag, pulling out and turning on my camera, taking a picture, turning it off and replacing it.
These are all pictures taken during the descent.
In St. Mary, I ate at the Park Café. Everything looked good, but I opted for the veggie sandwich in keeping with my new diet. The guacamole and hummus added a nice flavor. I also bought one to go so I could have it for supper tonight.
As I passed Two Dog Flats and Chewing Blackbones I had a 20-mph tailwind, and felt like I was flying through space.
Then the road took a turn to the left, and that tailwind became a 20-mph sidewind. The wind was so strong that my bike was actually leaning to the left as I pedaled. I stopped outside a convenience store at the intersection of 89/17 to take a look at my map as the wind howled and roared in my ears.
What I saw made me want to fall to my knees and pound my fists onto the ground... another turn to the left. I looked a little closer at the map and my heart sank. Most of the way to my campground is uphill.
I went into the convenience store, the only building around, to consider my options. The cashier was pleasant and talkative, and I learned a whole lot about ospreys.
This intersection is only 29 miles from Cardston, which is on my route. I could take a shortcut which would move me farther east while also enabling me to continue blowing down the road with a tailwind. I could be there in an hour.
I listened to some new information about ospreys, then I put on my game face and walked out into the wind.... a headwind.
The next few hours were, without a doubt, the hardest of my entire trip... harder than riding through rain, harder than climbing going-to-the-sun, harder than my bicycle saddle after seven hours.
I climbed with a grueling and fierce determination, the wind blasting in my face. I had to dodge cowpies, a final insult.
If you turn the crank you're going to travel a few feet. If you turn it again you're going to travel a few more feet. Eventually, if the crank keeps turning, you're going to get to your destination. Just keep pushing on the pedals. Time disappeared, and my entire world consisted of making the pedals go round and round.
I finally arrived at the US/Canada border. There was a courteous but professional young woman in a cubicle who asked me what I assumed to be routine questions:
Do you have any alcohol? (Are these Canadians all alcoholics? Why is she begging alcohol off the tourists?)
Do you have any tobacco? (The alcohol isn't enough?)
Do you have any weapons... firearms, pepper spray, knives? (No, I don't. Will I need them in Canada? I didn't realize the Canadians were so dangerous.)
Once I passed the border, I averaged just under 40 mph to the Belly River Campground. In spite of not having a weapon to defend myself against the dangerous alcohol-fueled, tobacco-smoking, weapon-wielding Canadians, I sure like Canada so far. Forty miles per hour.
About ten minutes after I passed the border I remembered that I was carrying a weapon... a small Swiss Army Knife. I wonder what the penalty is for smuggling weapons across the border. Probably somewhat worse than not paying for a campground.
At the campground, I chose a site and lay down on the picnic table. I just didn't have the strength to pitch my tent. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes I just lay there. Finally, slowly, I dragged myself up and began setting up my camp.
There's an expression in Texas about describing someone who looks the way I do: "He looks like he's been rode hard and put away wet."
Belly River Campground has no potable water. Apparently, they've had some contamination problems and took the sinks out of the restrooms. Now, the only place you can even get water is over at the group campsite, and it's still not drinkable. There's a well there but, unfortunately, there were no instructions.
Of course, you're thinking, "Instructions??? For a well?? What kind of idiot is he?" If you haven't figured out what particular brand of idiot I am by now, perhaps you should reread a few of the postings.
Regardless, if you look at this particular well you'll see what appears to be a drinking fountain on the left side. Trying to wash off with water out of a drinking fountain is pretty much impossible. There's also a reservoir, and a gold knob on top of it. After some trial and error, I learned that you pump up the reservoir and the water fountain will give you some drinking water... drinking water that you can't drink, that is. If you want water to come out of the downspout you pull up on the gold knob and the reservoir empties. Ingenious, those Canadians. And cruel. Eight or nine pumps of the handle, run around to the other side, lift the knob, get one and a half seconds of water. Repeat.
On the way back to camp I met Kurt and Phillipa from Calgary. They're taking a week off to do some traveling around the region. They didn't look dangerous.
The wind blew all evening and all night. It was an odd wind. It would blow 30 miles an hour for about ten minutes, then it would completely stop for a few minutes.
On top of the picnic table there was a sign taped which stated, "These items should be stored in your vehicle or the campground storage locker: food, stoves, pet food..." It gave a long list, citing the fact that bears are attracted to strong odors and they will maul whatever it takes to get to the food... tents, whatever. I thought of the olive oil can with the teeth marks in it I had seen at Gary and Rose's place in Ione. I'll make sure I put all of my stuff in the storage locker.
Then, there at the bottom, I noted the last item: "Any item with a strong odor." I thought about that a minute. Really, what item in my general vicinity has the strongest odor? That's easy....
Me.
I briefly wondered if the storage lockers are big enough to sleep in, but at that point I was so tired that I really didn't care if a bear decided to eat me. Besides, I've got my smuggled 2.25-inch/6 centimeter Swiss Army Knife.
No wonder the Canadians are all armed to the teeth. I wonder if they smell like me.
wow. what a day. i'm going to sleep.
Miles 66.34
Maximum speed 43.4
Average speed 9.3
Time 7:07:37
Cumulative 772.26
Monday, August 6, 2007
back in the saddle....
8/06/07
I don't get it. I think I'm actually gaining weight on this trip. I've heard muscle weighs more than fat, and I suspect that's probably it.
And yet, when I look in the mirror the only muscles that are larger are my abdominal muscles, and I haven't been doing any situps or crunches. Plus, if they're stronger, why are they so... oh, I don't know... so soft and round looking?
Regardless, I've decided to start eating better. Yesterday at the grocery store I also bought breakfast. In keeping with my new diet I ate a bowl of fruit this morning.... grapes, watermelon, honeydew, and some other not quite identifiable item. Good idea, huh?
That and the powdered donuts I ate should be a lot healthier.
I left Whitefish at 9:00, and I felt good. A day of rest really makes a difference.
I'm really excited about Glacier National Park. I mentioned previously how much I've been looking forward to it... for years. It's still pretty smoky, though it's a little better than yesterday. I'm hoping tomorrow's ascent will be clear. I don't know if it's my excitement or the fact that I'm rested, but I'm riding harder than I usually do in the mornings.
The route today took me over 2.5 miles of gravel road. Unlike the last time I rode over gravel, this was on my map and therefore expected. It's not quite as bad when you're expecting it and know it's a shortcut to avoid traffic.
My first thirty miles today were much easier than the 17-mile ride from Riverside to Tonaskan.
There are some bicycling restrictions in Glacier. No bikes are allowed on the road from 11AM to 4 PM. Period. If you're still on your way up at 11:00, the Park Ranger will pick you up and take you and your bike back down. If you're on your way down the west side (the east side is okay) you'd better pull over and wait until after 4:00 if you want to enjoy your downhill run.
That's why I had to stop in Apgar until 4:00. While I was waiting, I met Steve. He had a nice (read: expensive) touring bike and some good panniers. And yet, I don't know if I can call him a biker.
He was wearing a fedora.
At best, I'm going to have to call him Biker Lite. He's one of those people who are... eccentric. Right. This is coming from a guy who's spent the last two weeks chasing Ronald McDonald, eating powdered donuts, and sleeping in the back of a tavern.
Ten minutes into our conversation Steve's allergies started bothering him. Normally, I wouldn't even mention something so trivial, but this was a real conversation stopper. Almost instantaneously his eyes began watering. He began blinking uncontrollably, and shortly thereafter was barely able to open his eyes.
Steve told me that yesterday he did a "trial run" up the mountain. A trial run?? Who does a trial run, other than Lance Armstrong? Steve didn't make it to the top and was safely deposited at the base of the mountain a few minutes after 11:00 by a nice Park Ranger.
A fedora.
At 4:00 I continued to Lake McDonald Lodge where I drank a pop and killed some time. Avalanche Campground, a staging area for a lot of bicyclists going to the summit, is a few miles up the road. There isn't much there other than a place to pitch a tent so I needed to take food with me.
While I was at the Lodge I met Tom and Jeneane, retired teachers from Grand Island, Nebraska. I like their idea of retirement: they have a tandem recumbent and travel to various scenic bicycling paths. They've even been to Lanesboro and the Root River Trail in Minnesota, my favorite place to ride.
I also met Bob, Linda, and Joe from Tennessee, and the six of us had a nice conversation.
At the General Store I bought supper and breakfast, then pedaled the 5.5 miles to Avalanche Campground, which is at the base of the steepest climb on the trip.
When I arrived and began unloading my bike, the Camp Host came over from his trailer. He was rather old. His eyes were watery and his voice slightly hoarse. I got the impression that the idea of riding a loaded touring bike never really penetrated into his thought processes. When I asked him if there was a place to take a shower, he told me that there was.
“Sure. You can get a shower in West Glacier. It’s just up the road,” he wheezed.
Yes, it is “just up the road.” I had passed it on the way in, and it’s more than 16 miles “just up the road.” I was standing next to my partially-unloaded bike when he answered.
I nodded and smiled. “Ahh, I see.” …and I continued unloading my bike.
Later I just went down to the Avalanche River, pictured below, and washed off.
The scenery at the campsite was beautiful.
There were two other campers there, Irena from San Francisco, and Marvin. I only talked to Irena briefly. She was waiting on some other people, none of whom ever showed up.
Marvin is the other camper in the hiker/biker camping area. In some ways, he's the most interesting person I've met on this trip, and I think he might be crazy.
He’s 52 years old, slender, medium height, and has a long, graying beard. Even in the dying light, he was wearing the kind of sunglasses you get from the optometrist after your eyes have been dilated – the kind that go over other glasses. Ironically, the glasses gave him the odd appearance of being able to see things that I couldn’t, like he could see in the dark or something.
When I asked him what he does he said "odd jobs." Generally, when someone tells me they do odd jobs I immediately assume they don’t have a job, and pick up work here and there... work such as holding a cardboard sign at an intersection. I never did figure out where he gets money to live on.
He said he builds bridges for the forest service, but they don’t pay him for the work.
"Do they pay you under the table?"
"No. I just went to the Forest Service and asked them if I could build a footbridge, and they said yes." He described the previous bridge that had been there, and how the builder didn't know what he was doing. That’s why it fell down after a couple of years. He’s built them before and the oldest has lasted (so far) fifteen years. Marvin was taught to build bridges by an old guy who took his time doing building them. He prefers to work alone because sometimes people “bother him.”
