I have gone back to the beginning of How I Spent My Summer Vacation and am appalled at the number of typographical errors. I am going to fire my editor and get them corrected.
As promised, here are some fun facts about my Seattle to Hastings adventure:
It took me 39 days to complete the ride.
According to my big collection of maps, I covered 1,912 miles. All mileages reported in this blog have been based on my maps since I did not carry an odometer/computer on my bike. I tried to travel as minimalist as I possibly could and that was something I figured I could do without. Realistically, I could easily add another 100 miles onto the 1,912 to account for exploring towns, going off-route to campsites, searching for libraries, going to a grocery store or restaurant, making wrong turns and backtracking, etc.
I spent 353 miles and six nights in Washington. 52 miles and one night in Idaho. 826 miles and 17 nights in Montana. 382 miles and nine nights in North Dakota. 55 miles and 1 night in South Dakota. 243 miles and five nights in Minnesota.
My westernmost point was The Puget Sound in Seattle. My northernmost point was Eureka, Montana which is seven miles from the Canadian border. My southernmost and easternmost points were my driveway in Hastings.
I received a lot of support on this trip and now, in Academy Award fashion, I would like to extend some Thank Yous:
My wife Alice (The Feeshko) who knew this meant the world to me and, being the only person in the world who could have prevented it, gave me the green light. My son Aaron, who showed me around Seattle via bicycle and then joined me for the first five days of the ride. My daughter Kaylyne (Kaylo) supported me from day one and took as much pride in my ride as I did. My mom and dad, Ron and Ann, needlessly worried about me every single day I was on the road and they also expressed their pride in me frequently. My brother Dan (Dan Garjohnson) got me a great deal on my Surley Long Haul Trucker, assembled it for me, and then rode with me through some tough days near the end. He checked in on me from time to time and got his whole office to follow my blog. Actually, I thank my entire family and that includes everybody on my wife's side. They all gave me support. My good friend Jeff Wohlberg (J) for texting me all those encouraging messages and inspiring song lyrics. I also got very nice personal messages from Brian B., Beth B., and Bob S. I also definitely want to thank everybody who followed, or should I say, endured, my goofy blog and the photos I posted on Facebook--particularly those who commented and/or "liked" the nonsense I wrote. I know there were many of you.
With that said, I have now reached my final paragraph. I am trying to adjust to normal life now. I experienced and learned so much on this trip. I met so many nice people. Most of all, it was FUN. I think later on today I am going to start planning my next big adventure.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
August 28: Hastings, MN
Being that Minneapolis is considered one of the most bike-friendly cities in the U.S., I was able to traverse the city using nothing but paved bicycle trails: The Luce Line Trail, The Theodore Wirth Memorial Trail, The Midtown Greenway (recently rated the nation's best urban bike route, I liken it to an Interstate Highway, complete with lanes and on and off ramps,) The West River Trail, Minnehaha Falls Park Trail, and Fort Snelling State Park Trail. Then is was just a hot 20-mile ramble through some familiar back roads. I tried to slow down to savor the last hour of this unbelievably rewarding journey. I conjured up a bunch of memories. There were many. And then it was done.
I've been saving the following story for my conclusion. The setting was a rest area at Mile 118 on Interstate 94 about ten miles from New Salem, North Dakota. I filled my water bottles there and took a break. A woman with a young toddler came up to me and asked the usual questions about where I came from, where I was going and why. After I told her my story she told me that she and her husband were bike riders and they have been talking about riding across the country with their kids when they get old enough. "For the rest of their lives," she continued, "the kids will know that if they can accomplish something like that, they can accomplish ANYTHING."
I think THAT is exactly what I learned.
Tomorrow I will post some fun facts about my ride. But for now, there are a couple of Surly Furious Ales waiting for me in the refrigerator. I think I had better go give them the attention they deserve.
I've been saving the following story for my conclusion. The setting was a rest area at Mile 118 on Interstate 94 about ten miles from New Salem, North Dakota. I filled my water bottles there and took a break. A woman with a young toddler came up to me and asked the usual questions about where I came from, where I was going and why. After I told her my story she told me that she and her husband were bike riders and they have been talking about riding across the country with their kids when they get old enough. "For the rest of their lives," she continued, "the kids will know that if they can accomplish something like that, they can accomplish ANYTHING."
I think THAT is exactly what I learned.
Tomorrow I will post some fun facts about my ride. But for now, there are a couple of Surly Furious Ales waiting for me in the refrigerator. I think I had better go give them the attention they deserve.
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| This picture commemorates not only the end of the ride, but also the first beard I have ever grown. |
August 27: Golden Valley, MN
I'm glad Dan told me about the Luce Line Trail. Designed for non-motorized traffic of all kinds, this former railroad track was a great respite from the increasingly heavy traffic as I approached the Twin Cities. It only required a four-mile detour off of Highway 7 into Winsted. From there, I had the 35-mile Luce Line pretty much to myself. The crushed limestone trail was hard, dry and in good condition. I saw two deer early on and only four or five walkers. At least half of the trail was shaded in comparison to the almost 0% shade on the Highway.
Something that caught my attention were the frequent signs telling trail users to clean up after their dogs. The signs told about the diseases that dog feces can give to our children, and they proclaimed "It's The Law." The state even provided the little baggies for the clean-up task.
I was glad to see that the signs are working. I did not see a single dog turd all day. Sadly, however, horses, or should I say horse owners, seem to get a free pass. I saw plenty of horse crap on the trail and that is only on the sections where the horse trail coincides with the biking/jogging/walking trail. Those sections comprise less than 10% of the overall trail. Otherwise, the horse trail is separated and runs parallel to the main trail. I can't imagine how full of horse poop that part of the trail is. I can't imagine how big of baggies you'd need to clean up after those beasts. I can't imagine why horse apples are not a disease threat to children. I can't imagine why the LAW applies only to dog owners.
The Luce Line State Trail takes one into Plymouth, a western suburb of Minneapolis. The Luce Line Metro Trail goes to Minneapolis where one can connect to a series of trails that takes one pretty much throughout the metro area. This will be the last night of my adventure. From my Super 8 Motel in Golden Valley, it is only about 50 miles to my home in Hastings. I don't even know what else to say about that.
Something that caught my attention were the frequent signs telling trail users to clean up after their dogs. The signs told about the diseases that dog feces can give to our children, and they proclaimed "It's The Law." The state even provided the little baggies for the clean-up task.
I was glad to see that the signs are working. I did not see a single dog turd all day. Sadly, however, horses, or should I say horse owners, seem to get a free pass. I saw plenty of horse crap on the trail and that is only on the sections where the horse trail coincides with the biking/jogging/walking trail. Those sections comprise less than 10% of the overall trail. Otherwise, the horse trail is separated and runs parallel to the main trail. I can't imagine how full of horse poop that part of the trail is. I can't imagine how big of baggies you'd need to clean up after those beasts. I can't imagine why horse apples are not a disease threat to children. I can't imagine why the LAW applies only to dog owners.
The Luce Line State Trail takes one into Plymouth, a western suburb of Minneapolis. The Luce Line Metro Trail goes to Minneapolis where one can connect to a series of trails that takes one pretty much throughout the metro area. This will be the last night of my adventure. From my Super 8 Motel in Golden Valley, it is only about 50 miles to my home in Hastings. I don't even know what else to say about that.
Monday, August 26, 2013
August 26: Hutchinson, MN
WILDLIFE UPDATE: I haven't seen a single living large animal since my last day in North Dakota. That was a pair of deer. Since then it has been nothing but birds and rodents. I miss the wildlife of the western United States as much as I miss the mountains and awesome lakeside campsites.
On the other hand, if you count dead animals, central Minnesota has large numbers and good varieties of roadkill: skunks, coyotes, foxes, raccoons, deer, rabbits, opossums, hawks, owls, a prairie chicken, snakes, turtles, caterpillars, dogs and cats. Many of them are so flattened and dried out that they resemble the fur coats or coonskin caps of mountain men. Some of the fresher road kill just look like chunks of meat. Some stink really bad. Some have turkey vultures that pick at them and stubbornly guard them until it is inevitable that they will have to fly away if they want to live.
Today I saw something I may never forget. A deer had been bisected in a collision of such impact that I can't even imagine the violence. There was a head and shoulders and a front leg on the side of the road. The hind quarters were still in the middle of the road about five yards away. I didn't see any sign of the other front leg. Blood and guts were scattered everywhere in between the two parts. The deer's mouth was wide open--as if, just before impact, it was screaming "Ohhhhhh, fuuuuudge!"
Dan repeated his routine today and we met up in Litchfield. Our ride together was great--just as it has been all weekend. In the last month I have only had one or two conversations of any significance, so it was nice to have some company for a few days. Actually, come to think of it, our conversations rarely have any significance, but they're a hell of a lot of fun.
And we had a couple of good meals together at a Chinese restaurant in Montevideo and a very good Mexican restaurant in downtown Willmar. I have to believe Rosita's Taqueria was pretty authentic because every single patron, other than Dan and I, from the beginning to the end of our meal, were Spanish-speaking Mexicans. I had an outstanding meal of grilled shrimp in a garlic (ajo) sauce with tomatoes, freshly sliced avocado, lettuce and corn tortillas.
Tomorrow I will be in the western suburbs of the Minneapolis-St. Paul metro area. The next day, I will either stay with Dan and his family in St. Paul or I will power on into Hastings to conclude my personal trip of a lifetime. I don't really want it to end.
On the other hand, if you count dead animals, central Minnesota has large numbers and good varieties of roadkill: skunks, coyotes, foxes, raccoons, deer, rabbits, opossums, hawks, owls, a prairie chicken, snakes, turtles, caterpillars, dogs and cats. Many of them are so flattened and dried out that they resemble the fur coats or coonskin caps of mountain men. Some of the fresher road kill just look like chunks of meat. Some stink really bad. Some have turkey vultures that pick at them and stubbornly guard them until it is inevitable that they will have to fly away if they want to live.
Today I saw something I may never forget. A deer had been bisected in a collision of such impact that I can't even imagine the violence. There was a head and shoulders and a front leg on the side of the road. The hind quarters were still in the middle of the road about five yards away. I didn't see any sign of the other front leg. Blood and guts were scattered everywhere in between the two parts. The deer's mouth was wide open--as if, just before impact, it was screaming "Ohhhhhh, fuuuuudge!"
Dan repeated his routine today and we met up in Litchfield. Our ride together was great--just as it has been all weekend. In the last month I have only had one or two conversations of any significance, so it was nice to have some company for a few days. Actually, come to think of it, our conversations rarely have any significance, but they're a hell of a lot of fun.
And we had a couple of good meals together at a Chinese restaurant in Montevideo and a very good Mexican restaurant in downtown Willmar. I have to believe Rosita's Taqueria was pretty authentic because every single patron, other than Dan and I, from the beginning to the end of our meal, were Spanish-speaking Mexicans. I had an outstanding meal of grilled shrimp in a garlic (ajo) sauce with tomatoes, freshly sliced avocado, lettuce and corn tortillas.
Tomorrow I will be in the western suburbs of the Minneapolis-St. Paul metro area. The next day, I will either stay with Dan and his family in St. Paul or I will power on into Hastings to conclude my personal trip of a lifetime. I don't really want it to end.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
August 25: Willmar, MN
"Let's go over to McDonald's for breakfast," Dan suggested once we got moving around for the day. I turned down the offer. I am determined to maintain my record of avoiding all of the fast food burger, taco, and chicken joints. In fact, I haven't eaten at any chain restaurant of any kind except for two Subway sandwiches. I have had great luck eating at small cafes, restaurants and bars.
Later, Dan loaded up his car to drive to our next town, Willmar, where he would start cycling back toward me. It's a goofy system, but it seemed to be the best way for him to get a few days of riding in with me.
"Do you want me to throw some of your gear in the car?" It was another tempting offer.
"No, I don't think so," I said half-heartedly. "It would be awfully nice to ride unburdened for a day, but I guess I just want to preserve the integrity of my self-supported ride."
"Okay. It's up to you."
"But, as you know, I HAVE cheated a couple of times already by accepting those two rides back in Washington," I conceded.
"We-e-e-e-e-l-l-l, I wasn't going to bring that up, but . . . "
I laughed. "Thanks anyway, but I'll just go ahead and haul my own stuff."
