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
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