He knows the hiking paths and has wintered in the area. Once, four college kids asked to go camping with him but he refused. Why? ''Because I don't know which one of you is the idiot." Then he said to me, "I've seen bears and haven't had any trouble with them." Marvin said he can actually talk to bears but doesn't tell too many people because, "people might think I'm crazy." Don’t worry Marvin, I don’t really talk to cows, either.
He talked about a previous job for the Forest Service in which he quit because of "a situation" but was rather secretive about what it was, and has walked off a couple of jobs in the middle of the day.
He’s never been to college, and said he don’t need no college to get an education. He mentioned how he'd like to shake some sense into the CEOs of the large companies and tell them how to make a business last, not worrying about the bottom dollar. Let the employees have workout gyms, free food, come in when they want, leave when they want, free daycare....
He didn’t know who Lance was but knew who Arnold was.
Briefly, he talked about mule skinners and their dying profession. Silly me, I thought mule skinners actually skinned mules, but I learned that they clear roads. Somehow. I think with mules.
By now you’re thinking Marvin is a homeless guy who doesn’t have the sophistication to find and keep a job, one of those guys with a borderline personality who remains on the fringe of society. I was wondering how he could afford the five bucks for this campsite. Perhaps he is, but how did he manage to afford his Bibler Bombshelter tent? I looked up the cost and the cheapest one I could find was $800.00. And regardless of his level of sophistication, he really does know about building bridges, and about tents. That’s something you can’t fake. He also has a digital camera, and knows how to use it.
He’s an intriguing fellow, and talking with him made the evening pass quickly.
Marvin told me he has a brother-in-law who's an engineer in the Army. He's going to send him some pictures of the bridge he’s building. "You're going to be famous," I exclaimed.
"Naw. I'm just Marvin," he said shyly.
My last question of the evening, “Is it light at 5:00?”
Miles 49.17
Maximum speed 31.9 mph
Average speed 11.7 mph
Time 4:11:33
Cumulative mileage 705.92
I don't get it. I think I'm actually gaining weight on this trip. I've heard muscle weighs more than fat, and I suspect that's probably it.
And yet, when I look in the mirror the only muscles that are larger are my abdominal muscles, and I haven't been doing any situps or crunches. Plus, if they're stronger, why are they so... oh, I don't know... so soft and round looking?
Regardless, I've decided to start eating better. Yesterday at the grocery store I also bought breakfast. In keeping with my new diet I ate a bowl of fruit this morning.... grapes, watermelon, honeydew, and some other not quite identifiable item. Good idea, huh?
That and the powdered donuts I ate should be a lot healthier.
I left Whitefish at 9:00, and I felt good. A day of rest really makes a difference.
I'm really excited about Glacier National Park. I mentioned previously how much I've been looking forward to it... for years. It's still pretty smoky, though it's a little better than yesterday. I'm hoping tomorrow's ascent will be clear. I don't know if it's my excitement or the fact that I'm rested, but I'm riding harder than I usually do in the mornings.
The route today took me over 2.5 miles of gravel road. Unlike the last time I rode over gravel, this was on my map and therefore expected. It's not quite as bad when you're expecting it and know it's a shortcut to avoid traffic.
My first thirty miles today were much easier than the 17-mile ride from Riverside to Tonaskan.
There are some bicycling restrictions in Glacier. No bikes are allowed on the road from 11AM to 4 PM. Period. If you're still on your way up at 11:00, the Park Ranger will pick you up and take you and your bike back down. If you're on your way down the west side (the east side is okay) you'd better pull over and wait until after 4:00 if you want to enjoy your downhill run.
That's why I had to stop in Apgar until 4:00. While I was waiting, I met Steve. He had a nice (read: expensive) touring bike and some good panniers. And yet, I don't know if I can call him a biker.
He was wearing a fedora.
At best, I'm going to have to call him Biker Lite. He's one of those people who are... eccentric. Right. This is coming from a guy who's spent the last two weeks chasing Ronald McDonald, eating powdered donuts, and sleeping in the back of a tavern.
Ten minutes into our conversation Steve's allergies started bothering him. Normally, I wouldn't even mention something so trivial, but this was a real conversation stopper. Almost instantaneously his eyes began watering. He began blinking uncontrollably, and shortly thereafter was barely able to open his eyes.
Steve told me that yesterday he did a "trial run" up the mountain. A trial run?? Who does a trial run, other than Lance Armstrong? Steve didn't make it to the top and was safely deposited at the base of the mountain a few minutes after 11:00 by a nice Park Ranger.
A fedora.
At 4:00 I continued to Lake McDonald Lodge where I drank a pop and killed some time. Avalanche Campground, a staging area for a lot of bicyclists going to the summit, is a few miles up the road. There isn't much there other than a place to pitch a tent so I needed to take food with me.
While I was at the Lodge I met Tom and Jeneane, retired teachers from Grand Island, Nebraska. I like their idea of retirement: they have a tandem recumbent and travel to various scenic bicycling paths. They've even been to Lanesboro and the Root River Trail in Minnesota, my favorite place to ride.
I also met Bob, Linda, and Joe from Tennessee, and the six of us had a nice conversation.
At the General Store I bought supper and breakfast, then pedaled the 5.5 miles to Avalanche Campground, which is at the base of the steepest climb on the trip.
When I arrived and began unloading my bike, the Camp Host came over from his trailer. He was rather old. His eyes were watery and his voice slightly hoarse. I got the impression that the idea of riding a loaded touring bike never really penetrated into his thought processes. When I asked him if there was a place to take a shower, he told me that there was.
“Sure. You can get a shower in West Glacier. It’s just up the road,” he wheezed.
Yes, it is “just up the road.” I had passed it on the way in, and it’s more than 16 miles “just up the road.” I was standing next to my partially-unloaded bike when he answered.
I nodded and smiled. “Ahh, I see.” …and I continued unloading my bike.
Later I just went down to the Avalanche River, pictured below, and washed off.
The scenery at the campsite was beautiful.
There were two other campers there, Irena from San Francisco, and Marvin. I only talked to Irena briefly. She was waiting on some other people, none of whom ever showed up.
Marvin is the other camper in the hiker/biker camping area. In some ways, he's the most interesting person I've met on this trip, and I think he might be crazy.
He’s 52 years old, slender, medium height, and has a long, graying beard. Even in the dying light, he was wearing the kind of sunglasses you get from the optometrist after your eyes have been dilated – the kind that go over other glasses. Ironically, the glasses gave him the odd appearance of being able to see things that I couldn’t, like he could see in the dark or something.
When I asked him what he does he said "odd jobs." Generally, when someone tells me they do odd jobs I immediately assume they don’t have a job, and pick up work here and there... work such as holding a cardboard sign at an intersection. I never did figure out where he gets money to live on.
He said he builds bridges for the forest service, but they don’t pay him for the work.
"Do they pay you under the table?"
"No. I just went to the Forest Service and asked them if I could build a footbridge, and they said yes." He described the previous bridge that had been there, and how the builder didn't know what he was doing. That’s why it fell down after a couple of years. He’s built them before and the oldest has lasted (so far) fifteen years. Marvin was taught to build bridges by an old guy who took his time doing building them. He prefers to work alone because sometimes people “bother him.”
He knows the hiking paths and has wintered in the area. Once, four college kids asked to go camping with him but he refused. Why? ''Because I don't know which one of you is the idiot." Then he said to me, "I've seen bears and haven't had any trouble with them." Marvin said he can actually talk to bears but doesn't tell too many people because, "people might think I'm crazy." Don’t worry Marvin, I don’t really talk to cows, either.
He talked about a previous job for the Forest Service in which he quit because of "a situation" but was rather secretive about what it was, and has walked off a couple of jobs in the middle of the day.
He’s never been to college, and said he don’t need no college to get an education. He mentioned how he'd like to shake some sense into the CEOs of the large companies and tell them how to make a business last, not worrying about the bottom dollar. Let the employees have workout gyms, free food, come in when they want, leave when they want, free daycare....
He didn’t know who Lance was but knew who Arnold was.
Briefly, he talked about mule skinners and their dying profession. Silly me, I thought mule skinners actually skinned mules, but I learned that they clear roads. Somehow. I think with mules.
By now you’re thinking Marvin is a homeless guy who doesn’t have the sophistication to find and keep a job, one of those guys with a borderline personality who remains on the fringe of society. I was wondering how he could afford the five bucks for this campsite. Perhaps he is, but how did he manage to afford his Bibler Bombshelter tent? I looked up the cost and the cheapest one I could find was $800.00. And regardless of his level of sophistication, he really does know about building bridges, and about tents. That’s something you can’t fake. He also has a digital camera, and knows how to use it.
He’s an intriguing fellow, and talking with him made the evening pass quickly.
Marvin told me he has a brother-in-law who's an engineer in the Army. He's going to send him some pictures of the bridge he’s building. "You're going to be famous," I exclaimed.
"Naw. I'm just Marvin," he said shyly.
My last question of the evening, “Is it light at 5:00?”
Miles 49.17
Maximum speed 31.9 mph
Average speed 11.7 mph
Time 4:11:33
Cumulative mileage 705.92
Sunday, August 5, 2007
my day off, riding, and how to fall....
8/05/07
I woke up briefly at 7:30 then fell back asleep until 9:30. That's about ten and a half hours of sleep.
Today is ALREADY a good day.
If only I could combine the two: sleeping late and bicycling. Maybe a summer trip in Alaska?
My plan today is to rest and write, so I settled in comfortably on the couch and got started.
Not long after that Jim walked through the door. I'm glad I was wearing pants. He instantly realized his mistake and backed out.
You'd be surprised at how frequently that happens. Even with a Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the doorknob, the cleaning staff just assumes that, because there's no car, the occupants must be gone.
I reopened the door and he gave me fresh towels.
Heather called and we talked about how I'm going to be getting back to Minnesota. As I mentioned earlier, I never really thought I'd be able to make it all of the way. I did, however, think I'd make it farther than western Montana. Heather, being the clever and resourceful person that she is, learned about Amtrak. As it turns out, there's a train that follows my route almost exactly. I can catch it after I get back from Canada, around Cut Bank. I'll be able to put my bike in a bike rack for an additional ten dollars and ride all the way to Red Wing or Winona. That will work better than her having to drive two days each way to pick me up and take me back. Perhaps I'll start my next trip where I finish this one.