On a day the weather people forecast to be nearly 100 degrees, our short route turned out to be ridiculously easy. We arrived at the Willmar Americ-Inn at 1:30 p.m. Knowing that check-in time wasn't for another hour and a half, I told Dan of my plan to play on their sympathy to get into our room early.
"Hi! How can I help you?" asked the gal at the front desk whose jeans hung too low in back, revealing a bit more of her backside than we wanted to see. Actually, I didn't see it. I am just reporting what Dan observed.
"I have a reservation for tonight," I began, "and we got into town a little early. Would it be possible for a couple of overheated and weary bicyclists to get an early check-in?" I held my breath waiting for a negative response.
"Oh sure! No problem!" she said cheerily. It was too easy. I should have asked for food or money.
Ask and you shall receive. It's an old adage that has held up time and time again on this trip.
Later, Dan loaded up his car to drive to our next town, Willmar, where he would start cycling back toward me. It's a goofy system, but it seemed to be the best way for him to get a few days of riding in with me.
"Do you want me to throw some of your gear in the car?" It was another tempting offer.
"No, I don't think so," I said half-heartedly. "It would be awfully nice to ride unburdened for a day, but I guess I just want to preserve the integrity of my self-supported ride."
"Okay. It's up to you."
"But, as you know, I HAVE cheated a couple of times already by accepting those two rides back in Washington," I conceded.
"We-e-e-e-e-l-l-l, I wasn't going to bring that up, but . . . "
I laughed. "Thanks anyway, but I'll just go ahead and haul my own stuff."
On a day the weather people forecast to be nearly 100 degrees, our short route turned out to be ridiculously easy. We arrived at the Willmar Americ-Inn at 1:30 p.m. Knowing that check-in time wasn't for another hour and a half, I told Dan of my plan to play on their sympathy to get into our room early.
"Hi! How can I help you?" asked the gal at the front desk whose jeans hung too low in back, revealing a bit more of her backside than we wanted to see. Actually, I didn't see it. I am just reporting what Dan observed.
"I have a reservation for tonight," I began, "and we got into town a little early. Would it be possible for a couple of overheated and weary bicyclists to get an early check-in?" I held my breath waiting for a negative response.
"Oh sure! No problem!" she said cheerily. It was too easy. I should have asked for food or money.
Ask and you shall receive. It's an old adage that has held up time and time again on this trip.
August 24: Montevideo, MN
My brother Dan joined me today. He will ride with me for three days and then drive back to his home in St. Paul. He parked his car this morning in Montevideo, then rode his bike to Appleton where we met to ride back to Montevideo. He absolutely flew the 23 miles to Appleton thanks to the 20 mile per hour thing that I can no longer mention. When he had to turn around and ride back, he blamed ME for the difference. "I was doing just fine until I started riding with you," he said.
I have to admit that the time and the difficulty were alleviated by having somebody to talk to. I usually prefer to be a loner and go at my own pace and do exactly what I want to do when I want to do it. But I think we rode well together.
Scenic highlights were few today. Highway 7 is known as the Sioux Trail Scenic Byway and it does display a lot of undeveloped native prairie land. Between Odessa and Appleton, I saw several uninterrupted miles of cattails. The strangest thing Dan and I saw were two stray cornstalks growing inches from the shoulder of the highway. Some corn farmer has quite a sense of humor.
I have to admit that the time and the difficulty were alleviated by having somebody to talk to. I usually prefer to be a loner and go at my own pace and do exactly what I want to do when I want to do it. But I think we rode well together.
Scenic highlights were few today. Highway 7 is known as the Sioux Trail Scenic Byway and it does display a lot of undeveloped native prairie land. Between Odessa and Appleton, I saw several uninterrupted miles of cattails. The strangest thing Dan and I saw were two stray cornstalks growing inches from the shoulder of the highway. Some corn farmer has quite a sense of humor.
August 23: Big Stone Lake State Park
South Dakota Highway 10 took me past several more lakes which I was not expecting to see. However, the biggest surprise, possibly of this entire trip, came a few miles before Sisseton. I had been going up and down gently rolling hills for the fifteen miles since I left Roy Lake and I had no reason to think that it wouldn't continue. Then I came to the top of the last hill and I was stunned. It is possible that my eyeballs popped out of my head like in a Roadrunner cartoon. There, before me, was an amazingly dramatic view of the Red River valley several hundred feet below. It was broad and flat and extended as far as the eye could see. It was like rising up over a bluff and suddenly and unexpectedly discovering the Pacific Ocean. Certainly not the most beautiful thing I have seen, it was definitely, as I said, the most surprising. And the four mile descent into the valley was probably my longest since the Glacier National Park area.
I also went over my second continental divide. At the South Dakota/Minnesota border, near Brown's Valley, MN, is the North/South Continental Divide. It is a curious thing. You ride over a sort of land bridge and on one side is Lake Traverse and on the other side is Big Stone Lake. Lake Traverse becomes the Red River which flows north to Canada. Big Stone Lake becomes the Minnesota River which flows south. I think that's how it works.
While I enjoyed my excursion through the northeast corner of South Dakota, I have to admit that using it as part of my scheme to avoid the wind really backfired on me today. The winds are blowing in from the southeast and I have no choice to go south or east. It was my hardest day of riding yet, especially the last 20 miles in which I had to go straight southeast. The gusts were horrific and when a truck would come from the opposite direction, the blast in my face was unbelievable.
I have to apologize. If I was reading this blog, I'd be saying "enough with your wind reports! Just move on." That is a fair comment, and I promise not to bring up that damn wind again. I don't care if it's a tornado, I will not mention it again.
Speaking of tornados, I just remembered a whirlwind back in eastern Washington that I never reported on this blog. It was twisting and whipping up the dry dust that makes up that part of the state and it was approaching the highway. I distinctly remember thinking "that thing is gonna hit the road at the same time as I get there."
Indeed, the whirlwind hit me and I had to lean into it for fear of getting blown over, and I'm guessing that thing would have only registered as an F-.00001 tornado.
THAT, officially, is my LAST wind report.
I am in my home state now, safely encamped at Big Stone Lake State Park. It is only 50-54% as nice as last night's park, but it will do. Across the lake I still see South Dakota.
I also went over my second continental divide. At the South Dakota/Minnesota border, near Brown's Valley, MN, is the North/South Continental Divide. It is a curious thing. You ride over a sort of land bridge and on one side is Lake Traverse and on the other side is Big Stone Lake. Lake Traverse becomes the Red River which flows north to Canada. Big Stone Lake becomes the Minnesota River which flows south. I think that's how it works.
While I enjoyed my excursion through the northeast corner of South Dakota, I have to admit that using it as part of my scheme to avoid the wind really backfired on me today. The winds are blowing in from the southeast and I have no choice to go south or east. It was my hardest day of riding yet, especially the last 20 miles in which I had to go straight southeast. The gusts were horrific and when a truck would come from the opposite direction, the blast in my face was unbelievable.
I have to apologize. If I was reading this blog, I'd be saying "enough with your wind reports! Just move on." That is a fair comment, and I promise not to bring up that damn wind again. I don't care if it's a tornado, I will not mention it again.
Speaking of tornados, I just remembered a whirlwind back in eastern Washington that I never reported on this blog. It was twisting and whipping up the dry dust that makes up that part of the state and it was approaching the highway. I distinctly remember thinking "that thing is gonna hit the road at the same time as I get there."
Indeed, the whirlwind hit me and I had to lean into it for fear of getting blown over, and I'm guessing that thing would have only registered as an F-.00001 tornado.
THAT, officially, is my LAST wind report.
I am in my home state now, safely encamped at Big Stone Lake State Park. It is only 50-54% as nice as last night's park, but it will do. Across the lake I still see South Dakota.
Friday, August 23, 2013
August 22: Roy Lake State Park
I headed straight south out of Lisbon, bound for a new state--South Dakota--because that was what the winds dictated.
In the last three weeks I have been to some of the world's great capitol cities and financial centers: Zurich, The Havre, Glasgow, Lisbon and Havana. I've even been to Harlem, Malta, Nome and the Kremlin. I never knew they were all in Montana and North Dakota. You learn a lot about the world on a bike ride.
I'm happy with my decision to add a small corner of a new state to my itinerary. The roads were good and Roy Lake State Park is an extremely nice place to camp. My site is right on the lake, which is a real lake, not a pond or a wetland or a swamp. It is surprisingly clear and blue and surrounded by trees. There are a few canoes out there right now and I would like to shout out some advice to the paddlers (but I won't actually do it.) Here is what I should say: "Your voice carries a long way on a quiet lake. You might THINK you are far from shore and nobody will hear your burping and farting and silly jokes, or your intimate conversations, or your trashing somebody you don't like, or your theories on where to find and catch fish. You would be wrong."
In the last three weeks I have been to some of the world's great capitol cities and financial centers: Zurich, The Havre, Glasgow, Lisbon and Havana. I've even been to Harlem, Malta, Nome and the Kremlin. I never knew they were all in Montana and North Dakota. You learn a lot about the world on a bike ride.
I'm happy with my decision to add a small corner of a new state to my itinerary. The roads were good and Roy Lake State Park is an extremely nice place to camp. My site is right on the lake, which is a real lake, not a pond or a wetland or a swamp. It is surprisingly clear and blue and surrounded by trees. There are a few canoes out there right now and I would like to shout out some advice to the paddlers (but I won't actually do it.) Here is what I should say: "Your voice carries a long way on a quiet lake. You might THINK you are far from shore and nobody will hear your burping and farting and silly jokes, or your intimate conversations, or your trashing somebody you don't like, or your theories on where to find and catch fish. You would be wrong."
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| Let's spend a day in a different Dakota. |
August 21: Lisbon, ND
A cool front moved in after midnight and the morning was gloriously comfortable. I made and lingered over a couple of cups of Starbucks French Roast at my campsite. I didn't want to leave.
Yet, leave I did and it was my first day off the Adventure Cycling route since Sandpoint, Idaho. From this point on I will be improvising my route on a daily basis, literally as the wind blows. The direction of the wind will play a big factor in what direction I will pedal. Hopefully my plan is successful or I could end up at the point where I will be absolutely REQUIRED to fight terrible headwinds to get home.
This morning I went south with the wind along the Sheyenne River National Scenic Byway. I made a short detour to see a State Historic Site, namely, Fort Ransom, an important military site in the 1850's to the 1870's.
Did I see a fort? No, I did not. What I DID see was an empty field with big white signs indicating where, for example, the captain's quarters, or the enlisted men's barracks, or the stable, or the mess hall once stood. There wasn't an original log or chunk of wood or stick left. In the center of all those white signs was a flag pole. Highly unlikely is the possibility that it was an original artifact.
Lisbon, population 2,154, was the "North Dakota City of the Year" in 2009. I probably will never know the reason. It didn't make much of an impression on me (except for the friendly librarian who allowed me all the time I needed to update my blog.) I stayed at a dumpy motel in town anyway because I did not feel like riding another 50 miles to the next significant town. The motel was very inexpensive but it wasn't very clean.
Yet, leave I did and it was my first day off the Adventure Cycling route since Sandpoint, Idaho. From this point on I will be improvising my route on a daily basis, literally as the wind blows. The direction of the wind will play a big factor in what direction I will pedal. Hopefully my plan is successful or I could end up at the point where I will be absolutely REQUIRED to fight terrible headwinds to get home.
This morning I went south with the wind along the Sheyenne River National Scenic Byway. I made a short detour to see a State Historic Site, namely, Fort Ransom, an important military site in the 1850's to the 1870's.
Did I see a fort? No, I did not. What I DID see was an empty field with big white signs indicating where, for example, the captain's quarters, or the enlisted men's barracks, or the stable, or the mess hall once stood. There wasn't an original log or chunk of wood or stick left. In the center of all those white signs was a flag pole. Highly unlikely is the possibility that it was an original artifact.
Lisbon, population 2,154, was the "North Dakota City of the Year" in 2009. I probably will never know the reason. It didn't make much of an impression on me (except for the friendly librarian who allowed me all the time I needed to update my blog.) I stayed at a dumpy motel in town anyway because I did not feel like riding another 50 miles to the next significant town. The motel was very inexpensive but it wasn't very clean.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
August 20: Little Yellowstone County Park
All heads turned my way when I walked into the Gackle Cafe at 8:00 a.m. There were six men sitting at one table and eight men sitting at another. On the other side of the room were six women at a table. Nobody was having anything other than coffee and not one of them was under 60 years of age.