Around 11:00 I went walking. It's always a weird feeling to take a walk on a bike trip... it's so awkward. Why don't we have wheels instead of legs? It would be so much more efficient than this plodding. You can't even coast on legs! You have to keep walking, even downhill!
My first stop was Cowgirl Heaven, a tiny coffee shop near my motel. I bought some type of muffin, but the main reason I stopped there was for the free wi fi.
After that, I continued my plodding pace to the downtown area, picking up some more sunscreen and ibuprofen, then went back to my room and fell asleep for an hour.
The day just keeps getting better.
In the evening, I selected an Italian restaurant because I noticed they have a seven-layer chocolate cake on their dessert menu. After eating my entrée, lasagna, I ordered a slice of the cake, only to learn they were out. I must've looked crestfallen because the waitress let me know that the grocery store has some really delicious brownies.
I made my way to the grocery store and bought one, as well as breakfast for tomorrow morning, then went back to the motel.
Although I rode my bike when I went out to eat supper, you can be sure of one thing...
...my butt never touched the saddle today.
That was my day. Pretty boring.
Here are a few pictures I've taken in the last couple of weeks.
Be careful... the kids around here aren't too smart.
What the slow children grow up to be.
This American dream house can be yours....
As you already know, the multiple staff writers here at markonabike go that extra mile for you. In a previous posting, you learned how to take a cold shower, and also received an etiquette lesson on what to do when you’re standing in someone else’s shower buck naked and need some assistance. That's why today you're going to get a couple of extras.
First, since I'm not doing any riding today I thought I'd tell you what the actual RIDING is like. As you've seen, a bicycle tour is much more than just pedaling a bike down the road.... it really is an adventure in which you get to meet interesting people and see some beautiful scenery. (and, of course, sweat) The riding is just the means for you to do it. The actual riding? Here are some thoughts about it:
The mechanical action of riding becomes second nature. Like walking, it's just something you no longer think about. It's the same with shifting... it just happens. (unless you're having problems with your shifters)
So, what DO you think about? I think it depends on a person's personality. For me, I can usually solve all of the world's problems in about twenty minutes.
I look at the scenery and enjoy it immensely, but I'm not pedaling down the road thinking, "Wow.... This scenery is beautiful." At least, not the ENTIRE time I'm pedaling.
So, step into the mind of mark. One at a time, please, there's not much room in there. And speak softly.... there's a deafening echo.
Thoughts going through my head as I ride, in no particular order:
• That's pretty
• There's sweat on my upper lip
• Avoid rock on road
• Sure is quiet
• (Sing ditty in head for a few seconds)
• Do I have something between my teeth? Yes, I do. (work on it for a few minutes)
• There's a flower
• It's (green/brown/dry/wet/flat/hilly) here
• My butt hurts. Maybe I should ask about that butt balm after all.
Mind-boggling, the depth, isn't it? But really, what did you expect?
If I'm feeling ambitious, sometimes I'll write stories or letters.
I told you earlier that you're getting a couple of extras. Today, you're also getting a lesson on riding technique.
Sort of.
Today's lesson is on:
How to Fall
If you ride a bicycle, it's probably going to happen. Although I myself have never fallen, including that time in Kansas, I believe I can offer some sound advice.
If you fall, immediately hop back up. Even before you check for blood or protruding bones, look around to see if anyone saw you fall. Similar to the three-second rule with dropped food items, if you get back up fast enough you didn't actually fall.
Some riders, especially those who use clipless pedals, have perfected this technique to the point where it actually appears they bounce off the pavement and back into a normal riding position.
If someone did see you, and you’re able to bounce back quickly enough, say, “Whew, that was a close call. I almost fell.”
Once you’re back in the vertical position and you’re sure no one saw you, THEN it’s okay to check for blood and skin on the pavement.
If you happen to sustain a neck injury during your fall and are unable to move your arms and legs, attempt to look around as best you can. If someone did indeed see you, immediately begin laughing at the top of your lungs. You might even want to toss in a "God, that was fun!!!" After they leave and someone else approaches, begin screaming hysterically and ask "Did anyone get the license number of that truck?!??!?"
If you sustain a minor injury, such as a compound fracture of the arm or leg, seek medical care immediately. As soon as possible after your release from the hospital or clinic, run down to the local convenience store and proudly show off your wound to your friends.
Dumbass.
Having learned how to fall I, and all of the lawyers here at markonabike, recommend that you NOT fall on purpose.
Best of luck.
Miles 1.55
Maximum speed 15.2 mph
Average speed 7.2 mph
Time 00:13:00
Cumulative mileage 656.73
I woke up briefly at 7:30 then fell back asleep until 9:30. That's about ten and a half hours of sleep.
Today is ALREADY a good day.
If only I could combine the two: sleeping late and bicycling. Maybe a summer trip in Alaska?
My plan today is to rest and write, so I settled in comfortably on the couch and got started.
Not long after that Jim walked through the door. I'm glad I was wearing pants. He instantly realized his mistake and backed out.
You'd be surprised at how frequently that happens. Even with a Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the doorknob, the cleaning staff just assumes that, because there's no car, the occupants must be gone.
I reopened the door and he gave me fresh towels.
Heather called and we talked about how I'm going to be getting back to Minnesota. As I mentioned earlier, I never really thought I'd be able to make it all of the way. I did, however, think I'd make it farther than western Montana. Heather, being the clever and resourceful person that she is, learned about Amtrak. As it turns out, there's a train that follows my route almost exactly. I can catch it after I get back from Canada, around Cut Bank. I'll be able to put my bike in a bike rack for an additional ten dollars and ride all the way to Red Wing or Winona. That will work better than her having to drive two days each way to pick me up and take me back. Perhaps I'll start my next trip where I finish this one.
Around 11:00 I went walking. It's always a weird feeling to take a walk on a bike trip... it's so awkward. Why don't we have wheels instead of legs? It would be so much more efficient than this plodding. You can't even coast on legs! You have to keep walking, even downhill!
My first stop was Cowgirl Heaven, a tiny coffee shop near my motel. I bought some type of muffin, but the main reason I stopped there was for the free wi fi.
After that, I continued my plodding pace to the downtown area, picking up some more sunscreen and ibuprofen, then went back to my room and fell asleep for an hour.
The day just keeps getting better.
In the evening, I selected an Italian restaurant because I noticed they have a seven-layer chocolate cake on their dessert menu. After eating my entrée, lasagna, I ordered a slice of the cake, only to learn they were out. I must've looked crestfallen because the waitress let me know that the grocery store has some really delicious brownies.
I made my way to the grocery store and bought one, as well as breakfast for tomorrow morning, then went back to the motel.
Although I rode my bike when I went out to eat supper, you can be sure of one thing...
...my butt never touched the saddle today.
That was my day. Pretty boring.
Here are a few pictures I've taken in the last couple of weeks.
Be careful... the kids around here aren't too smart.
What the slow children grow up to be.
This American dream house can be yours....
As you already know, the multiple staff writers here at markonabike go that extra mile for you. In a previous posting, you learned how to take a cold shower, and also received an etiquette lesson on what to do when you’re standing in someone else’s shower buck naked and need some assistance. That's why today you're going to get a couple of extras.
First, since I'm not doing any riding today I thought I'd tell you what the actual RIDING is like. As you've seen, a bicycle tour is much more than just pedaling a bike down the road.... it really is an adventure in which you get to meet interesting people and see some beautiful scenery. (and, of course, sweat) The riding is just the means for you to do it. The actual riding? Here are some thoughts about it:
The mechanical action of riding becomes second nature. Like walking, it's just something you no longer think about. It's the same with shifting... it just happens. (unless you're having problems with your shifters)
So, what DO you think about? I think it depends on a person's personality. For me, I can usually solve all of the world's problems in about twenty minutes.
I look at the scenery and enjoy it immensely, but I'm not pedaling down the road thinking, "Wow.... This scenery is beautiful." At least, not the ENTIRE time I'm pedaling.
So, step into the mind of mark. One at a time, please, there's not much room in there. And speak softly.... there's a deafening echo.
Thoughts going through my head as I ride, in no particular order:
• That's pretty
• There's sweat on my upper lip
• Avoid rock on road
• Sure is quiet
• (Sing ditty in head for a few seconds)
• Do I have something between my teeth? Yes, I do. (work on it for a few minutes)
• There's a flower
• It's (green/brown/dry/wet/flat/hilly) here
• My butt hurts. Maybe I should ask about that butt balm after all.
Mind-boggling, the depth, isn't it? But really, what did you expect?
If I'm feeling ambitious, sometimes I'll write stories or letters.
I told you earlier that you're getting a couple of extras. Today, you're also getting a lesson on riding technique.
Sort of.
Today's lesson is on:
How to Fall
If you ride a bicycle, it's probably going to happen. Although I myself have never fallen, including that time in Kansas, I believe I can offer some sound advice.
If you fall, immediately hop back up. Even before you check for blood or protruding bones, look around to see if anyone saw you fall. Similar to the three-second rule with dropped food items, if you get back up fast enough you didn't actually fall.
Some riders, especially those who use clipless pedals, have perfected this technique to the point where it actually appears they bounce off the pavement and back into a normal riding position.
If someone did see you, and you’re able to bounce back quickly enough, say, “Whew, that was a close call. I almost fell.”
Once you’re back in the vertical position and you’re sure no one saw you, THEN it’s okay to check for blood and skin on the pavement.
If you happen to sustain a neck injury during your fall and are unable to move your arms and legs, attempt to look around as best you can. If someone did indeed see you, immediately begin laughing at the top of your lungs. You might even want to toss in a "God, that was fun!!!" After they leave and someone else approaches, begin screaming hysterically and ask "Did anyone get the license number of that truck?!??!?"
If you sustain a minor injury, such as a compound fracture of the arm or leg, seek medical care immediately. As soon as possible after your release from the hospital or clinic, run down to the local convenience store and proudly show off your wound to your friends.
Dumbass.
Having learned how to fall I, and all of the lawyers here at markonabike, recommend that you NOT fall on purpose.
Best of luck.
Miles 1.55
Maximum speed 15.2 mph
Average speed 7.2 mph
Time 00:13:00
Cumulative mileage 656.73
Saturday, August 4, 2007
roadside attractions, the last room in whitefish, and the plumber....
8/04/07
I woke up confused about the time. The dispatcher's laugh and warning about the sprinklers had been neurally stamped into my brain, and in the back of my mind I was afraid I'd oversleep.
It was 51 degrees outside; inside my sleeping bag it was warm and cozy.
Time to go. I was packed and rolling by 7:59, just in case the sprinkler’s automatic timers were off by an hour. You know, accidentally.
Throughout the day, most of the cars had their headlights turned on because of the smoke. Montana was burning and the sun was orange.
As I pedaled toward Whitefish, I could see exactly where the smoke was. It lay across my path like a river of white. The white layer you see in the picture below isn’t fog, it’s smoke.
Lunch was a burger and a Pepsi at a bar on the Lower Stillwater Lake. I paid for it with a credit card, left the tip on the table, then went outside to get away from the cigarette smoke. I was sitting at a picnic table when the waitress/cook/bartender came outside to speak to me. She's one of those people you think of when someone says, "It's not the number of years, it's the number of miles." She looked tired.
"Excuse me, but I just wanted to thank you for leaving the tip on the table. Most people don't realize that we get taxed on the tips we get from a credit card. That's why I always leave cash when I tip."
I wasn't sure what to say, so I just said, "You're welcome." That was nice of her.
I'm going the same speed downhill today as I was uphill yesterday. That's the difference a headwind can make.
The smoke got closer and closer, until I finally entered it. There was a distinct difference after that. I couldn't see any mountains, and only the closest hills were visible. My main concern was Glacier National Park, and whether I'd be able to see anything. As you can see in the picture of the nearby hill below, there's not much to look at when you're inside the smoke.
To me, it's interesting to see the variety of lost and discarded items on the side of the road. Before I enter a town I can get a general idea of the socioeconomic level simply by the things I see along the road.... beer cans (and what kind of beer) versus Starbucks cans, a Playboy bunny baseball cap versus a Greenpeace cap. I see T-shirts, furniture, diapers, bandanas, bananas, shoes, you name it. Seeing nothing on the roadside is also an indicator. Sometimes I note that the clothing is actually better the stuff in my panniers. On occasion, I've been known to pick something up and give it as a "gift."
The most memorable gift was years ago when I visited Lee, my college roommate. He was out of town, but let me use his house overnight while I was training.
When he returned the following day it didn't take him long to find the cap with the words, ''Old Fishermen Never Die..." on the hat rack, nor to find the T-shirt I left hanging in his closet.
The last item he didn't find until bedtime. He told me later that he and his girlfriend were having one of those where-is-this-relationship-going discussions. Nothing was resolved, and it was time to go to bed. Only after they pulled the covers back did they find the book of gay porn stories. Lee just looked at his girlfriend and shrugged.
Once in Whitefish I went straight to the bike shop. It was late Saturday, and many bike shops are closed on Sundays and Mondays. In addition to adjusting my shifters, I needed new handlebar tape.
Mike, whom I shall hereafter refer to as Mike The God Of All Bicycle Mechanics, went to work immediately on my bike.
He also gave me a phone book and marked all of the motels in Whitefish. I didn't get my motel last night but was determined to get one tonight.
First on my list, The Chalet... booked. A fine film of perspiration formed on my forehead. I called the Cheap Sleep Inn... also booked up. I called the Holiday Inn... no vacancies….
One hotel left....
I called the Downtowner and talked to Sarah, who very politely informed me, "I'm sorry, but we don't have any vacancies tonight."
"What's going on?" I asked. "Is there an Elvis convention?"
She giggled. "No, just summer in Whitefish."
Sigh....
"Any luck?" Mike The God Of All Bicycle Mechanics asked. I let him know. "You know, there's one more that's not in the phone book. It's kind of.... well, I think they rent rooms by the week." "You mean by the hour," one of the other mechanics clarified. A third: "It's not so bad. I stayed there for a couple of weeks waiting for my new place to open up. A little dark, is all."
I listed all of my minimum requirements: "Does it have a bed? Does it have a shower?" (yes and yes) and "Will my stuff get ripped off?" (probably not)
He found the number and I called. Do you have a room? One. Can you hold it? No.
Mike The God Of All Bicycle Mechanics took my bike off the stand and I left all of my gear on the floor by the work area (I had to take the gear off so the bike stand could hold my bike). After getting some quick directions, I sprinted as fast as I could pedal toward the last remaining room in Whitefish.
Unfortunately, in my haste, I pedaled past it and didn't see it. I called Mike The God Of All Bicycle Mechanics and asked him again.... turn around, it's by the car wash.
I found it, finally, and went in. Somewhat to my surprise, there was no one at the desk. I rang the bell and waited.
No response.... I waited some more. Every five minutes or so, I rang the bell and called out. Twenty minutes later I was still waiting. There is nothing in the world that could've removed me from that tiny room.... a call from the President, or even Ed McMahon, a nuclear holocaust.... If all it would have taken to find Jimmy Hoffa's body is to take one single step outside that room, well, I guess I'd never know because the city could've burned down around me while I watched through the window. I'm not leaving.
Finally, three people walked in at once. Two of them had just pulled up on a Harley. The third person walked behind the counter.
Apparently, the guy behind the counter thought we were all together.
"Need a room?" he asked.
"We sure do," the six-and-a-half foot man said.
"Well, I can take your name, but I'm only the plumber."
"Yeah," he said with a knowing, friendly laugh, "that's what you said last year."
OH, NO! NO! They were probably on a first name basis.
He will NOT get the last room in Whitefish. He may be riding a Harley, but I smell worse than him.
So I said, timidly but with a distinct odor about me, "I'm the guy who called about the room." That was a brilliant maneuver on my part and should clear things up nicely.
They all looked at me like I had just grown leprous sores all over my body and was asking for a big hug.
"I didn't get a call like that…."
Now I KNEW they were chums. Probably old biking buddies.
"…but I'm just the plumber."
Harley turned out to be a nice guy. He summed up the situation and said, "Thank you for your time," then left.
The plumber pulled out a registration card for me to fill out and gave me a key. When I tried to pay, he smiled, showing a total of 3.5 teeth, and said, "Oh, I can't take your money.... I'm just the plumber."
It was at that point that I finally realized he really WASN'T the manager. He was, indeed, "just the plumber." It didn’t matter to me, because…
The last room in Whitefish was mine.
I went to my room, which was actually a lot nicer than I had expected and not even particularly dark. I turned on the AC and rode back to the bike shop. Mike The God Of All Bicycle Mechanics was probably wondering where I was so I couldn't linger.
He finished working on my bike, and when he was done I had gears that shifted smoothly and new gel-padded handlebars.
When you're on a bike trip, you're going to have minor aches and pains... small cuts here and there (especially shins), minor joint pain, things like that. I haven't been telling you about them for two main reasons:
1) they're going to happen (my hands are sore, my right index finger is still going numb after fifteen minutes or so of climbing, my thighs are sore...)
2) telling you about the minor aches is one step removed from talking about my bowel movements.
But I am going to tell you this: my butt is sore. I'm telling you because I'm absolutely positive you want to know about the status of the area around my rectum. Also, I'm telling you because if you take a bike trip you should know that you're going to get sore, too.
A guy I met along the way told me about "butt balm." This is not to be confused with "butt bomb," the inevitable malodorous and toxic results of eating power bars. I wondered if this saddle sore salve might be just the thing I needed. Two straight weeks of riding is hard on everything.
The thing is, how do you ask the guy at the bike shop for it? What if the guy who told me about it was setting me up?
"Excuse me.... Do you have any butt balm? No? Never heard of it? oh. How about feminine hygiene products?"
I decided I wasn't quite THAT sore yet.
Mary and Larry had told me about an excellent place to eat in town, Tupelo's, and I enjoyed my meal there very much. (a variation of "It was good.") I had the special, the salmon, and ate everything on my plate. When shown the dessert menu, I was really too full to eat anything else.
So I got the key lime mousse pie to go.
I stopped by the office to pay for my two nights and met Jim, the manager, and learned that the plumber has a name, too: Glenn.
Back in my room, I tried writing a while but was so sleepy that the stuff I wrote didn't make much sense (assuming anything I write does) and fell into the kind of deep, satisfying sleep you can only get when you just got the last room in town.
Miles 56.05
Maximum speed 30.6 mph
Average speed 10.7 mph
Time 5:15:45
Cumulative mileage 655.1
I woke up confused about the time. The dispatcher's laugh and warning about the sprinklers had been neurally stamped into my brain, and in the back of my mind I was afraid I'd oversleep.
It was 51 degrees outside; inside my sleeping bag it was warm and cozy.
Time to go. I was packed and rolling by 7:59, just in case the sprinkler’s automatic timers were off by an hour. You know, accidentally.
Throughout the day, most of the cars had their headlights turned on because of the smoke. Montana was burning and the sun was orange.
As I pedaled toward Whitefish, I could see exactly where the smoke was. It lay across my path like a river of white. The white layer you see in the picture below isn’t fog, it’s smoke.
Lunch was a burger and a Pepsi at a bar on the Lower Stillwater Lake. I paid for it with a credit card, left the tip on the table, then went outside to get away from the cigarette smoke. I was sitting at a picnic table when the waitress/cook/bartender came outside to speak to me. She's one of those people you think of when someone says, "It's not the number of years, it's the number of miles." She looked tired.
"Excuse me, but I just wanted to thank you for leaving the tip on the table. Most people don't realize that we get taxed on the tips we get from a credit card. That's why I always leave cash when I tip."
I wasn't sure what to say, so I just said, "You're welcome." That was nice of her.
I'm going the same speed downhill today as I was uphill yesterday. That's the difference a headwind can make.
The smoke got closer and closer, until I finally entered it. There was a distinct difference after that. I couldn't see any mountains, and only the closest hills were visible. My main concern was Glacier National Park, and whether I'd be able to see anything. As you can see in the picture of the nearby hill below, there's not much to look at when you're inside the smoke.
To me, it's interesting to see the variety of lost and discarded items on the side of the road. Before I enter a town I can get a general idea of the socioeconomic level simply by the things I see along the road.... beer cans (and what kind of beer) versus Starbucks cans, a Playboy bunny baseball cap versus a Greenpeace cap. I see T-shirts, furniture, diapers, bandanas, bananas, shoes, you name it. Seeing nothing on the roadside is also an indicator. Sometimes I note that the clothing is actually better the stuff in my panniers. On occasion, I've been known to pick something up and give it as a "gift."
The most memorable gift was years ago when I visited Lee, my college roommate. He was out of town, but let me use his house overnight while I was training.
When he returned the following day it didn't take him long to find the cap with the words, ''Old Fishermen Never Die..." on the hat rack, nor to find the T-shirt I left hanging in his closet.