I was greeted with a couple of polite "hellos" and then they all went back to chattering at their respective tables. I sat alone, ordered coffee and a small breakfast and quietly ate it when it arrived. Only after I got up to pay did I start getting peppered with questions about my ride. I also got weather reports, information on road conditions, and wishes for a safe journey. The owner of the cafe thanked me most emphatically with a firm pat on the back. I assumed he was overjoyed that somebody actually ordered some food. When I left that place I was feeling pretty special.
If I was not on a bike the last two days and instead was driving, I would speed up and say to myself, "This is excruciating. Let's get the hell out of this wasteland."
Then the bicycler part of me would say, "Seriously? Did you not notice all of rolling hills and those lakes and wetlands?"
"Those aren't lakes. Mille Lacs is a lake. These are more like ponds or, better yet, swamps."
"They may be swampy but certainly you enjoyed seeing the various ducks and herons and pelicans."
"The what?"
"You heard me," bike-me said.
"Well I might have seen a couple of ducks."
"I saw a hundred ducks if I saw one. I had to laugh at this one kind of duck that takes off by running on the water and pounding its wings on the surface like a drummer hitting his snare. And in that one bay alone there must have been 30 big white pelicans."
"Oh," said motorist-me.
Biker-me kept it up. "Did you see all those hawks?"
"Oh yeah," motorist-me perked up. "He was sitting on a telephone pole. I have to admit, THAT was pretty cool. I love birds of prey."
"You saw one hawk and that was pretty cool, huh? I must have seen at least 20 of them and several screamed out that CHREEEEEEeeeee sound that they make."
"Well, how do you expect me to hear that with the windows closed, the air-conditioning on, and Spoon blasting on the sound system?" motorist-me replied, feeling kind of hip with the Spoon reference.
"Not only that," bike-me continued, "one red-tailed hawk played a little game with me. As I approached his telephone pole perch, he took off and flew to another one three poles ahead. When I got to that one, he did the same thing. This process repeated itself four times until he flew across the road and yelled, 'CHREEEEEEeeeeeee.'"
Unimpressed, motorist-me said, "whatever you saw or did, it took you two days. I took ME two hours."
Biker-me had no answer to that.
It was so quiet on these roads and there was so little traffic that sometimes I felt like I was in a wilderness. If somehow I was staring at a lone sunflower growing inches from the side of the road and was suddenly shocked by bone-jarring rumble strips (which I did) or if a small mammal bolted in front of me out of nowhere (which it did,) and if I had wiped out as a result, it could easily have been 15 or 20 minutes before my broken, bloody body was found. I thrive in that kind of solitude.
This evening I am camped at the Little Yellowstone Park. The Sheyenne River flows right behind me in a deep valley. There are no other campers. Oak trees tower over me and provide shade. At some point today, the high temperature is expected to be 99 degrees.
At 8:30 p.m. all of the dragonflies in Barnes County got together in a clearing at the north end of the campground for a dragonfly jamboree. At 9:00, several owls began hooting. I laid in the sweat lodge that was my tent.
I was greeted with a couple of polite "hellos" and then they all went back to chattering at their respective tables. I sat alone, ordered coffee and a small breakfast and quietly ate it when it arrived. Only after I got up to pay did I start getting peppered with questions about my ride. I also got weather reports, information on road conditions, and wishes for a safe journey. The owner of the cafe thanked me most emphatically with a firm pat on the back. I assumed he was overjoyed that somebody actually ordered some food. When I left that place I was feeling pretty special.
If I was not on a bike the last two days and instead was driving, I would speed up and say to myself, "This is excruciating. Let's get the hell out of this wasteland."
Then the bicycler part of me would say, "Seriously? Did you not notice all of rolling hills and those lakes and wetlands?"
"Those aren't lakes. Mille Lacs is a lake. These are more like ponds or, better yet, swamps."
"They may be swampy but certainly you enjoyed seeing the various ducks and herons and pelicans."
"The what?"
"You heard me," bike-me said.
"Well I might have seen a couple of ducks."
"I saw a hundred ducks if I saw one. I had to laugh at this one kind of duck that takes off by running on the water and pounding its wings on the surface like a drummer hitting his snare. And in that one bay alone there must have been 30 big white pelicans."
"Oh," said motorist-me.
Biker-me kept it up. "Did you see all those hawks?"
"Oh yeah," motorist-me perked up. "He was sitting on a telephone pole. I have to admit, THAT was pretty cool. I love birds of prey."
"You saw one hawk and that was pretty cool, huh? I must have seen at least 20 of them and several screamed out that CHREEEEEEeeeee sound that they make."
"Well, how do you expect me to hear that with the windows closed, the air-conditioning on, and Spoon blasting on the sound system?" motorist-me replied, feeling kind of hip with the Spoon reference.
"Not only that," bike-me continued, "one red-tailed hawk played a little game with me. As I approached his telephone pole perch, he took off and flew to another one three poles ahead. When I got to that one, he did the same thing. This process repeated itself four times until he flew across the road and yelled, 'CHREEEEEEeeeeeee.'"
Unimpressed, motorist-me said, "whatever you saw or did, it took you two days. I took ME two hours."
Biker-me had no answer to that.
It was so quiet on these roads and there was so little traffic that sometimes I felt like I was in a wilderness. If somehow I was staring at a lone sunflower growing inches from the side of the road and was suddenly shocked by bone-jarring rumble strips (which I did) or if a small mammal bolted in front of me out of nowhere (which it did,) and if I had wiped out as a result, it could easily have been 15 or 20 minutes before my broken, bloody body was found. I thrive in that kind of solitude.
This evening I am camped at the Little Yellowstone Park. The Sheyenne River flows right behind me in a deep valley. There are no other campers. Oak trees tower over me and provide shade. At some point today, the high temperature is expected to be 99 degrees.
At 8:30 p.m. all of the dragonflies in Barnes County got together in a clearing at the north end of the campground for a dragonfly jamboree. At 9:00, several owls began hooting. I laid in the sweat lodge that was my tent.
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| Little sunflowers at roadside. Flat land. Hawks. Rodents. |
August 19: Gackle, ND
Hot and humid. Until I arrived in Gackle, 65 miles from Hazelton, those three words were going to be my entire post for today. However, I could not let my stay at The Honey Hub of Gackle--A Cyclist's Respite go unmentioned. Here is what I wrote in their guestbook:
I've only been here for 1/2 hour and this is already my favorite North Dakota stop. It's 94 degrees and I have no idea what the humidity is. Here I am in relatively luxurious conditions and, I might add, quite unexpectedly. I saw the sign at the intersection, gave Jason a call, and saved myself having to set up camp, God knows where, in this heat.
Laundry, shower, air-conditioning, bed, refrigerator, treats, wi-fi, restaurant advice, couch, restroom--THIS IS THE HILTON HOTEL OF MY ADVENTURE! Thank you, Millers.
Basically, this family has opened up their basement for cyclists who are weary from the long distances between towns of any size. Gackle itself only has about 350 people yet it is the biggest town for 110 miles on Highways 34 and 46.
I've only been here for 1/2 hour and this is already my favorite North Dakota stop. It's 94 degrees and I have no idea what the humidity is. Here I am in relatively luxurious conditions and, I might add, quite unexpectedly. I saw the sign at the intersection, gave Jason a call, and saved myself having to set up camp, God knows where, in this heat.
Laundry, shower, air-conditioning, bed, refrigerator, treats, wi-fi, restaurant advice, couch, restroom--THIS IS THE HILTON HOTEL OF MY ADVENTURE! Thank you, Millers.
Basically, this family has opened up their basement for cyclists who are weary from the long distances between towns of any size. Gackle itself only has about 350 people yet it is the biggest town for 110 miles on Highways 34 and 46.
August 18: Hazelton, ND
Those crazy winds changed a little bit again today, coming from the southwest. That was a great development for about half of my day. The other half, for the first time in a week, went in a southerly direction. That's OK though because I am on the other side of the Missouri River. If Mandan, as the sign on the edge of town claims, is truly the "gateway to the west," then I am now in the east. And the east is already noticeably flatter. Wheat fields are giving way to corn fields. And the aridity of the west is gone. As if by magic, today is my first humid day. According to the news it was at 98% when I left Bismark this morning.
I am starting to see some vast sunflower fields. I think Kansas claims to be the "Sunflower State," but North Dakota has to be a close second. Personally, I would call North Dakota the "Hay Bale State." Once in a while I like to use a big word, so let me just throw this out there: In this state, hay bales are ubiquitous.
Speaking of hay, about two miles outside of Hazelton, on Highway 83 (The Lawrence Welk Highway*) I saw my first haySTACK and it was not a stack of haybales of which there are many. I think it was about 10' high and about 30' around. It made me just want to grab a pitchfork. Alas, it will probably be turned into three or four bales of hay by tomorrow morning.
I am camping at a little city park in Hazelton. I'm all alone here with a picnic shelter and some playground equipment and some horseshoe pits. Everywhere there are signs that say "No Alcoholic Beverages." I interpret such signs to mean, "Please Be Discreet."
*The Great Plains, by Ian Frazier, has an interesting essay on Lawrence Welk's impact on North Dakota. Unfortunately, his hometown, Strasbourg, is 35 miles out of my way.
I am starting to see some vast sunflower fields. I think Kansas claims to be the "Sunflower State," but North Dakota has to be a close second. Personally, I would call North Dakota the "Hay Bale State." Once in a while I like to use a big word, so let me just throw this out there: In this state, hay bales are ubiquitous.
Speaking of hay, about two miles outside of Hazelton, on Highway 83 (The Lawrence Welk Highway*) I saw my first haySTACK and it was not a stack of haybales of which there are many. I think it was about 10' high and about 30' around. It made me just want to grab a pitchfork. Alas, it will probably be turned into three or four bales of hay by tomorrow morning.
I am camping at a little city park in Hazelton. I'm all alone here with a picnic shelter and some playground equipment and some horseshoe pits. Everywhere there are signs that say "No Alcoholic Beverages." I interpret such signs to mean, "Please Be Discreet."
*The Great Plains, by Ian Frazier, has an interesting essay on Lawrence Welk's impact on North Dakota. Unfortunately, his hometown, Strasbourg, is 35 miles out of my way.
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| The North Dakota state capitol building. |
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| Help! A giant spider is attacking my campsite! |
Saturday, August 17, 2013
August 17: Bismark, North Dakota
I took a last look at Salem Sue this morning while making my morning coffee and letting the sun dry the dew off of my rain fly. Like all the real cows I've seen all month, Sue just stare straight ahead.
Highway 139, a North Dakota Scenic Byway, took me quickly to Mandan where a festival was going on. Mandan Grilling Days had food vendors featuring barbequed foods like ribs, pulled pork sandwiches, brisket, burger, hotdogs, corn on the cob, etc., live music and adult beverages.
While I was there, the musical performers were local acts including a twelve year old singer/guitarist who had recently won a prize as the best young act at the State Fair in Minot. A guy I talked to said I should stick around until evening. He assured me that a big crowd was expected for a band that was coming all the way from Fargo.
I hung around there for about an hour and a half and that is something that I rarely do when I am on the road. I'm usually too anxious to get to my destination. In this case, my destination was just across the Missouri River in Bismark. I had a half-rack of ribs and some baked beans and, I must say, it was the best meal I've had since Spokane. Sorry that I was going to have to miss that great un-named band from Fargo, I went back to my bike and moved on.
I made a quick stop at the Broken Spoke Bicycle Shop which literally operated out of a guy's garage in a residential section of Bismark. And he wasn't very friendly.
Being the largest city since Spokane, I treated myself to a king suite at the Bismark LaQuinta Inn. Very nice room. Good view of the city. Right by the wierd state capitol building.
Highway 139, a North Dakota Scenic Byway, took me quickly to Mandan where a festival was going on. Mandan Grilling Days had food vendors featuring barbequed foods like ribs, pulled pork sandwiches, brisket, burger, hotdogs, corn on the cob, etc., live music and adult beverages.