The last item he didn't find until bedtime. He told me later that he and his girlfriend were having one of those where-is-this-relationship-going discussions. Nothing was resolved, and it was time to go to bed. Only after they pulled the covers back did they find the book of gay porn stories. Lee just looked at his girlfriend and shrugged.
Once in Whitefish I went straight to the bike shop. It was late Saturday, and many bike shops are closed on Sundays and Mondays. In addition to adjusting my shifters, I needed new handlebar tape.
Mike, whom I shall hereafter refer to as Mike The God Of All Bicycle Mechanics, went to work immediately on my bike.
He also gave me a phone book and marked all of the motels in Whitefish. I didn't get my motel last night but was determined to get one tonight.
First on my list, The Chalet... booked. A fine film of perspiration formed on my forehead. I called the Cheap Sleep Inn... also booked up. I called the Holiday Inn... no vacancies….
One hotel left....
I called the Downtowner and talked to Sarah, who very politely informed me, "I'm sorry, but we don't have any vacancies tonight."
"What's going on?" I asked. "Is there an Elvis convention?"
She giggled. "No, just summer in Whitefish."
Sigh....
"Any luck?" Mike The God Of All Bicycle Mechanics asked. I let him know. "You know, there's one more that's not in the phone book. It's kind of.... well, I think they rent rooms by the week." "You mean by the hour," one of the other mechanics clarified. A third: "It's not so bad. I stayed there for a couple of weeks waiting for my new place to open up. A little dark, is all."
I listed all of my minimum requirements: "Does it have a bed? Does it have a shower?" (yes and yes) and "Will my stuff get ripped off?" (probably not)
He found the number and I called. Do you have a room? One. Can you hold it? No.
Mike The God Of All Bicycle Mechanics took my bike off the stand and I left all of my gear on the floor by the work area (I had to take the gear off so the bike stand could hold my bike). After getting some quick directions, I sprinted as fast as I could pedal toward the last remaining room in Whitefish.
Unfortunately, in my haste, I pedaled past it and didn't see it. I called Mike The God Of All Bicycle Mechanics and asked him again.... turn around, it's by the car wash.
I found it, finally, and went in. Somewhat to my surprise, there was no one at the desk. I rang the bell and waited.
No response.... I waited some more. Every five minutes or so, I rang the bell and called out. Twenty minutes later I was still waiting. There is nothing in the world that could've removed me from that tiny room.... a call from the President, or even Ed McMahon, a nuclear holocaust.... If all it would have taken to find Jimmy Hoffa's body is to take one single step outside that room, well, I guess I'd never know because the city could've burned down around me while I watched through the window. I'm not leaving.
Finally, three people walked in at once. Two of them had just pulled up on a Harley. The third person walked behind the counter.
Apparently, the guy behind the counter thought we were all together.
"Need a room?" he asked.
"We sure do," the six-and-a-half foot man said.
"Well, I can take your name, but I'm only the plumber."
"Yeah," he said with a knowing, friendly laugh, "that's what you said last year."
OH, NO! NO! They were probably on a first name basis.
He will NOT get the last room in Whitefish. He may be riding a Harley, but I smell worse than him.
So I said, timidly but with a distinct odor about me, "I'm the guy who called about the room." That was a brilliant maneuver on my part and should clear things up nicely.
They all looked at me like I had just grown leprous sores all over my body and was asking for a big hug.
"I didn't get a call like that…."
Now I KNEW they were chums. Probably old biking buddies.
"…but I'm just the plumber."
Harley turned out to be a nice guy. He summed up the situation and said, "Thank you for your time," then left.
The plumber pulled out a registration card for me to fill out and gave me a key. When I tried to pay, he smiled, showing a total of 3.5 teeth, and said, "Oh, I can't take your money.... I'm just the plumber."
It was at that point that I finally realized he really WASN'T the manager. He was, indeed, "just the plumber." It didn’t matter to me, because…
The last room in Whitefish was mine.
I went to my room, which was actually a lot nicer than I had expected and not even particularly dark. I turned on the AC and rode back to the bike shop. Mike The God Of All Bicycle Mechanics was probably wondering where I was so I couldn't linger.
He finished working on my bike, and when he was done I had gears that shifted smoothly and new gel-padded handlebars.
When you're on a bike trip, you're going to have minor aches and pains... small cuts here and there (especially shins), minor joint pain, things like that. I haven't been telling you about them for two main reasons:
1) they're going to happen (my hands are sore, my right index finger is still going numb after fifteen minutes or so of climbing, my thighs are sore...)
2) telling you about the minor aches is one step removed from talking about my bowel movements.
But I am going to tell you this: my butt is sore. I'm telling you because I'm absolutely positive you want to know about the status of the area around my rectum. Also, I'm telling you because if you take a bike trip you should know that you're going to get sore, too.
A guy I met along the way told me about "butt balm." This is not to be confused with "butt bomb," the inevitable malodorous and toxic results of eating power bars. I wondered if this saddle sore salve might be just the thing I needed. Two straight weeks of riding is hard on everything.
The thing is, how do you ask the guy at the bike shop for it? What if the guy who told me about it was setting me up?
"Excuse me.... Do you have any butt balm? No? Never heard of it? oh. How about feminine hygiene products?"
I decided I wasn't quite THAT sore yet.
Mary and Larry had told me about an excellent place to eat in town, Tupelo's, and I enjoyed my meal there very much. (a variation of "It was good.") I had the special, the salmon, and ate everything on my plate. When shown the dessert menu, I was really too full to eat anything else.
So I got the key lime mousse pie to go.
I stopped by the office to pay for my two nights and met Jim, the manager, and learned that the plumber has a name, too: Glenn.
Back in my room, I tried writing a while but was so sleepy that the stuff I wrote didn't make much sense (assuming anything I write does) and fell into the kind of deep, satisfying sleep you can only get when you just got the last room in town.
Miles 56.05
Maximum speed 30.6 mph
Average speed 10.7 mph
Time 5:15:45
Cumulative mileage 655.1
Friday, August 3, 2007
tobacco flats, eureka, quilts....
8/03/07 Friday
The campground was surprisingly quiet when I got up. When I packed up and left at 9:30 it became official: I'm now a criminal on the lam after not paying my campground fee.
This morning I met Larry and Mary, who are traveling from Boston to the Pacific Coast. They recently came from Glacier National Park and said it was the "high point of the trip." Almost everyone says so, which is the reason I've been looking forward to going there for years. Going-To-The-Sun highway? How evocative is THAT?
Talking to them I realized there are advantages and disadvantages of going either direction... west to east or east to west. For me, one of the reasons to go from west to east is that I like to sleep late. Traveling west, I would be pedaling into the sun most of the day. On the other hand, one of the reasons that some people like to go east to west (not including those early risers who have ridden 60 miles by noon every day and are done) is that, after seeing Glacier National Park, pedaling through eastern Montana and North Dakota is like having a hammer dropped on your toe.
From sixty feet.
Mind you, I personally have never been to the Dakotas... this is just hearsay. I have friends from the Dakotas who tell me it's not so bad, but they tell me from their current state of residence, which doesn't start with a direction.
At 11:38 the first car of the day passed, two hours and eight minutes after I started riding this morning. The next car I saw was at 12:49.
I keep forgetting to mention the number of deer I see. There's rarely a day that I don't see a few.
About halfway through the day today I noticed a subtle shift. I realized I was riding to get somewhere. For me, on bike trips, it's the going that's fun, not the getting there. What changed? My shifters caused the shift.
When you're riding you develop an intimate relationship with your bike. You recognize every squeak, every hum, every vibration, and you know what it means. My rear shifter wasn't working right, so I was unable to use three of the gears I regularly needed.
There's a cable tension screw on the derailler and I thought I might be able to improve the performance using that, but the difficulty is that, in order to make that adjustment I would have to go through a Keystone Cops routine: I have to ride the bike, hop off, lean the bike against something, run behind the bike, make the adjustment, hop back on, check the shifting, and repeat fifteen times. Besides, in addition to the derailleur, the shifter itself (which is at the end of the handlebars) was making a last-gasp dying sound every time I change gears.
Perhaps I won't write that Dear John letter to Heather after all.
So now, although I'm definitely enjoying the getting there, I find myself wanting to get somewhere, and that's not normal for me on a bike trip.
I told you in the FAQ that I take one day a week off and not ride (all bicycle tourists I know do this). I've been riding for almost two weeks straight without a break, and I think it's catching up to me. I think if I can make it to Whitefish tomorrow I'll get a motel and take a day off.
There I go again... riding to get somewhere.
Getting a motel tonight will be nice, too. I'm really looking forward to shower.
I had a great tailwind most of the day, and was able to go 10-15 mph uphill. The wind was especially evident when I crossed the bridge at Lake Kookanusa and it changed to a sidewind.
The area around Eureka, my stopping point for the day, is called Tobacco Flats.
I arrived in Eureka (pop 1017) at 3:00, hot and ready to find a motel and take a shower. At the Information Center a woman named Linda was kind enough to make calls to the only two motels for me... both were booked.
"There's a quilt show this weekend," she said. "It's the biggest weekend of the year."
First Down River Days then the baseball tournament and now the Quilt Show! Aaarrgh! What's next? An Elvis Impersonator's Convention? The International Three Stooges Lookalike Contest?
Linda called City Hall and we learned that I can camp at the City Park. It has a bathroom and a shower. I just need to go to the dispatcher's office and make a $5.00 "donation" and give them $5.00 for a key deposit.
On the way to the dispatcher's office I stopped at the public library. It's closed on Fridays.
The dispatcher on duty looked more like a football coach than a guy who sits at a desk and answers 911 calls. He was compact and muscular, and the tight shirt he wore showed off the bulges, but it also accentuated the bulge at his waistline. He had a flat top haircut.
I gave him my $10.00 and received a key to the bathroom/shower in return.
"The sprinklers come on at 9:00. They make a great alarm clock." Then he gave a short, mean laugh, and it made me wonder if he's ever moved the clock ahead.
From there I rode to Kootenai Pizza, where I was only able to eat half of a small pizza. I sat in the corner, charging my PDA, and fell asleep.
When I woke up thirty minutes later, I was the only customer there. The owner was behind the counter around the corner making the best pizzas in town. I had a scoop of ice cream and chatted with him a few minutes, learning about all the things I could do in town that evening. The inclusive list: 1) going to see The Transformers at the movie theater or 2) going to one of the bars to do some people watching. I also learned from him that the high tomorrow is only supposed to be 88.