While I was there, the musical performers were local acts including a twelve year old singer/guitarist who had recently won a prize as the best young act at the State Fair in Minot. A guy I talked to said I should stick around until evening. He assured me that a big crowd was expected for a band that was coming all the way from Fargo.
I hung around there for about an hour and a half and that is something that I rarely do when I am on the road. I'm usually too anxious to get to my destination. In this case, my destination was just across the Missouri River in Bismark. I had a half-rack of ribs and some baked beans and, I must say, it was the best meal I've had since Spokane. Sorry that I was going to have to miss that great un-named band from Fargo, I went back to my bike and moved on.
I made a quick stop at the Broken Spoke Bicycle Shop which literally operated out of a guy's garage in a residential section of Bismark. And he wasn't very friendly.
Being the largest city since Spokane, I treated myself to a king suite at the Bismark LaQuinta Inn. Very nice room. Good view of the city. Right by the wierd state capitol building.
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| BBQ festival in Mandan |
August 16: New Salem, ND
From Dickinson to New Salem I rode the Interstate Highway, thereby turning a 77-mile Northern Tier ride into a mere 70-mile ride. With mild winds from the south, I felt great at mile 50. With increasingly stronger winds from the south and 90 degree temperatures, I was exhausted at mile 70. I learned that North Dakota is actually quite hilly from the perspective of a bicyclist, and those hills never seem to end. I was glad to be in New Salem, home to the world's largest holstein cow, Salem Sue, which overlooks I-94 from a flat-topped butte. New Salem is also home to the high school sports teams named, appropriately, The Holsteins. Every high school team in North Dakota must have fear in their guts when they have to face the New Salem Holsteins.
I went to a grocery store in New Salem and could not believe how empty its shelves were. While shopping for snacks, I tore my only pair of non-cycling shorts on the corner of a display rack. It was nothing that a four inch strip of duct tape couldn't repair.
I've had a number of people texting me and asking for pictures. Pictures? A fine author named Edward Abbey has a great quote that goes something like this: "A word is worth a thousand pictures, if it is the RIGHT word." I try to write the RIGHT word, but if you must have pictures, I have been posting a few on my Facebook page. Anybody can view them.
To be honest though, I have not been able to figure out how to post photos on this blog with my stupid Blackberry.
(Since this was written, I have figured it out and have added photos.)
I went to a grocery store in New Salem and could not believe how empty its shelves were. While shopping for snacks, I tore my only pair of non-cycling shorts on the corner of a display rack. It was nothing that a four inch strip of duct tape couldn't repair.
I've had a number of people texting me and asking for pictures. Pictures? A fine author named Edward Abbey has a great quote that goes something like this: "A word is worth a thousand pictures, if it is the RIGHT word." I try to write the RIGHT word, but if you must have pictures, I have been posting a few on my Facebook page. Anybody can view them.
To be honest though, I have not been able to figure out how to post photos on this blog with my stupid Blackberry.
(Since this was written, I have figured it out and have added photos.)
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| A big ol' stack of haybales. |
August 15: Lake Patterson Recreation Area
My plans changed a little this morning. I was going to spend a night in Theodore Roosevelt National Park for another badlands experience but it just didn't seem right to go only nine miles when I had another day of light winds from the south. As the farmers around here will tell you, "you've got to make hay while the sun shines." So I rode on.
Medora is the gateway to Teddy Roosevelt's Park. It is quite the tourist town. For a town with a year-round population of 112 people, it sure has a lot of businesses, especially restaurants and gift shops. It's all done up in kind of a faux old west style. I guess it had some charm to it due mostly to the backdrop of high cliffs along the Little Missouri River.
A combination of I-94 and "Old Highway 10" was my route today. Old Highway 10 was freshly paved and rather pleasant in that regard, but what did I do to deserve the grasshopper plague a few miles past Belfield? I think I recall what the pharaoh did, but I sure never held any people captive. The grasshoppers were hopping around everywhere, often landing on and sticking to me. It gave me the creeps. A few times some of the unfortunate insects went under my tire or through my spokes. The crunching and slicing sounds gave me same twisted satisfaction I got as a grade-schooler in Iowa when my brothers and I would dice up big June bugs with tennis rackets.
I turned a nine-mile day into a 40-mile day and I camped a few miles west of Dickinson at the Lake Patterson Recreation Area, despite the warning I got from my new friend, Frank. (You may remember him from the Circle, MT post.) He encountered loud, drunk oil workers. I encountered a neighbor at the site next to mine, shirtless and with a huge beer belly, belching and slurring his words and swearing at his wife. Don't worry though, she could keep up with him F-word for F-word.
I struck up a short conversation with beer belly late in the afternoon. I couldn't help but notice he had a big jug of Black Velvet Canadian Whiskey and he kept pouring some of that into a 1/2 pint bottle of Black Velvet from which he took healty swigs. I wondered, "why not just use a cup? Or chug from the big bottle?
Nice lake though.
(Addendum: After I finished writing for the day, some of the young, loud oil workers joined beer belly for some drinking and swearing. AC/DC blared from a Chevy Blazer. It made it hard for me to enjoy my beer in peace.)
August 14: Little Missouri National Grassland
What can I say about everything that happened today? How can I convey the perfection of the ride, the scenery, and the choices I made without sounding like a head-in-the-clouds lunatic? I can't. When I am done posting today's journal you will all know that I am certifiably delusional--a lost soul living in some kind of dreamland.
Here are five reasons why my day was close to perfect:
1) I slept in today knowing that my ride would be less than 20 miles--short enough to be almost like a day off, yet still make a little progress toward home.
2) When I got up, No Country For Old Men was on the USA Network which helped me to kill a little time at the motel. The aforementioned film just happens to be one of my four or five all-time favorites.
3) The wind has shifted. Today it is primarily coming from the south. Compared to the last week or so of constant headwinds and constant pedaling--even on the downhills--it felt like I was gliding across the earth effortlessly.
4) At the tiny town of Sentinal Butte, I made the decision to go off-route onto County Road 1711 North even though it meant a little extra Interstate riding to get to my destination. I don't believe I have ever enjoyed any three-mile bike ride as much as that little excursion. The road twisted around numerous buttes and the most pastoral landscape. Most likely only on a bike could anyone truly appreciate that setting.
5) My goal, The Buffalo Gap Campground, turned out to be everything I hoped it would be. It was set among a few shade trees in a land of tall grass, low shrubs, and eroded red and white clay buttes, mesas, and monoliths. Only two of thiry-seven sites were occupied. I hiked to the top of one of the buttes and the view was . . . something you would have to see for yourself. Is it possible to see to infinity? I watched a couple of dudes drive up in a VW bus. They climbed the same butte I did. One of them threw a Frisbee to the north, with the wind, and it must have sailed 500 yards. At sunset the red clays began to really assert themselves and at night the stars . . .
Just to show that I DO have some critical judgement, I'll let you in on a little secret. I didn't like that I could hear the Interstate traffic from the campground.
Here are five reasons why my day was close to perfect:
1) I slept in today knowing that my ride would be less than 20 miles--short enough to be almost like a day off, yet still make a little progress toward home.
2) When I got up, No Country For Old Men was on the USA Network which helped me to kill a little time at the motel. The aforementioned film just happens to be one of my four or five all-time favorites.
3) The wind has shifted. Today it is primarily coming from the south. Compared to the last week or so of constant headwinds and constant pedaling--even on the downhills--it felt like I was gliding across the earth effortlessly.
4) At the tiny town of Sentinal Butte, I made the decision to go off-route onto County Road 1711 North even though it meant a little extra Interstate riding to get to my destination. I don't believe I have ever enjoyed any three-mile bike ride as much as that little excursion. The road twisted around numerous buttes and the most pastoral landscape. Most likely only on a bike could anyone truly appreciate that setting.
5) My goal, The Buffalo Gap Campground, turned out to be everything I hoped it would be. It was set among a few shade trees in a land of tall grass, low shrubs, and eroded red and white clay buttes, mesas, and monoliths. Only two of thiry-seven sites were occupied. I hiked to the top of one of the buttes and the view was . . . something you would have to see for yourself. Is it possible to see to infinity? I watched a couple of dudes drive up in a VW bus. They climbed the same butte I did. One of them threw a Frisbee to the north, with the wind, and it must have sailed 500 yards. At sunset the red clays began to really assert themselves and at night the stars . . .
Just to show that I DO have some critical judgement, I'll let you in on a little secret. I didn't like that I could hear the Interstate traffic from the campground.
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| Add caption |
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
August 13: Beach, North Dakota
There was plenty of beauty and isolation on a section of a county road between Glendive and Wibaux. I encountered one car in twelve miles. It was so sparsely travelled that I started getting cocky and I biked down the center of the road, sometimes with no hands and sometimes throwing almonds into my mouth with no hands on the handlebars. I didn't even mind the stretches of Interstate 94 riding that I had to endure. With a ten-foot wide shoulder, even heavy traffic does not concern me.
More headwinds! Okay, that's enough whining. I am in a new state and I am rejuvenated. But there is a problem brewing and it is showing its ugly head just one mile into the state. After 1300 miles of being able to buy good beer in any gas station or grocery store, I am finding that North Dakota's alcohol laws are as archaic as Minnesota's. I hope Golden Valley County is not representative of the rest of the state. I don't want the inconvenience of having to go look for a place to buy beer.
My next two days are going to be easy ones. I will be bicycling less than twenty miles each of those days in order to enjoy and hike around in the badlands of the Teddy Roosevelt National Park and Little Missouri National Grasslands area. It may be the last interesting and unusual (to me anyway) landscape I'll be seeing.
Plus, it will be nice to get back to sleeping outdoors. I've stayed in cheap motels five nights in a row now because camping opportunities have been either non-existent, for RV's only, or just plain undesirable.
More headwinds! Okay, that's enough whining. I am in a new state and I am rejuvenated. But there is a problem brewing and it is showing its ugly head just one mile into the state. After 1300 miles of being able to buy good beer in any gas station or grocery store, I am finding that North Dakota's alcohol laws are as archaic as Minnesota's. I hope Golden Valley County is not representative of the rest of the state. I don't want the inconvenience of having to go look for a place to buy beer.
My next two days are going to be easy ones. I will be bicycling less than twenty miles each of those days in order to enjoy and hike around in the badlands of the Teddy Roosevelt National Park and Little Missouri National Grasslands area. It may be the last interesting and unusual (to me anyway) landscape I'll be seeing.
Plus, it will be nice to get back to sleeping outdoors. I've stayed in cheap motels five nights in a row now because camping opportunities have been either non-existent, for RV's only, or just plain undesirable.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
August 12: Glendive, MT
Heading eastward, I hailed a guy and a gal going in the opposite direction. From our very brief exchange I learned they were headed to Seattle and they were not Americans. My guess would be northern Europeans. I also met a young man going from Bellingham, WA to Indiana and he said he was running behind schedule and was feeling the need to alter his route in order to get back to his job on time. I waved to another rider who was so loaded with bags and gear that I could hardly see the bike itself. I didn't talk to him, but judging from the size of the load he was carrying, he must be on an around the world trek and he is collecting a souvenir from every town he has been through.
I saw my first sand plant. Yes sand. They crush rock into sand, load it into railroad freight cars, and ship it off to the Bakken oilfields of North Dakota for "fracking."
The badlands of eastern Montana began to reveal themselves on today's desolate 50 miles. The city of Glendive is the gateway to Makoshika (the Indian word for "badlands") State Park and the park has an excellent display of that weirdly eroded landscape.
Barring any disasters, this should be my last night in the great state of Montana. It is a very beautiful and diverse state and I will leave it with a bittersweet feeling. Bitter in that I am leaving what I consider the unknown, the frontier, the far from home and the different from home. I think of North Dakota as not much more than Minnesota's next door neighbor. And sweet in that it is a step closer to home which I am truly starting to miss.
I saw my first sand plant. Yes sand. They crush rock into sand, load it into railroad freight cars, and ship it off to the Bakken oilfields of North Dakota for "fracking."
The badlands of eastern Montana began to reveal themselves on today's desolate 50 miles. The city of Glendive is the gateway to Makoshika (the Indian word for "badlands") State Park and the park has an excellent display of that weirdly eroded landscape.