At the park, I set up my tent, then lay in the cool grass blogging until the thermometer dropped below the point at which the exertion of inhaling and exhaling caused massive perspiration.
The bathroom/shower was a room with a concrete floor, measuring about five by eight feet. It was in the corner of the EMS building, but the entrance was only from the outside. The shower itself was in the corner of the bathroom and had everything I needed: hot and cold running water.
After the shower I loaded up my dirty laundry into my now empty pannier bag (the one that held my tent/rainfly) and pedaled to the laundromat where I spent the next hour washing/drying my clothes.
Back at the tent I thought about going to the bar to watch people but decided to hang out in my tent and write.
It was still light at 10:00. I can tell I'm pretty far north.
Just about every time I stop, someone mentions the weather and how hot it's been. I drank a lot today in order to stay hydrated: 64 ounces of Gatorade, three water bottles, and four pops.
Miles 53.27
Maximum speed 72.9 mph
Average speed 11.3 mph
Time 4:47:48
Cumulative miles 599.16
The campground was surprisingly quiet when I got up. When I packed up and left at 9:30 it became official: I'm now a criminal on the lam after not paying my campground fee.
This morning I met Larry and Mary, who are traveling from Boston to the Pacific Coast. They recently came from Glacier National Park and said it was the "high point of the trip." Almost everyone says so, which is the reason I've been looking forward to going there for years. Going-To-The-Sun highway? How evocative is THAT?
Talking to them I realized there are advantages and disadvantages of going either direction... west to east or east to west. For me, one of the reasons to go from west to east is that I like to sleep late. Traveling west, I would be pedaling into the sun most of the day. On the other hand, one of the reasons that some people like to go east to west (not including those early risers who have ridden 60 miles by noon every day and are done) is that, after seeing Glacier National Park, pedaling through eastern Montana and North Dakota is like having a hammer dropped on your toe.
From sixty feet.
Mind you, I personally have never been to the Dakotas... this is just hearsay. I have friends from the Dakotas who tell me it's not so bad, but they tell me from their current state of residence, which doesn't start with a direction.
At 11:38 the first car of the day passed, two hours and eight minutes after I started riding this morning. The next car I saw was at 12:49.
I keep forgetting to mention the number of deer I see. There's rarely a day that I don't see a few.
About halfway through the day today I noticed a subtle shift. I realized I was riding to get somewhere. For me, on bike trips, it's the going that's fun, not the getting there. What changed? My shifters caused the shift.
When you're riding you develop an intimate relationship with your bike. You recognize every squeak, every hum, every vibration, and you know what it means. My rear shifter wasn't working right, so I was unable to use three of the gears I regularly needed.
There's a cable tension screw on the derailler and I thought I might be able to improve the performance using that, but the difficulty is that, in order to make that adjustment I would have to go through a Keystone Cops routine: I have to ride the bike, hop off, lean the bike against something, run behind the bike, make the adjustment, hop back on, check the shifting, and repeat fifteen times. Besides, in addition to the derailleur, the shifter itself (which is at the end of the handlebars) was making a last-gasp dying sound every time I change gears.
Perhaps I won't write that Dear John letter to Heather after all.
So now, although I'm definitely enjoying the getting there, I find myself wanting to get somewhere, and that's not normal for me on a bike trip.
I told you in the FAQ that I take one day a week off and not ride (all bicycle tourists I know do this). I've been riding for almost two weeks straight without a break, and I think it's catching up to me. I think if I can make it to Whitefish tomorrow I'll get a motel and take a day off.
There I go again... riding to get somewhere.
Getting a motel tonight will be nice, too. I'm really looking forward to shower.
I had a great tailwind most of the day, and was able to go 10-15 mph uphill. The wind was especially evident when I crossed the bridge at Lake Kookanusa and it changed to a sidewind.
The area around Eureka, my stopping point for the day, is called Tobacco Flats.
I arrived in Eureka (pop 1017) at 3:00, hot and ready to find a motel and take a shower. At the Information Center a woman named Linda was kind enough to make calls to the only two motels for me... both were booked.
"There's a quilt show this weekend," she said. "It's the biggest weekend of the year."
First Down River Days then the baseball tournament and now the Quilt Show! Aaarrgh! What's next? An Elvis Impersonator's Convention? The International Three Stooges Lookalike Contest?
Linda called City Hall and we learned that I can camp at the City Park. It has a bathroom and a shower. I just need to go to the dispatcher's office and make a $5.00 "donation" and give them $5.00 for a key deposit.
On the way to the dispatcher's office I stopped at the public library. It's closed on Fridays.
The dispatcher on duty looked more like a football coach than a guy who sits at a desk and answers 911 calls. He was compact and muscular, and the tight shirt he wore showed off the bulges, but it also accentuated the bulge at his waistline. He had a flat top haircut.
I gave him my $10.00 and received a key to the bathroom/shower in return.
"The sprinklers come on at 9:00. They make a great alarm clock." Then he gave a short, mean laugh, and it made me wonder if he's ever moved the clock ahead.
From there I rode to Kootenai Pizza, where I was only able to eat half of a small pizza. I sat in the corner, charging my PDA, and fell asleep.
When I woke up thirty minutes later, I was the only customer there. The owner was behind the counter around the corner making the best pizzas in town. I had a scoop of ice cream and chatted with him a few minutes, learning about all the things I could do in town that evening. The inclusive list: 1) going to see The Transformers at the movie theater or 2) going to one of the bars to do some people watching. I also learned from him that the high tomorrow is only supposed to be 88.
At the park, I set up my tent, then lay in the cool grass blogging until the thermometer dropped below the point at which the exertion of inhaling and exhaling caused massive perspiration.
The bathroom/shower was a room with a concrete floor, measuring about five by eight feet. It was in the corner of the EMS building, but the entrance was only from the outside. The shower itself was in the corner of the bathroom and had everything I needed: hot and cold running water.
After the shower I loaded up my dirty laundry into my now empty pannier bag (the one that held my tent/rainfly) and pedaled to the laundromat where I spent the next hour washing/drying my clothes.
Back at the tent I thought about going to the bar to watch people but decided to hang out in my tent and write.
It was still light at 10:00. I can tell I'm pretty far north.
Just about every time I stop, someone mentions the weather and how hot it's been. I drank a lot today in order to stay hydrated: 64 ounces of Gatorade, three water bottles, and four pops.
Miles 53.27
Maximum speed 72.9 mph
Average speed 11.3 mph
Time 4:47:48
Cumulative miles 599.16
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Libby, the apple bread convention, and climbing the dam....
8/02/07
I leisurely broke camp then went to eat breakfast at Odie's, the place that was closed last night. On each table there was an assortment of books for you to read while waiting: The Disgusted Driver's Handbook, How to Confuse the Idiots in your Life, A Liar's Guide to Fishing, and Geezerhood: What To Expect From Life Now That You're Old As Dirt. I occasionally heard chuckles from other tables.
At 10:15 I finally left Odie's, unable to put off that mile-long climb out of Troy. I followed the Kootenai River and snapped a picture of the Swinging Bridge along the route.
Just a few miles before Libby the cars started stacking up. I pedaled past them and up to the person holding the stop sign and learned they were doing some "high rock sealing," or something like that.
Standing there, I continued talking to Dylan, the young woman directing traffic. This is just a summer job for her and she'll be starting college this fall. She has a torn labrum from a sports injury because, as she states, "I ignore pain."
Once in Libby, I went straight to the library and used up my one hour of allotted time in less than sixty minutes. It just wasn't enough time to upload all of the pictures I wanted to, but at least this library allowed me to do it. Many of them have security systems which won’t allow it.
From there, I went to Pizza Hut. I like Pizza Hut, because you can get pizza there, though some may disagree.
Since I knew I'd be camping tonight, I went to the grocery store to pick up supper and breakfast. When Gayle, the woman in the deli section, said, "Can I help you?" I decided to find out. I explained that I'm traveling on a bicycle, and that I'd be camping tonight. What I needed was a sandwich that wouldn't go bad.... no mayo, no meat, no cheese... What should I order?
There are challenges and decisions to be made in every job, from the CEO of a large company, to a person holding a stop sign at a construction site, to the woman in a deli who receives an odd request from a guy on a bike. She was rather excited about her challenge and went at it with the gusto of someone who loves their job.
While she was working on it I went to another section of the store and picked up some fruit and some beef jerky.
I also found a loaf of apple bread. It was more than I could eat, and more than I wanted to carry, so I asked Gayle if she could cut it and keep the rest for herself but she said they weren't allowed to accept tips. So, I asked her if she could cut it and "throw it away for me," (wink, wink) but she was just too nice... She asked her boss if they could cut it and sell me only half. Her boss then talked to the manager of the deli, who then called the store manager. The Joint Chiefs of Staff and eventually NATO were brought in on the discussion. There was a general meeting and, fifteen minutes after my original request (during the entire time I kept saying, "You really don't need to...,") I learned that, ultimately, it was a lost cause.
I was going to have to pay the entire $1.99 for the bread. I spend more than that on dental floss.
I also bought a 64-ounce plastic jug of Gatorade. I didn't ask them to split that. I plan to drink it all.
I like the Gatorade bottle because it has a central groove which perfectly fits the bungee cord I tossed in my pannier at the last minute. I plan to use it to carry extra drinking water later when I'm in remote areas. At different times throughout a trip there are various items attached to my bike, ranging from a loaf of bread to flowers to a giant jug of Gatorade.
My supper was ready, and had been carefully wrapped in plastic: a vegetarian sandwich with tomatoes, pickles, lettuce, sprouts, and avocados on sourdough bread. She showed me where the small packages of mayo and mustard were. I tossed in some honey packages as well.
Then, back to the library for an hour.
By the time I finally left town at 4:15 I had only pedaled only 17 miles. The bank's marquee showed 98 degrees. I briefly wondered how much farther down the road I'd be if I weren't blogging. Howard said he would've finished his cross-country trip at least a week earlier if he hadn't been working on his website as he went. By the way, his website is: www.howardneckel.net
If you want to see how someone tours who actually knows what he's doing, check it out.
I received an email from him. He finished his tour of the Cascades and is now back home and showering daily.
From Highway 37, I turned left on 228 toward Libby Dam. This section is a steep climb, and I had a headwind.
I noticed a lot of crosses on the side of the road. They were simple pieces of white metal supported by a red base. My first impression was that they were put in places where people have died, as memorials instead of the flowers and other mementos you sometimes see. However, after a while I reconsidered my original assumption because there were so MANY. How could the area's population have survived this decimation? Then I began wondering... Maybe they're placed along the road as warnings, like when a farmer hangs a dead crow near his garden to ward off other crows.
I don't know, but I sure pedaled carefully. And wore my helmet.
About three miles before I reached my evening's destination, I pulled over to change water bottles. A man going in the opposite direction stopped his tiny black truck in the road and yelled above the rickety engine, ''Are you having fun yet?" (You can see how much traffic there was.... he could've turned off the engine) The man was shirtless and bald, and reminded me of a sunburned Tor Johnson in Plan 9 from Outer Space. I yelled back, ''I'm having a blast!"
And you know what? It's true.
I arrived at McGillivray campground three uphill miles later. Camping costs $7.00. I had $4.00. There was no “camp host” so I wasn't sure what to do. I sure wasn't going to leave a $20.00 traveler's check. Oh, well... we'll see what happens. I set up camp and waited to get busted.
My right index finger continues to go numb on climbs.
There were a lot of bees, but for some reason none of them ever bothered me... they always seem to buzz around whomever I'm talking to. I suspect it has something to do with odor.
After I set up my tent I tried walking to the lake but the path I picked just took me to a ledge. I was considering going swimming but didn't see any access to the water.
On my way back to the tent another camper asked me a couple of the usual questions. An hour later we were still talking.
Roy and Delores are from Alberta, Canada, and have been here a few days. Roy gave me a Coke and I instantly became his lifelong friend. I learned that the smoke was so bad yesterday you couldn't even see across the lake. Today was better.
Just before going back to my tent, Delores said, "If there's anything you need you just holler." I thought about some different things that would be nice... hot water for a shave, a real shower, supper...
I paused for a moment, looking contemplative. She waited.
"Well, there is ONE thing...," I said.
"Do you have an extra butt lying around? You know, one that you just never use?" She laughed and said, ''Believe me... You don't want any of the butts around here."
There was no breeze that evening and the campground was still rather warm. I was still tired and hot.
Since there was no shower at this campground (I want my money back!) I washed off in the sink. It's rather like playing Twister.
I was able to wash my hair, arms, feet, and calves. My thighs were a little more difficult - I had to hike them up on the sink in an attempt to get them clean. Other parts were even more difficult, and I was just waiting for some kid to walk in the unlockable door, then run screaming, "Daddy, Daddy, there's a bad man in the bathroom!"
I was able to get relatively clean with the ice cold sink bath, then walked back to my campsite where l ate my sandwich (with honey).
I turned on my cellphone to see if I had a signal and it laughed at me.
It seemed to take a long time for the evening to cool off, so instead of going inside my tent I sat at the picnic table writing in the near dark and soaking up the coolness.
Miles 44.41
Maximum speed 26.7
Average 10.3
Time 4:19:10
Cumulative miles 545.89
I leisurely broke camp then went to eat breakfast at Odie's, the place that was closed last night. On each table there was an assortment of books for you to read while waiting: The Disgusted Driver's Handbook, How to Confuse the Idiots in your Life, A Liar's Guide to Fishing, and Geezerhood: What To Expect From Life Now That You're Old As Dirt. I occasionally heard chuckles from other tables.
At 10:15 I finally left Odie's, unable to put off that mile-long climb out of Troy. I followed the Kootenai River and snapped a picture of the Swinging Bridge along the route.
Just a few miles before Libby the cars started stacking up. I pedaled past them and up to the person holding the stop sign and learned they were doing some "high rock sealing," or something like that.
Standing there, I continued talking to Dylan, the young woman directing traffic. This is just a summer job for her and she'll be starting college this fall. She has a torn labrum from a sports injury because, as she states, "I ignore pain."
Once in Libby, I went straight to the library and used up my one hour of allotted time in less than sixty minutes. It just wasn't enough time to upload all of the pictures I wanted to, but at least this library allowed me to do it. Many of them have security systems which won’t allow it.
From there, I went to Pizza Hut. I like Pizza Hut, because you can get pizza there, though some may disagree.
Since I knew I'd be camping tonight, I went to the grocery store to pick up supper and breakfast. When Gayle, the woman in the deli section, said, "Can I help you?" I decided to find out. I explained that I'm traveling on a bicycle, and that I'd be camping tonight. What I needed was a sandwich that wouldn't go bad.... no mayo, no meat, no cheese... What should I order?
There are challenges and decisions to be made in every job, from the CEO of a large company, to a person holding a stop sign at a construction site, to the woman in a deli who receives an odd request from a guy on a bike. She was rather excited about her challenge and went at it with the gusto of someone who loves their job.
While she was working on it I went to another section of the store and picked up some fruit and some beef jerky.
I also found a loaf of apple bread. It was more than I could eat, and more than I wanted to carry, so I asked Gayle if she could cut it and keep the rest for herself but she said they weren't allowed to accept tips. So, I asked her if she could cut it and "throw it away for me," (wink, wink) but she was just too nice... She asked her boss if they could cut it and sell me only half. Her boss then talked to the manager of the deli, who then called the store manager. The Joint Chiefs of Staff and eventually NATO were brought in on the discussion. There was a general meeting and, fifteen minutes after my original request (during the entire time I kept saying, "You really don't need to...,") I learned that, ultimately, it was a lost cause.
I was going to have to pay the entire $1.99 for the bread. I spend more than that on dental floss.
I also bought a 64-ounce plastic jug of Gatorade. I didn't ask them to split that. I plan to drink it all.
I like the Gatorade bottle because it has a central groove which perfectly fits the bungee cord I tossed in my pannier at the last minute. I plan to use it to carry extra drinking water later when I'm in remote areas. At different times throughout a trip there are various items attached to my bike, ranging from a loaf of bread to flowers to a giant jug of Gatorade.
My supper was ready, and had been carefully wrapped in plastic: a vegetarian sandwich with tomatoes, pickles, lettuce, sprouts, and avocados on sourdough bread. She showed me where the small packages of mayo and mustard were. I tossed in some honey packages as well.
Then, back to the library for an hour.
By the time I finally left town at 4:15 I had only pedaled only 17 miles. The bank's marquee showed 98 degrees. I briefly wondered how much farther down the road I'd be if I weren't blogging. Howard said he would've finished his cross-country trip at least a week earlier if he hadn't been working on his website as he went. By the way, his website is: www.howardneckel.net
If you want to see how someone tours who actually knows what he's doing, check it out.
I received an email from him. He finished his tour of the Cascades and is now back home and showering daily.
From Highway 37, I turned left on 228 toward Libby Dam. This section is a steep climb, and I had a headwind.
I noticed a lot of crosses on the side of the road. They were simple pieces of white metal supported by a red base. My first impression was that they were put in places where people have died, as memorials instead of the flowers and other mementos you sometimes see. However, after a while I reconsidered my original assumption because there were so MANY. How could the area's population have survived this decimation? Then I began wondering... Maybe they're placed along the road as warnings, like when a farmer hangs a dead crow near his garden to ward off other crows.
I don't know, but I sure pedaled carefully. And wore my helmet.
About three miles before I reached my evening's destination, I pulled over to change water bottles. A man going in the opposite direction stopped his tiny black truck in the road and yelled above the rickety engine, ''Are you having fun yet?" (You can see how much traffic there was.... he could've turned off the engine) The man was shirtless and bald, and reminded me of a sunburned Tor Johnson in Plan 9 from Outer Space. I yelled back, ''I'm having a blast!"
And you know what? It's true.
I arrived at McGillivray campground three uphill miles later. Camping costs $7.00. I had $4.00. There was no “camp host” so I wasn't sure what to do. I sure wasn't going to leave a $20.00 traveler's check. Oh, well... we'll see what happens. I set up camp and waited to get busted.
My right index finger continues to go numb on climbs.
There were a lot of bees, but for some reason none of them ever bothered me... they always seem to buzz around whomever I'm talking to. I suspect it has something to do with odor.
After I set up my tent I tried walking to the lake but the path I picked just took me to a ledge. I was considering going swimming but didn't see any access to the water.
On my way back to the tent another camper asked me a couple of the usual questions. An hour later we were still talking.
Roy and Delores are from Alberta, Canada, and have been here a few days. Roy gave me a Coke and I instantly became his lifelong friend. I learned that the smoke was so bad yesterday you couldn't even see across the lake. Today was better.
Just before going back to my tent, Delores said, "If there's anything you need you just holler." I thought about some different things that would be nice... hot water for a shave, a real shower, supper...
I paused for a moment, looking contemplative. She waited.
"Well, there is ONE thing...," I said.
"Do you have an extra butt lying around? You know, one that you just never use?" She laughed and said, ''Believe me... You don't want any of the butts around here."
There was no breeze that evening and the campground was still rather warm. I was still tired and hot.
Since there was no shower at this campground (I want my money back!) I washed off in the sink. It's rather like playing Twister.
I was able to wash my hair, arms, feet, and calves. My thighs were a little more difficult - I had to hike them up on the sink in an attempt to get them clean. Other parts were even more difficult, and I was just waiting for some kid to walk in the unlockable door, then run screaming, "Daddy, Daddy, there's a bad man in the bathroom!"
I was able to get relatively clean with the ice cold sink bath, then walked back to my campsite where l ate my sandwich (with honey).
I turned on my cellphone to see if I had a signal and it laughed at me.
It seemed to take a long time for the evening to cool off, so instead of going inside my tent I sat at the picnic table writing in the near dark and soaking up the coolness.
Miles 44.41
Maximum speed 26.7
Average 10.3
Time 4:19:10
Cumulative miles 545.89
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
the heron alternate, the first bicyclingism, and troy....
8/01/07
I woke up at 5:00, purely by accident. I would never do something like that on purpose. The light is what did it.
Although the light is what woke me up today, it used to be the sunlight. When sunlight hits a tent it gets very hot inside very fast. Years ago, I used to be good enough to where I could position my tent and use the sun as an alarm clock. I was accurate within twenty minutes, but I don't do that much camping in my old age.
I packed up and pedaled to the Cabinet Mountain Cafe where I had some scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.
Then I rode to the library where I saw they don't open until 11:00. 11:00?!? Hmphh... back when I worked at the library....
The ACA map offered an alternative route out of Clark Fork. It's an extra 2.5 miles but the name (Heron Alternate) sounded intriguing, so I took it. I never did see any herons.
Nor did I see a sign welcoming me into Montana, although I'm sure they'd have welcomed me if only they'd known I was coming.