Barring any disasters, this should be my last night in the great state of Montana. It is a very beautiful and diverse state and I will leave it with a bittersweet feeling. Bitter in that I am leaving what I consider the unknown, the frontier, the far from home and the different from home. I think of North Dakota as not much more than Minnesota's next door neighbor. And sweet in that it is a step closer to home which I am truly starting to miss.
Monday, August 12, 2013
August 11: Circle, Montana
My Day in Haiku
Crossed the Missouri
Long treeless hills and valleys
Wheat fields and hay bales.
A good Haiku should need no further interpretation. The poetry should speak for itself. That would be a GOOD Haiku. In this case, I shall deconstruct the poem like in a Jr. High English class.
Line 1: I left my long-time companion, Highway 2, and turned south on 13 (aka, The Big Sky Backcountry Byway.) Early on, I went over the river of my heroes Lewis and Clark--The Missouri River.
Line 2: Up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, etc. That was the ride all day long--54 miles of it.
Line 3: The landscape for 99% of that up and down ride consisted of vast crops of golden wheat or long grass. Most of those grasses had been rolled up into huge five-foot high hay bales. There were thousands of them scattered as far as the eye can see. I also sat and watched one of those baling machines at work. It eats and eats and eats everything in its path for a few minutes, then it slows down, opens up its rear end, and dumps a 1000 lb. present. I was fascinated.
Haiku does not allow enough syllables to mention the group of seven pronghorn antelope I saw hanging out in one of those harvested fields. Nor could I state that I met Frank from Los Angeles, another Northern Tier rider going the entire distance from Bar Harbor, Maine to Anacourtes, Washington. We had a couple of beers together in what was probably the only shady spot in all of Circle, Montana. Good conversation.
Crossed the Missouri
Long treeless hills and valleys
Wheat fields and hay bales.
A good Haiku should need no further interpretation. The poetry should speak for itself. That would be a GOOD Haiku. In this case, I shall deconstruct the poem like in a Jr. High English class.
Line 1: I left my long-time companion, Highway 2, and turned south on 13 (aka, The Big Sky Backcountry Byway.) Early on, I went over the river of my heroes Lewis and Clark--The Missouri River.
Line 2: Up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, etc. That was the ride all day long--54 miles of it.
Line 3: The landscape for 99% of that up and down ride consisted of vast crops of golden wheat or long grass. Most of those grasses had been rolled up into huge five-foot high hay bales. There were thousands of them scattered as far as the eye can see. I also sat and watched one of those baling machines at work. It eats and eats and eats everything in its path for a few minutes, then it slows down, opens up its rear end, and dumps a 1000 lb. present. I was fascinated.
Haiku does not allow enough syllables to mention the group of seven pronghorn antelope I saw hanging out in one of those harvested fields. Nor could I state that I met Frank from Los Angeles, another Northern Tier rider going the entire distance from Bar Harbor, Maine to Anacourtes, Washington. We had a couple of beers together in what was probably the only shady spot in all of Circle, Montana. Good conversation.
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| Haybales as far as the eye can see. |
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| The beautiful view from my motel room in Circle. The motel itself was similarly attractive. |
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| A lonely building on the road to Circle. |
August 10: Wolf Point, Montana
The State of Montana has placed white crosses in locations where a traffic fatality has occurred on highways all across the state. I've seen hundreds of them in my two weeks in this state. Sometimes there are two or three or up to six of these simple white crosses in a single location. Sometimes the crosses have been decorated with flowers or ribbons or dolls or toys, sometimes not. This is just a personal observation, definitely not proven by a certified statistician, but I have been through three Indian Reservations now and the frequency of white crosses seems to be much higher on the reservations. The frequency of broken glass from beer and liquor bottles on the shoulders of the highway is much higher as well.
I have another unscientific observation. U.S. Highway 2 has got to have the highest ratio of "Oversized Loads" as a percentage of all motorized vehicles in the nation. Most of these trucks are carrying farm machinery.
Now I will try to bring some cohesion to the previous two paragraphs. This morning, a big oversized load carrying some kind of harvesting contraption came up from behind me. It, like most cars and trucks, whenever possible, moved over a little bit for me. When it moved back into its lane, I noticed that the contraption extended well over the shoulder. If a car had been coming in the opposite direction, that oversized load could not have moved over and it could easily have taken off my head. Pure adrenaline might have kept me going for another quarter-mile or so without a head, but blood would have been spurting out of my neck arteries like the fountains at the Bellagio Hotel. I would have expired somewhere just short of Nashua, MT and a brand new white cross would be erected in my honor.
The thought of this macabre scenario got me to singing the Warren Zevon classic Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner--at least the first verse which is all I could remember.
A little later I saw two vehicles that drive ahead of an oversized load--the ones with flashing lights and signs that say "Oversized Load." Then a third one slowed down beside me and the driver said, "you better move over to the other side; we have a 25-footer coming.
I complied and then stopped and waited. Seriously, it was monstrous, and I don't have the slightest clue what it was. My best guess would be that it was part of a jumbo jet or something military-related. The flatbed truck had extenders to accommodate the width of this object and you could clearly see it rocking from side to side.
I have another unscientific observation. U.S. Highway 2 has got to have the highest ratio of "Oversized Loads" as a percentage of all motorized vehicles in the nation. Most of these trucks are carrying farm machinery.
Now I will try to bring some cohesion to the previous two paragraphs. This morning, a big oversized load carrying some kind of harvesting contraption came up from behind me. It, like most cars and trucks, whenever possible, moved over a little bit for me. When it moved back into its lane, I noticed that the contraption extended well over the shoulder. If a car had been coming in the opposite direction, that oversized load could not have moved over and it could easily have taken off my head. Pure adrenaline might have kept me going for another quarter-mile or so without a head, but blood would have been spurting out of my neck arteries like the fountains at the Bellagio Hotel. I would have expired somewhere just short of Nashua, MT and a brand new white cross would be erected in my honor.
The thought of this macabre scenario got me to singing the Warren Zevon classic Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner--at least the first verse which is all I could remember.
A little later I saw two vehicles that drive ahead of an oversized load--the ones with flashing lights and signs that say "Oversized Load." Then a third one slowed down beside me and the driver said, "you better move over to the other side; we have a 25-footer coming.
I complied and then stopped and waited. Seriously, it was monstrous, and I don't have the slightest clue what it was. My best guess would be that it was part of a jumbo jet or something military-related. The flatbed truck had extenders to accommodate the width of this object and you could clearly see it rocking from side to side.
Friday, August 9, 2013
August 9: Glasgow, Scotland. I mean Glasgow, Montana.
A storm threatened last night before I went to my sleeping bag. The sky darkened and powerful winds blew in from the north. I welcomed a thunderstorm. I like them. But it passed.
This morning I was awakened by the combined sounds of cattle moo-ing from across the lake, seagulls screeching, mourning doves cooing, pelicans squawking, a variety of songbirds cheeping and chirping and whistling and singing, and little waves lapping up on shore. No better alarm clock ever existed. It was like an improvised symphony of nature.
Speaking of nature, I saw a lot of wildlife on the road today. The unfortunate thing is that they were all dead. A couple of snakes, three skunks (and yes, one of them was in the middle of the road,) two raccoons, a turtle, a fawn, a porcupine, two hawks (which seemed strange to me,) and a rodent I could not identify--maybe a fisher or otter or weasel or muskrat. I wish I was a better zoologist.
I'd also like to mention once again how nice people have been to me. Many people have all kinds of questions about my trip and many have shared some great stories about their automobile trips and experiences. I've had folks offer me food at campgrounds. People working at motels have given me discounts and granted me early check-ins. Other bicycle riders are fun to talk to. Train engineers blow their horns for me and wave. And this is the thing I like best: motorists, and even more commonly, motorcyclists give me an encouraging wave or "thumbs up" as I ride. It happens all the time. What a ride!!!!!!
This morning I was awakened by the combined sounds of cattle moo-ing from across the lake, seagulls screeching, mourning doves cooing, pelicans squawking, a variety of songbirds cheeping and chirping and whistling and singing, and little waves lapping up on shore. No better alarm clock ever existed. It was like an improvised symphony of nature.
Speaking of nature, I saw a lot of wildlife on the road today. The unfortunate thing is that they were all dead. A couple of snakes, three skunks (and yes, one of them was in the middle of the road,) two raccoons, a turtle, a fawn, a porcupine, two hawks (which seemed strange to me,) and a rodent I could not identify--maybe a fisher or otter or weasel or muskrat. I wish I was a better zoologist.
I'd also like to mention once again how nice people have been to me. Many people have all kinds of questions about my trip and many have shared some great stories about their automobile trips and experiences. I've had folks offer me food at campgrounds. People working at motels have given me discounts and granted me early check-ins. Other bicycle riders are fun to talk to. Train engineers blow their horns for me and wave. And this is the thing I like best: motorists, and even more commonly, motorcyclists give me an encouraging wave or "thumbs up" as I ride. It happens all the time. What a ride!!!!!!
August 8: Nelson Reservoir
There were 15 m.p.h. headwinds all day (more of the same for the rest of the week according to the weather people) and it was cloudy and cool all morning. I even had about fifteen minutes of light rain.
Approximately half way across the Fort Belknap Indian Reservation, coming in the opposite direction, there was an organized bike ride of some kind. A Montana version of RAGBRAI perhaps? Except instead of 10,000 riders there were, at the most, sixty riders. Another indicator that it was no RAGBRAI is that none of them appeared to have been drinking. They were bunched in groups of three or four and I enjoyed exchanging "good mornings" with them.
The clouds passed to the west and the sun came back out. I started singing Who Loves the Sun? To paraphrase Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground: "Who loves the sun/ who cares that it makes plants grow/ who cares what it does since [it] broke my heart/ who loves the sun/ not everyone.
Normally I love the sun, and while most of my body has adapted to it, my lips are blistering. And that, to put it succinctly, sucks.
I liked Malta almost as much as I hated Harlem. There was a motel there that looked like it was lifted from Route 66 and placed on lowly Route 2. I was so tempted to check into it, but I had already set a goal for reaching the B.L.M. Campground on the Nelson Reservoir and, by God, I am going to get there.
I made it. I had to go on a gravel road to get there but it was worth it. I found a nice site five yards from the lake and the second I applied the brakes on my bike there were about 100 mosquitos on my skin. Again, 100% DEET sent them packing. Previously the worst mosquito infestation I ever encountered was on Isle Royale with my son Aaron and one of his Jr. High buddies. But, as hard as this may seem to believe, considering I am on the Great Plains, this exceeded Isle Royale. Montana mosquitos, however, are considerably smaller than the monsters of Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Michigan.
On the other side of the reservoir are some nice barren hills. On the lake are seagulls and pelicans. I just spent a considerable amount of time gathering enough fire wood to grill my dinner. I am extremely pleased with my day.
Approximately half way across the Fort Belknap Indian Reservation, coming in the opposite direction, there was an organized bike ride of some kind. A Montana version of RAGBRAI perhaps? Except instead of 10,000 riders there were, at the most, sixty riders. Another indicator that it was no RAGBRAI is that none of them appeared to have been drinking. They were bunched in groups of three or four and I enjoyed exchanging "good mornings" with them.
The clouds passed to the west and the sun came back out. I started singing Who Loves the Sun? To paraphrase Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground: "Who loves the sun/ who cares that it makes plants grow/ who cares what it does since [it] broke my heart/ who loves the sun/ not everyone.
Normally I love the sun, and while most of my body has adapted to it, my lips are blistering. And that, to put it succinctly, sucks.
I liked Malta almost as much as I hated Harlem. There was a motel there that looked like it was lifted from Route 66 and placed on lowly Route 2. I was so tempted to check into it, but I had already set a goal for reaching the B.L.M. Campground on the Nelson Reservoir and, by God, I am going to get there.
I made it. I had to go on a gravel road to get there but it was worth it. I found a nice site five yards from the lake and the second I applied the brakes on my bike there were about 100 mosquitos on my skin. Again, 100% DEET sent them packing. Previously the worst mosquito infestation I ever encountered was on Isle Royale with my son Aaron and one of his Jr. High buddies. But, as hard as this may seem to believe, considering I am on the Great Plains, this exceeded Isle Royale. Montana mosquitos, however, are considerably smaller than the monsters of Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Michigan.