Bikers always take pictures next to state border signs. I think I have a picture of me and/or my bicycle next to every state sign I've seen.
My shifters started acting up again after about ten miles. I considered calling Jim to see if he offered roadside assistance, but after realizing I had no cellphone service I decided not to call him.
Do you ever moo at cows on the side of the road?
oh. me neither.
The Heron Alternate turned out to be better suited for a HumVee than for a touring bike. By the end of the detour, I had ridden over some bone-jarring road.
At the end of the bumpfest I checked my panniers to make sure they hadn't come off. It's a good thing I checked, because the left rear hanger had come off the rack.
The scenery continued to be gorgeous, but I noticed a haze partially obscuring the mountains.
At the Big Sky Pantry, on the corner of 200 and 56 I stopped for lunch. They have a deli which was generous and cheap. I ate outside and listened to five or six guys who work for a utility company talk. I learned that there were two fires near Libby and one near here. That's what the haze is from.
Surprisingly, out here in the middle of nowhere, where there's only an intersection and a building (it isn't even a town), I had good cell phone reception.
The afternoon was hot. I drank plenty and was able to stay reasonably hydrated. There were a lot of ups and downs, though more ups today.
I saw a couple of bikers going in the opposite direction, but they were going downhill with the wind.
Mark's Bicyclingisms Number One: Jesus Christ Himself could appear on the side of the road in need of help, and if a biker is going downhill with the wind at his back... well, best of luck to Him.
They smiled and gave me a thumbs up sign as they flew by.
Little Joe's is the last stop to get something to drink before Troy. It's a large, dark, almost empty place... but it's cool. I ordered a Pepsi and made it last about forty five minutes.
Have you ever gone into the restroom at a restaurant to wash the road dust off your face, only to find out later that you have a piece of paper towel stuck to your forehead?
oh. me neither.
On the way in a high school kid asked me a few quick questions about touring while his family was waiting for him. He seemed somewhat interested, so I gave him information about ACA and the URL of my blog. I hope he reads it and sees how fun it can be.
I've been debating about what to do for the evening and decide to get a motel in Troy. The road from Troy to Libby is almost all uphill, though not steep, and I'm really feeling the heat today.
Troy is actually off the route a mile or so. Once you leave the route, there's a very steep drop into town.
This is a picture of the Kootenai river, just before the descent into Troy.
I'm just curious.... When you're going downhill on a bike, do you ever want to yell as loud as you can, "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HA!!!!!!!!!!!!"
oh. me neither.
Once in Troy (pop 957), I pulled into the Ranch Motel and asked about a room. To my surprise, he said they were booked. To my chagrin, he said both motels in Troy were full, as well as all of the motels in Libby. There's a baseball tournament.
He did say that they offered showers for $5.00. I took him up on it before all of the guests arrived and the rooms were full.
Afterwards, back in the office, he told me how far away the campground was. I had already cleaned up, so I asked if I could wait in the air-conditioned office until it got a little cooler outside. Then he went over to the digital thermometer on the wall and pushed a button. It showed the high temperature for the day: 105 degrees. I was actually kind of surprised. He told me I could just pitch a tent in the field behind the motel if I wanted, as long as I put it in the corner in case someone wants to play volleyball.
I sat in corner and blogged for over an hour while the owners, Keith and Nancy, largely ignored me. Keith, in his USPS Uniform, watched the Mets/Brewers game.
I pulled out my charger and plugged it in while I wrote, but tried to be very inconspicuous. Although their sign outside said free wireless internet I was never able to get connected, but at least I was able to recharge my battery.
I set up my tent, then went to the cafe Keith recommended. When he gave me his recommendation at 8:10 he neglected to tell me they close at 8:00. I arrived at 8:15.
Then I rode back to the other side of town where I found "R Place." I ordered a cheeseburger and a Pepsi.
I don't know if you can buy a Coke product. There just aren't any anywhere in the three states I've been in so far.
I had a chocolate shake for dessert. It was, without a doubt, the worst shake live ever had in my life. Does food taste better when you're on a bike tour? Absolutely. But not always. I had three or four swallows and left the rest.
Once the sun goes down, things cool off nicely. I went back to my tent and wrote a while.
I overheard a conversation late this afternoon, and am reproducing it word for word.
It was between my legs and my butt.
Legs: I. Am. Machine. Want. Push. Pedals. Am. Stronger. Now.
Butt: OH GOD!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE STOP! OUCH! OW! NO!!! DON'T SIT DOWN !!!!!!!!!!!! OH SWEET JESUS... (sobs) PLEASE, I'M BEGGING YOU, YOU'VE GOT TO... OUCH!!!!!! YOU'VE GOT TO STOP THIS!!!!!!
Lungs: OK, you two....whatever
Miles 60.54
Maximum speed 32.6 mph
Average speed 11.5 mph
Time 5:15:54
Cumulative mileage 501.48
I woke up at 5:00, purely by accident. I would never do something like that on purpose. The light is what did it.
Although the light is what woke me up today, it used to be the sunlight. When sunlight hits a tent it gets very hot inside very fast. Years ago, I used to be good enough to where I could position my tent and use the sun as an alarm clock. I was accurate within twenty minutes, but I don't do that much camping in my old age.
I packed up and pedaled to the Cabinet Mountain Cafe where I had some scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.
Then I rode to the library where I saw they don't open until 11:00. 11:00?!? Hmphh... back when I worked at the library....
The ACA map offered an alternative route out of Clark Fork. It's an extra 2.5 miles but the name (Heron Alternate) sounded intriguing, so I took it. I never did see any herons.
Nor did I see a sign welcoming me into Montana, although I'm sure they'd have welcomed me if only they'd known I was coming.
Bikers always take pictures next to state border signs. I think I have a picture of me and/or my bicycle next to every state sign I've seen.
My shifters started acting up again after about ten miles. I considered calling Jim to see if he offered roadside assistance, but after realizing I had no cellphone service I decided not to call him.
Do you ever moo at cows on the side of the road?
oh. me neither.
The Heron Alternate turned out to be better suited for a HumVee than for a touring bike. By the end of the detour, I had ridden over some bone-jarring road.
At the end of the bumpfest I checked my panniers to make sure they hadn't come off. It's a good thing I checked, because the left rear hanger had come off the rack.
The scenery continued to be gorgeous, but I noticed a haze partially obscuring the mountains.
At the Big Sky Pantry, on the corner of 200 and 56 I stopped for lunch. They have a deli which was generous and cheap. I ate outside and listened to five or six guys who work for a utility company talk. I learned that there were two fires near Libby and one near here. That's what the haze is from.
Surprisingly, out here in the middle of nowhere, where there's only an intersection and a building (it isn't even a town), I had good cell phone reception.
The afternoon was hot. I drank plenty and was able to stay reasonably hydrated. There were a lot of ups and downs, though more ups today.
I saw a couple of bikers going in the opposite direction, but they were going downhill with the wind.
Mark's Bicyclingisms Number One: Jesus Christ Himself could appear on the side of the road in need of help, and if a biker is going downhill with the wind at his back... well, best of luck to Him.
They smiled and gave me a thumbs up sign as they flew by.
Little Joe's is the last stop to get something to drink before Troy. It's a large, dark, almost empty place... but it's cool. I ordered a Pepsi and made it last about forty five minutes.
Have you ever gone into the restroom at a restaurant to wash the road dust off your face, only to find out later that you have a piece of paper towel stuck to your forehead?
oh. me neither.
On the way in a high school kid asked me a few quick questions about touring while his family was waiting for him. He seemed somewhat interested, so I gave him information about ACA and the URL of my blog. I hope he reads it and sees how fun it can be.
I've been debating about what to do for the evening and decide to get a motel in Troy. The road from Troy to Libby is almost all uphill, though not steep, and I'm really feeling the heat today.
Troy is actually off the route a mile or so. Once you leave the route, there's a very steep drop into town.
This is a picture of the Kootenai river, just before the descent into Troy.
I'm just curious.... When you're going downhill on a bike, do you ever want to yell as loud as you can, "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HA!!!!!!!!!!!!"
oh. me neither.
Once in Troy (pop 957), I pulled into the Ranch Motel and asked about a room. To my surprise, he said they were booked. To my chagrin, he said both motels in Troy were full, as well as all of the motels in Libby. There's a baseball tournament.
He did say that they offered showers for $5.00. I took him up on it before all of the guests arrived and the rooms were full.
Afterwards, back in the office, he told me how far away the campground was. I had already cleaned up, so I asked if I could wait in the air-conditioned office until it got a little cooler outside. Then he went over to the digital thermometer on the wall and pushed a button. It showed the high temperature for the day: 105 degrees. I was actually kind of surprised. He told me I could just pitch a tent in the field behind the motel if I wanted, as long as I put it in the corner in case someone wants to play volleyball.
I sat in corner and blogged for over an hour while the owners, Keith and Nancy, largely ignored me. Keith, in his USPS Uniform, watched the Mets/Brewers game.
I pulled out my charger and plugged it in while I wrote, but tried to be very inconspicuous. Although their sign outside said free wireless internet I was never able to get connected, but at least I was able to recharge my battery.
I set up my tent, then went to the cafe Keith recommended. When he gave me his recommendation at 8:10 he neglected to tell me they close at 8:00. I arrived at 8:15.
Then I rode back to the other side of town where I found "R Place." I ordered a cheeseburger and a Pepsi.
I don't know if you can buy a Coke product. There just aren't any anywhere in the three states I've been in so far.
I had a chocolate shake for dessert. It was, without a doubt, the worst shake live ever had in my life. Does food taste better when you're on a bike tour? Absolutely. But not always. I had three or four swallows and left the rest.
Once the sun goes down, things cool off nicely. I went back to my tent and wrote a while.
I overheard a conversation late this afternoon, and am reproducing it word for word.
It was between my legs and my butt.
Legs: I. Am. Machine. Want. Push. Pedals. Am. Stronger. Now.
Butt: OH GOD!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE STOP! OUCH! OW! NO!!! DON'T SIT DOWN !!!!!!!!!!!! OH SWEET JESUS... (sobs) PLEASE, I'M BEGGING YOU, YOU'VE GOT TO... OUCH!!!!!! YOU'VE GOT TO STOP THIS!!!!!!
Lungs: OK, you two....whatever
Miles 60.54
Maximum speed 32.6 mph
Average speed 11.5 mph
Time 5:15:54
Cumulative mileage 501.48
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