On the other side of the reservoir are some nice barren hills. On the lake are seagulls and pelicans. I just spent a considerable amount of time gathering enough fire wood to grill my dinner. I am extremely pleased with my day.
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| Nelson Reservoir Campsite |
Thursday, August 8, 2013
August 7: Harlem, Montana
Aside from a couple of hills just east of Havre, today's stretch of Highway 2 did not rise a foot or descend a foot. I have never experienced a flatter 38 miles in my life. About the only drawback to a perfectly flat road can be summed up in the following exchange with myself.
"Hey! I see the grain elevator for Chinook. I'm almost there."
"Ya think so? That's still seven miles away, dumb ass."
The bad news is that the wind shifted directions last night and I fought a brisk headwind all afternoon. Obviously I knew this would inevitably happen. I accepted the fact and pedaled on. Nevertheless, even with that mindset, it still wasn't a pleasant ride. Even if you discount the harder work, which I've never been afraid of, the constant sound of the wind blasting in your ears has the same irritation factor as having a radio constantly stuck between stations and nobody can tune it in.
I made it to Harlem. How many times can you say that with positivity? This is a different Harlem, a town of about 800 people and it is quite poor and depressing. It has a small downtown with a few businesses and not much else. Today, as luck would have it, all those businesses are completely shut down due to a citywide power outage. There are ways to counteract bad luck and in this case I was prepared. I have one more freeze-dried meal and a couple more Big Sky IPA's.
My adventure cycling information told me that the town welcomes bicyclists to camp in their city park and sure enough, I found the city park right next to the city hall and the city swimming pool and there was a big brown sign that read "Welcome to Harlem--Bicyclists Camp Here."
Immediately upon my arrival, a five year old kid named Nathaniel came running up and started asking me all kinds of questions and was spinning my pedals, squeezing the brakes, turning the crank, and shifting the gears despite my requests to stop. He was bare-footed and clearly his parents didn't seem to care where he was. Before long, six other boys were hanging out with me as well.
A guy named Keith came along. He had been living in Harlem for just the last week after relocating from Helena. He had recently been hired as a teacher and will begin his job in three weeks. In the meantime, he is obviously bored with the nothingness in this town. I feel bad for him and I'd be surprised if he makes it through the school year.
"Hey! I see the grain elevator for Chinook. I'm almost there."
"Ya think so? That's still seven miles away, dumb ass."
The bad news is that the wind shifted directions last night and I fought a brisk headwind all afternoon. Obviously I knew this would inevitably happen. I accepted the fact and pedaled on. Nevertheless, even with that mindset, it still wasn't a pleasant ride. Even if you discount the harder work, which I've never been afraid of, the constant sound of the wind blasting in your ears has the same irritation factor as having a radio constantly stuck between stations and nobody can tune it in.
I made it to Harlem. How many times can you say that with positivity? This is a different Harlem, a town of about 800 people and it is quite poor and depressing. It has a small downtown with a few businesses and not much else. Today, as luck would have it, all those businesses are completely shut down due to a citywide power outage. There are ways to counteract bad luck and in this case I was prepared. I have one more freeze-dried meal and a couple more Big Sky IPA's.
My adventure cycling information told me that the town welcomes bicyclists to camp in their city park and sure enough, I found the city park right next to the city hall and the city swimming pool and there was a big brown sign that read "Welcome to Harlem--Bicyclists Camp Here."
Immediately upon my arrival, a five year old kid named Nathaniel came running up and started asking me all kinds of questions and was spinning my pedals, squeezing the brakes, turning the crank, and shifting the gears despite my requests to stop. He was bare-footed and clearly his parents didn't seem to care where he was. Before long, six other boys were hanging out with me as well.
A guy named Keith came along. He had been living in Harlem for just the last week after relocating from Helena. He had recently been hired as a teacher and will begin his job in three weeks. In the meantime, he is obviously bored with the nothingness in this town. I feel bad for him and I'd be surprised if he makes it through the school year.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
August 6: Havre, Montana
If you are looking for an exciting blog report today you just might have to find somebody else's blog. I might suggest www.iBike4Them.org. That is the blog of a rider who stopped me near Gildford. Apparently he feels compelled to stop every bike rider he sees because he said he's talked to something like 1200 of them since he left Bar Harbor, Maine. His name is Mike and he is riding the entire Adventure Cycling Northern Tier route across the nation to support three of his favorite charities. He handed me his card. I don't know if he was expecting a donation on the spot, but he didn't get one.
I commented that he wasn't carrying much gear for a cross-country bike trip and he let on that his wife was supporting him, driving a 23-foot RV that he gets to sleep in every night. I can't honestly say if I thought of that arrangement with disdain or with envy.
He said he will mention me on his blog. In return, I just mentioned him on mine.
I hadn't seen much wildlife lately--absolutely nothing in Glacier, if you don't count squirrels. But finally this afternoon I saw six pronghorn antelope. Two of them were pretty close to the highway. When I rolled up, they ran back about 30 yard to join the other four. At that point they all kind of acted like the stupid cows. They just stared. And stared. And stared. And stared. And stared. And stared. Come to think of it, I just sat there and stared at them too. I was the first to back down and I pedalled away.
A headline from the front page of today's Great Falls Tribune:
Rising Sun Camp Area Closed Due to Bears
According to the story, on Sunday morning a small subadult black bear approached and laid on a corner of a tent that was occupied by campers. A couple of weeks ago, a bear, believed to be the same one, snatched a pillow from a sleeping camper, and in another incident, a bear rummaged through some clothing left by the lake.
Personally, I would have LOVED to see a bear wandering around the campground and I find it quite surprising that the bear didn't investigate my tent when I was there a few days ago. Even though I religiously put all my food in the bear-proof containers, I am sure all of my clothing had to be emitting some nice odors after four days of bike riding and camping.
I commented that he wasn't carrying much gear for a cross-country bike trip and he let on that his wife was supporting him, driving a 23-foot RV that he gets to sleep in every night. I can't honestly say if I thought of that arrangement with disdain or with envy.
He said he will mention me on his blog. In return, I just mentioned him on mine.
I hadn't seen much wildlife lately--absolutely nothing in Glacier, if you don't count squirrels. But finally this afternoon I saw six pronghorn antelope. Two of them were pretty close to the highway. When I rolled up, they ran back about 30 yard to join the other four. At that point they all kind of acted like the stupid cows. They just stared. And stared. And stared. And stared. And stared. And stared. Come to think of it, I just sat there and stared at them too. I was the first to back down and I pedalled away.
A headline from the front page of today's Great Falls Tribune:
Rising Sun Camp Area Closed Due to Bears
According to the story, on Sunday morning a small subadult black bear approached and laid on a corner of a tent that was occupied by campers. A couple of weeks ago, a bear, believed to be the same one, snatched a pillow from a sleeping camper, and in another incident, a bear rummaged through some clothing left by the lake.
Personally, I would have LOVED to see a bear wandering around the campground and I find it quite surprising that the bear didn't investigate my tent when I was there a few days ago. Even though I religiously put all my food in the bear-proof containers, I am sure all of my clothing had to be emitting some nice odors after four days of bike riding and camping.
August 5: Chester, MT
It was another perfect day for riding a bike--clear blue skies, slight tail wind, mid-70's for temperatures, mostly flat roads, no problems except all that adds up to one boring blog post.
Highway 2 across northern Montana closely parallels the Burlington Northern railroad tracks which also accommodate the Amtrak. I like seeing those long trains come by nearly every half hour. It's a whole new perspective when you can get an unbroken view of the entire half-mile long train after it has passed you up. One of the trains I saw consisted of about a hundred identical black tanker cars carrying, I assume, oil.
The other thing that provided a break in the relatively monotonous landscape all day were three tall buttes 35 miles to the north. Whenever I got bored looking ahead, I would just turn my head to the left and I would see the shadowy everpresent figures of West Butte, Gold Butte, and Mt. Brown sitting out there all by themselves. A recurring theme, they were my "eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg" or the swaying stop lights on the show Twin Peaks.
Highway 2 across northern Montana closely parallels the Burlington Northern railroad tracks which also accommodate the Amtrak. I like seeing those long trains come by nearly every half hour. It's a whole new perspective when you can get an unbroken view of the entire half-mile long train after it has passed you up. One of the trains I saw consisted of about a hundred identical black tanker cars carrying, I assume, oil.
The other thing that provided a break in the relatively monotonous landscape all day were three tall buttes 35 miles to the north. Whenever I got bored looking ahead, I would just turn my head to the left and I would see the shadowy everpresent figures of West Butte, Gold Butte, and Mt. Brown sitting out there all by themselves. A recurring theme, they were my "eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg" or the swaying stop lights on the show Twin Peaks.
Monday, August 5, 2013
August 4: Shelby, MT
Coincidentally, I walked out of my motel room this morning just as another bike rider was getting ready to leave. We introduced ourselves, talked for a minute and agreed to ride together. He had a road bike and was very lightly packed as he is riding from motel to motel, 100 miles per day. With my touring bike and 35 pound load I was sure I would not be able to keep up and I urged him not to let me slow him down. We ended up riding together for about 50 miles.
I think he said his name was Mustaf. He immigrated from Pakistan with his family when he was very young and he said his father was very worried about him riding through the "red states" given his brown skin and the anti-Islamic tone of our country right now. He's had no problems so far. He was on a trek from Oakland, CA to Worcester, MA. He was smart, friendly, and I enjoyed riding with somebody again--if only for a day. I had to use the gigantic restroom that is the Montana plains and from there he continued on by himself.
Too bad for him because he missed the two coyotes I saw trot across the highway. I also saw many hawks today. And I sang praise to the perfect weather, the little cottonballs of clouds in the blue sky, the straight, level roads, and my first full day on America's Great Plains.
I am encamped at the Lake Shel-oole Recreation Area, a city park on the north edge of Shelby, Montana. It is small, quiet, and set among a few shade trees, with barren mounds and hills of tall grass and sagebrush in the distance. As the sun lowered in the sky, that scene became enormously satisfying.
I think he said his name was Mustaf. He immigrated from Pakistan with his family when he was very young and he said his father was very worried about him riding through the "red states" given his brown skin and the anti-Islamic tone of our country right now. He's had no problems so far. He was on a trek from Oakland, CA to Worcester, MA. He was smart, friendly, and I enjoyed riding with somebody again--if only for a day. I had to use the gigantic restroom that is the Montana plains and from there he continued on by himself.
Too bad for him because he missed the two coyotes I saw trot across the highway. I also saw many hawks today. And I sang praise to the perfect weather, the little cottonballs of clouds in the blue sky, the straight, level roads, and my first full day on America's Great Plains.
I am encamped at the Lake Shel-oole Recreation Area, a city park on the north edge of Shelby, Montana. It is small, quiet, and set among a few shade trees, with barren mounds and hills of tall grass and sagebrush in the distance. As the sun lowered in the sky, that scene became enormously satisfying.
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| Bicycle camping--Great Plains style. |
August 3: Browning, MT
It rained all night and it rained all morning and it rained while I broke camp and rode away. Within a mile or two, the rain had worked its way under my rain gear and I was wet and cold again. It continued to rain as I encountered an unexpected climb out of St. Mary, Montana. At the top, as if St. Mary herself ordered it, the rain stopped and I even saw a hint of sunshine. But what REALLY caught my eye was the indescribable view to the east of the Great Plains which will be my companion for the next few weeks. True, it is indescribable, but it is my duty to try. Picture endless rolling green hills, dotted with a few trees and many black cows. That's as good as I can do.
My adventure buddy, J., once told me that cows are the dumbest animals on the planet. As I rode past a herd of maybe 40 cattle, I saw something that may or may not prove J.'s point. Every single one of those cows were facing the same direction--south. As I rode by them, every single one of them stopped grazing, raised their huge heads, watched me pass, and then went back to stuffing their faces.
I am spending the night in the Blackfeet Indian Reservation town of Browning. I had been warned at least four times recently to just ride on through the Rez if I wanted to avoid trouble--just keep your head down, don't make eye contact, and ride.
Being the rebel I am, I checked into a motel in Browning and walked around the town. Immediately you notice the extreme poverty . . . and the many, many dogs that run freely all over the town. Two times as I walked, I heard small groups of young native American men let out what I interpreted to be war-whoops. Sometimes I make jokes about stuff like that, but in this case I am dead serious. I went back to my motel and securely locked the door behind me.
My adventure buddy, J., once told me that cows are the dumbest animals on the planet. As I rode past a herd of maybe 40 cattle, I saw something that may or may not prove J.'s point. Every single one of those cows were facing the same direction--south. As I rode by them, every single one of them stopped grazing, raised their huge heads, watched me pass, and then went back to stuffing their faces.
I am spending the night in the Blackfeet Indian Reservation town of Browning. I had been warned at least four times recently to just ride on through the Rez if I wanted to avoid trouble--just keep your head down, don't make eye contact, and ride.
Being the rebel I am, I checked into a motel in Browning and walked around the town. Immediately you notice the extreme poverty . . . and the many, many dogs that run freely all over the town. Two times as I walked, I heard small groups of young native American men let out what I interpreted to be war-whoops. Sometimes I make jokes about stuff like that, but in this case I am dead serious. I went back to my motel and securely locked the door behind me.
August 2: Rising Sun Campground
Three hours up and 1/2 hour down. That pretty much sums up my 16-mile ascent and 12-mile descent over Logan Pass. As for the mountain scenery that is considered to be among the most spectacular in the world, the scenery that draws hundreds of thousands of visitors every year, the scenery the Native Americans consider sacred, the scenery that has been known to render grown men speechless, the scenery that evokes thoughts of paradise, the scenery that really puts into perspective man's tiny place in the world--well, I saw very little of it. The upper elevations were fog-bound.
Several times I came across rocks in the road. The steady rainfall loosened rocks on the cliffs and sent them tumbling down. Some of them were pretty large--about the size of a car tire--and automobiles had to be pretty careful maneuvering around them. At one point, I heard a loud scraping sound coming from around the bend. It turned out to be a snowplow removing the debris.
On the west side of the pass there were thick clouds and fog most of the way. (Riding up to the clouds and then into them by itself provided some interesting scenery.) It rained most of the time and my hands and feet were wet and cold. The pedaling itself wasn't as hard as I expected it to be.
Across the Continental Divide, there was no fog but I STILL didn't see anything because I was scared shitless. It was pouring rain and I was riding my brakes, yet I was speeding down the mountainside almost uncontrollably. It took all the focus I had just to keep from flying off the edge of the 2,000 ft. cliffs. There was certainly no time for sight-seeing.
Then I saw a sign that said, "Rough Road Next Nine Miles." Son-of-a-YIKES, I just barreled through it all. When the road leveled off a bit, I was the most grateful man on earth.
On a nice day, I would have savored the entire ride and I would have been especially thrilled by the downhill. But in these hypothermic conditions and with the wet pavement it was a different story.
At the Rising Sun Campground, I set up my tent in the rain as fast as I could, changed into dry clothes, crawled into my sleeping bag, and was able to save my fingers and toes from having to be amputated.
It continued to rain all afternoon. A backpacker's freeze-dried meal was my supper. Those things are mighty tasty in the right circumstances.
Several times I came across rocks in the road. The steady rainfall loosened rocks on the cliffs and sent them tumbling down. Some of them were pretty large--about the size of a car tire--and automobiles had to be pretty careful maneuvering around them. At one point, I heard a loud scraping sound coming from around the bend. It turned out to be a snowplow removing the debris.
On the west side of the pass there were thick clouds and fog most of the way. (Riding up to the clouds and then into them by itself provided some interesting scenery.) It rained most of the time and my hands and feet were wet and cold. The pedaling itself wasn't as hard as I expected it to be.
Across the Continental Divide, there was no fog but I STILL didn't see anything because I was scared shitless. It was pouring rain and I was riding my brakes, yet I was speeding down the mountainside almost uncontrollably. It took all the focus I had just to keep from flying off the edge of the 2,000 ft. cliffs. There was certainly no time for sight-seeing.
Then I saw a sign that said, "Rough Road Next Nine Miles." Son-of-a-YIKES, I just barreled through it all. When the road leveled off a bit, I was the most grateful man on earth.
On a nice day, I would have savored the entire ride and I would have been especially thrilled by the downhill. But in these hypothermic conditions and with the wet pavement it was a different story.
At the Rising Sun Campground, I set up my tent in the rain as fast as I could, changed into dry clothes, crawled into my sleeping bag, and was able to save my fingers and toes from having to be amputated.
It continued to rain all afternoon. A backpacker's freeze-dried meal was my supper. Those things are mighty tasty in the right circumstances.
August 1: Avalanche Creek Campground
The west side of the Going To The Sun Road through the National Park is closed to bicycles from 11:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. Keeping that in mind, I started a nice leisurely 17-mile ride toward Avalanche Creek at about 9:00. After yesterday, I needed an easy day in preparation for tomorrow's 3,000 foot climb to Logan Pass. Well, it turned out to be TOO easy. I arrived at the hiker/biker site at 10:30, just in time to meet Derek, a 27-year-old vagabond if there ever was one. He works as an electrician 6 months a year in Banff and bikes the other six months all over the world. He hung out for another hour and a half and we exchange biking and backpacking stories--his being more exciting and exotic than mine.
To kill some time, I went for a nice 2 1/2 mile hike/run up to Avalanche Lake. It was a beautiful little blue lake surrounded by high craggy peaks. Ribbons of long waterfalls fell from the mountains into the perfectly clear lake.
In the late afternoon, against all odds, I met up with my longtime friend and customer and fellow Hastingite, Aaron Moen. We both knew weeks ago that I would be in the Glacier area at approximately the same time he was going to be in Kalispell for a wildlife photography opportunity. We planned to meet, but we both questioned weather it would really happen because of timing, logistics, and cell phone service issues. I left a message for Aaron this morning telling him where I planned to camp knowing that I wouldn't have cell coverage at Avalanche Creek and just hoped things would work out. It did, thanks in part to a pay phone, which I barely remembered how to use. We had dinner at the Lake McDonald Lodge and had a great conversation.
To kill some time, I went for a nice 2 1/2 mile hike/run up to Avalanche Lake. It was a beautiful little blue lake surrounded by high craggy peaks. Ribbons of long waterfalls fell from the mountains into the perfectly clear lake.
In the late afternoon, against all odds, I met up with my longtime friend and customer and fellow Hastingite, Aaron Moen. We both knew weeks ago that I would be in the Glacier area at approximately the same time he was going to be in Kalispell for a wildlife photography opportunity. We planned to meet, but we both questioned weather it would really happen because of timing, logistics, and cell phone service issues. I left a message for Aaron this morning telling him where I planned to camp knowing that I wouldn't have cell coverage at Avalanche Creek and just hoped things would work out. It did, thanks in part to a pay phone, which I barely remembered how to use. We had dinner at the Lake McDonald Lodge and had a great conversation.
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| Avalanche Lake |
July 31: Glacier National Park
It was kind of a rough day for me. I started riding early because I wanted to get all the way to Glacier National Park which was roughly 65 miles. It was probably only 45 degrees and within minutes my fingers were painfully cold. Rather than stop and dig out the gloves I had packed deep in one of my panniers, I continued on thinking the warming sun would be up over those mountains any minute. Wrong. It was easily an hour.
When the sun did show itself, it got hot very quickly. Then there was the road construction. There was the wrong turn that cost me a mile. There were the hard climbs uphill. There was the sore ass. And worst of all, there was the forgotten bike helmet. I took it off to shed a long-sleeved shirt after the sun came out. I took a long drink of water. I went over to a wooded area to pee. I got back on my bike and rode maybe two miles before I realized I had left my helmet on a guard rail along Highway 63.
I was faced with another momentous decision: Ride back two miles and get the helmet or risk 14 miles into Whitefish where I could buy a new one. I chose the former.
Oh, wait. There was something worse than the helmet incident. There were a couple of three or four mile sections that were the most treacherous riding I have ever done. The shoulders were ridiculously narrow, and moreover they were crumbling away to nothing. And big trucks, especially logging trucks, barrelled down the highway mercilessly. I was scared out of my gourd. At times I chose to ride in the brown grass beyond the shoulder. At one point a tanker truck went by me within inches of my left elbow. I was glad I went back for my helmet.
When you reach camp, however, all of those terrible things are forgotten. In fact, I am sorry I wasted the last four paragraphs with all my bitching. I am parked in Glacier National Park's Apgar Campground. It is easily the ugliest campground I have had on this trip, yet I am blissfully content.
I just wanted to back up for a minute. In Whitefish I stopped for a new inner-tube at Glacier Cyclery. While there, I met a gal from Spain and a guy from France who were riding a tandem bike from Connecticut to Vancouver, BC. They were at Glacier Cyclery because, in their words, their bike was sick. We talked for awhile and I wanted so badly to ask them if they were going to the Rainbow Festival. They just had that look.
One more thing. From Whitefish to West Glacier, a distance of about 30 miles, I noticed that at least 75% of every business had either "mountain," "glacier," or "grizzly" in its name. You could probably verify that on Google.
When the sun did show itself, it got hot very quickly. Then there was the road construction. There was the wrong turn that cost me a mile. There were the hard climbs uphill. There was the sore ass. And worst of all, there was the forgotten bike helmet. I took it off to shed a long-sleeved shirt after the sun came out. I took a long drink of water. I went over to a wooded area to pee. I got back on my bike and rode maybe two miles before I realized I had left my helmet on a guard rail along Highway 63.
I was faced with another momentous decision: Ride back two miles and get the helmet or risk 14 miles into Whitefish where I could buy a new one. I chose the former.
Oh, wait. There was something worse than the helmet incident. There were a couple of three or four mile sections that were the most treacherous riding I have ever done. The shoulders were ridiculously narrow, and moreover they were crumbling away to nothing. And big trucks, especially logging trucks, barrelled down the highway mercilessly. I was scared out of my gourd. At times I chose to ride in the brown grass beyond the shoulder. At one point a tanker truck went by me within inches of my left elbow. I was glad I went back for my helmet.
When you reach camp, however, all of those terrible things are forgotten. In fact, I am sorry I wasted the last four paragraphs with all my bitching. I am parked in Glacier National Park's Apgar Campground. It is easily the ugliest campground I have had on this trip, yet I am blissfully content.
I just wanted to back up for a minute. In Whitefish I stopped for a new inner-tube at Glacier Cyclery. While there, I met a gal from Spain and a guy from France who were riding a tandem bike from Connecticut to Vancouver, BC. They were at Glacier Cyclery because, in their words, their bike was sick. We talked for awhile and I wanted so badly to ask them if they were going to the Rainbow Festival. They just had that look.
One more thing. From Whitefish to West Glacier, a distance of about 30 miles, I noticed that at least 75% of every business had either "mountain," "glacier," or "grizzly" in its name. You could probably verify that on Google.
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| Great scenery. Bad smile. |
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
July 30: North Lake Dickey Campground
I slept in this morning and hung around the town of Eureka waiting for the library to open (at 11:00 a.m.) so I could update my blog. There were a total of two computers available for public use and as soon as my hour was up, the gestapo-like librarian was all over me to wrap it up.
Outside, a young hippy named Tony came up to me and introduced himself. He asked about my trip and after I told him about it, I pointed at the decked-out bike leaning up against the library wall. "That must be your bike over there."
"No, that's my girlfriend's bike. She's inside. I ditched my bike about a hundred miles ago and have been hitchhiking from town to town and meeting up with her that way." I knew exactly who his girlfriend was, judging by his look and the look of the girl sitting next to me at the other computer.
"Where are you guys headed?" I asked.
"We're going to British Columbia for a rainbow festival. Have you heard of those?"
"No," I shook my head, "I'm afraid I haven't."
"Well, it's just a bunch of hippies gathering in the woods celebrating peace and love."
"When I was younger I thought of myself as sort of a hippie."
"Man," he began, as he held his heart with both hands, "it's all right here. You've still got it."
"Yeah, I think you're right." And he wished me luck and urged me to be safe.
I decided to make it an easy riding day. I put in about 17 miles and pulled into the North Dickey Lake Campground and had my own personal rainbow festival, celebrating peace and love with a Going to the Sun I.P.A--a craft beer brewed in nearby Whitefish, Montana--and then another one. And then another one.
I have always liked National Forest Campgrounds. They are simple, not overly-managed, and usually set near a lake or a river with some redeeming scenic qualitiies. My wildlife for the day included one deer and an osprey. Three times since I left Washington I have seen tall poles that seem to have been placed near lakes or rivers specifically for ospreys to build nests on. Twice those fish-eating hawks just chirped at me repeatedly when I stopped to look. But today, the mother (I assume) left her nest and kind of flew toward me to assure that I moved along. I did.
Outside, a young hippy named Tony came up to me and introduced himself. He asked about my trip and after I told him about it, I pointed at the decked-out bike leaning up against the library wall. "That must be your bike over there."
"No, that's my girlfriend's bike. She's inside. I ditched my bike about a hundred miles ago and have been hitchhiking from town to town and meeting up with her that way." I knew exactly who his girlfriend was, judging by his look and the look of the girl sitting next to me at the other computer.
"Where are you guys headed?" I asked.
"We're going to British Columbia for a rainbow festival. Have you heard of those?"
"No," I shook my head, "I'm afraid I haven't."
"Well, it's just a bunch of hippies gathering in the woods celebrating peace and love."
"When I was younger I thought of myself as sort of a hippie."
"Man," he began, as he held his heart with both hands, "it's all right here. You've still got it."
"Yeah, I think you're right." And he wished me luck and urged me to be safe.
I decided to make it an easy riding day. I put in about 17 miles and pulled into the North Dickey Lake Campground and had my own personal rainbow festival, celebrating peace and love with a Going to the Sun I.P.A--a craft beer brewed in nearby Whitefish, Montana--and then another one. And then another one.
I have always liked National Forest Campgrounds. They are simple, not overly-managed, and usually set near a lake or a river with some redeeming scenic qualitiies. My wildlife for the day included one deer and an osprey. Three times since I left Washington I have seen tall poles that seem to have been placed near lakes or rivers specifically for ospreys to build nests on. Twice those fish-eating hawks just chirped at me repeatedly when I stopped to look. But today, the mother (I assume) left her nest and kind of flew toward me to assure that I moved along. I did.
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| North Dickey Lake Campground in the Kootenai National Forest. |
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| Look carefully and you can see the nesting ospreys. |
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
July 29: Eureka, Montana
Early this morning, crossing the road in front of me, I saw the biggest deer I have ever seen in the wild. It had a big rack but it was running too fast to count the points. I'm sure any deer hunter has seen a hundred bucks that were bigger than this one, but to a casual wildlife observer like me it was pretty big. I saw a couple more deer prancing across the road but the biggest thrill of all came a few miles later when I came around a corner and saw the unmistakable tawny yellow form of a mountain lion (my favorite animal, by the way) pop out of the woods on the right and saunter across the road into the woods on the left. And following closely was a mountain lion cub, or kitten, or whatever you call a baby mountain lion. They were no more than 40 yards ahead of me. I stopped to let them get across and proceeded cautiously. I didn't think they should eat (me) between meals. I don't think they ever saw me because they sure didn't seem to rush to get across the road. Later I had a staredown with another deer.
As I write this, I am now trying to picture what goes on behind me as I ride. If there are deer and mountain lions who are fearless enough to cross in front of me, just think of all the other animals who waited for me to pass. Deer gleefully criss-crossing the road, perhaps a mountain lion in pursuit of one of them. Grizzlies shaking hands with raccoons, porcupines thumbing their noses at me, bighorn sheep and elk dancing on their hind legs, etc.
Highway 228 on the west side of Lake Koocanusa has been good to me. In the first two hours I saw more deer than cars--4 to 2. A cool breeze blew in from the north--the direction I am heading unfortunately--and there were plenty of clouds and a few minutes of rain. The mountains ahead of me were completely enveloped in dark, rain-drenched clouds. I made it to Eureka and checked into the Silverado Motel just before the rain, thunder and hail started.
As I write this, I am now trying to picture what goes on behind me as I ride. If there are deer and mountain lions who are fearless enough to cross in front of me, just think of all the other animals who waited for me to pass. Deer gleefully criss-crossing the road, perhaps a mountain lion in pursuit of one of them. Grizzlies shaking hands with raccoons, porcupines thumbing their noses at me, bighorn sheep and elk dancing on their hind legs, etc.
Highway 228 on the west side of Lake Koocanusa has been good to me. In the first two hours I saw more deer than cars--4 to 2. A cool breeze blew in from the north--the direction I am heading unfortunately--and there were plenty of clouds and a few minutes of rain. The mountains ahead of me were completely enveloped in dark, rain-drenched clouds. I made it to Eureka and checked into the Silverado Motel just before the rain, thunder and hail started.
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| The morning view over Lake Koocanusa |
July 28: Lake Koocanusa
Do I need to repeat myself? More great mountain and river scenery all day long.
One day when I was talking about my trip to a friend of mine, he remarked that he could never do a trip like this primarily because, being a social person, he couldn't handle the loneliness. Well, today, my third day on my own, I found a cure for the loneliness. I've started talking to myself. For example, I would make a comment about the scenery--out loud--and then I would answer, "yes indeed, that IS a nice waterfall coming out of those mountains." Or I would see a sign along the road and I would read the name of the business, such as Bill's Body Shop. Then I would reply to myself with a rip on the name, like Bill's Shoddy Body Shop. Next, I would have to one-up myself and say, "more like JILL's Shoddy Body Shop." This whole exchange should give my readers a good example of the high level of intellectual activity going on in my giant brain. Plus, I don't particularly care to be social for awhile. My job required me to be social for more than 33 years.
I re-supplied in Libby, Montana and then followed the Adventure Cycling route on what is called the Old Haul Road. That little up and down and twist and turn road reminded me of a New England country lane--at least in the mountainous part of New England. It was a 15-mile long country lane where I saw maybe a dozen cars.
Next came a big climb up to the Libby Dam which forms Lake Koocanusa--50 miles long and about a mile wide--my goal being the MacGillivray Campground.
What a gigantic disappointment the MacGillivray turned out to be. The sites were exposed and overused and just plain shabby.
But wait a minute! At the last minute I saw a sign that read, "Walk-in Tent Sites." I rode my bike up the trail to the walk-in tent sites and . . .my spirits were uplifted--and that's not just the Jim Beam talking. Up and over a small ridge, a beautiful view of Lake Koocanusa was revealed and I had the whole area to myself. Blessed with good fortune, I am perfectly content for another evening.
A big bald eagle flew over my campsite probably looking for dinner, which was a T-Bone steak and ramen noodles. I would have fought him to the death for that hunk of meat if he had tried to swoop in on it.
One day when I was talking about my trip to a friend of mine, he remarked that he could never do a trip like this primarily because, being a social person, he couldn't handle the loneliness. Well, today, my third day on my own, I found a cure for the loneliness. I've started talking to myself. For example, I would make a comment about the scenery--out loud--and then I would answer, "yes indeed, that IS a nice waterfall coming out of those mountains." Or I would see a sign along the road and I would read the name of the business, such as Bill's Body Shop. Then I would reply to myself with a rip on the name, like Bill's Shoddy Body Shop. Next, I would have to one-up myself and say, "more like JILL's Shoddy Body Shop." This whole exchange should give my readers a good example of the high level of intellectual activity going on in my giant brain. Plus, I don't particularly care to be social for awhile. My job required me to be social for more than 33 years.
I re-supplied in Libby, Montana and then followed the Adventure Cycling route on what is called the Old Haul Road. That little up and down and twist and turn road reminded me of a New England country lane--at least in the mountainous part of New England. It was a 15-mile long country lane where I saw maybe a dozen cars.
Next came a big climb up to the Libby Dam which forms Lake Koocanusa--50 miles long and about a mile wide--my goal being the MacGillivray Campground.
What a gigantic disappointment the MacGillivray turned out to be. The sites were exposed and overused and just plain shabby.
But wait a minute! At the last minute I saw a sign that read, "Walk-in Tent Sites." I rode my bike up the trail to the walk-in tent sites and . . .my spirits were uplifted--and that's not just the Jim Beam talking. Up and over a small ridge, a beautiful view of Lake Koocanusa was revealed and I had the whole area to myself. Blessed with good fortune, I am perfectly content for another evening.
A big bald eagle flew over my campsite probably looking for dinner, which was a T-Bone steak and ramen noodles. I would have fought him to the death for that hunk of meat if he had tried to swoop in on it.
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| Walk-in-only campsites make me happy. |
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| Signs like this only pique my appetite for danger. |
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| Libby Dam |
July 27: Part 2--Kootenai National Forest
The roads I mentioned turned out to be fairly level again. They all rolled modestly up and down in the river valleys. First it was the Cabinet Gorge Reservoir--a dammed up area of the Clark Fork River, and then Highway 56 followed the Bull River until I reached the turn off for the Bad Medicine Campground.
There were a few events along the way worth mentioning. I was enjoying a nice quiet stretch of Highway 200 just before the Idaho/Montana border when I heard the distant sound of a freight train's horn. I guess a pack of coyotes heard the sound too because suddenly there was a cacophony of yelping, barking and howling. Rarely have I heard that in the middle of the day.
I considered staying at the Bull River Campground near the intersection of Highways 200 and 56 since it was 3:30 p.m., but then I reconsidered and moved on. Two more campgrounds were only 15 to 17 miles ahead and I knew I could get that far in an hour-and-a-half, tops. Unfortunately, at mile marker 3 I got another flat tire. I changed the tube, again no big deal. What WAS the big deal were the bees and a horsefly the size of a small sparrow that tormented me the whole time. Twice, it felt like that horsefly took chunks out of my flesh. Sometimes you get to the point where you just want to throw everything down, punch something, and say "f--- it." This was one of those times.
But I persevered and I received a few rewards. I saw a very small deer run in front of me. A few miles later, a very large deer ran in front of me. And I got to enjoy some excellent Cabinet Mountain scenery.
Eventually I made it to The Kootenai National Forest's Bad Medicine Campground and got the very last site. I liked it a lot. It was a small site nestled among a hillside of pines and cedars. It was perfect for a lone bike rider. The mosquitos swarmed me upon my arrival but they were no match for my 100% DEET.
Most sites in this campground had bear-proof containers for your food, but this one did not. The campground hosts, two women living together in a camper for the summer, offered to take my food with them for the night and deliver it back in the morning. They were super-friendly.
I grilled up a couple of pork chops purchased in Clark Fork five hours ago. I hope they are still edible. A bottle of Snoqualmie Reisling from Washington state, made from organic grapes, accompanied my meal.
There were a few events along the way worth mentioning. I was enjoying a nice quiet stretch of Highway 200 just before the Idaho/Montana border when I heard the distant sound of a freight train's horn. I guess a pack of coyotes heard the sound too because suddenly there was a cacophony of yelping, barking and howling. Rarely have I heard that in the middle of the day.
I considered staying at the Bull River Campground near the intersection of Highways 200 and 56 since it was 3:30 p.m., but then I reconsidered and moved on. Two more campgrounds were only 15 to 17 miles ahead and I knew I could get that far in an hour-and-a-half, tops. Unfortunately, at mile marker 3 I got another flat tire. I changed the tube, again no big deal. What WAS the big deal were the bees and a horsefly the size of a small sparrow that tormented me the whole time. Twice, it felt like that horsefly took chunks out of my flesh. Sometimes you get to the point where you just want to throw everything down, punch something, and say "f--- it." This was one of those times.
But I persevered and I received a few rewards. I saw a very small deer run in front of me. A few miles later, a very large deer ran in front of me. And I got to enjoy some excellent Cabinet Mountain scenery.
Eventually I made it to The Kootenai National Forest's Bad Medicine Campground and got the very last site. I liked it a lot. It was a small site nestled among a hillside of pines and cedars. It was perfect for a lone bike rider. The mosquitos swarmed me upon my arrival but they were no match for my 100% DEET.
Most sites in this campground had bear-proof containers for your food, but this one did not. The campground hosts, two women living together in a camper for the summer, offered to take my food with them for the night and deliver it back in the morning. They were super-friendly.
I grilled up a couple of pork chops purchased in Clark Fork five hours ago. I hope they are still edible. A bottle of Snoqualmie Reisling from Washington state, made from organic grapes, accompanied my meal.
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| Signs like this only pique my defiance. |
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