June 23-25

Note the new title that makes more sense. I should have done it that way from the beginning. 

June 23

   Because I had 80 miles to ride today, I was planning on trying to get up early in an attempt to beat the wind, but the morning air was so cold that I abandoned the idea as soon as I woke up. Instead, I huddled in my sleeping bag and read my latest book, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. After promising to pass the book on to someone else when I was done with it, Mike had given the book to me, saying it was very interesting and thought provoking. And indeed it was, so much so, that I don't even really have a category for it. The basis of the book is a motorcycle trip that the author took with his son and two friends, but the purpose of the book certainly isn't to narrate the trip. I'm only 100 pages in, and so far I really don't even know what the author is trying to accomplish, but whatever it is it's something big, abstract, and important. 

   It was 9:00 by the time I made it on the road, which wasn't really all that bad, but not as early as I'd hoped for. I got about an hour of blissful wind free riding, and then the headwind resumed. 

  Along the way I stopped at the town of Ovando, with an advertised population of 71. The road to the town looked more like a driveway, and for a minute I wondered if I'd taken the wrong road. But sure enough, the road opened up into a main street that had more of an appearance of an old-time town square than a mainstreet. Off to the side, they had a sign that gave information about the services available for cyclists. From free camping to basic parts at the hardware, they had it all. This was the most cyclist friendly town I'd seen, and I was a bit disappointed that I wouldn't be stopping there for the night. 

   I really did need to make it to Missoula, so I continued riding. I was now going downhill, but the wind completely negated any benifit I might have gained. Down, down, down I went, untill the two lane road I was on became a divided highway. After a quick 6 or 7 mile ride on the freeway, I was in Missoula. As has become my habit, the first thing I did was to find a McDonalds, get out of my cycling clothes, and get some food. These tasks completed, I set out to wander the streets. While exploring, I met an English trio, also on loaded bicycles. I stopped to chat, and found that two of them where a couple, and they had met they other guy a week or so ago and had been riding together since. They guy they had met, Simon, told me that he had done 130 miles one day. 

   As I was visiting with them, I texted my couch surfing host, and after getting her address, moved out. I found Katie's house without a problem, and after exchanging introductions we loaded up into her car and went to grab some coffee. Katie was in her last week of summer classes, and had several projects that needed to be finished up. This wasn't a problem with me, as I had a bunch of errands to do and didn't anticipate having a whole lot of free time, either. When we got back to Katie's place, she headed upstairs to work on her project, and I relaxed with my book until it was time for bed. 

June 24

   Today I had a bunch of errands to run. I needed to go to the bike shop, find an outdoor store, and get some groceries. Katie had things to do all day, but I was planning to take my time and see the city while I shopped, so it was totally cool. 

   In search of moderate prices, I zoomed from one hip Missoula bike shop to the next, and visited a fair number of the city's supply before I found one I liked. One of the shops I stopped at, called bike doctors, struck me as especially neat. The first thing I noticed, before I even walked in, was all the employees' bikes. They where all hanging up in a row on a rack right in front of the store, and to say there was an eclectic variety would be an understatement. I saw a Surly Long Haul Trucker, a touring bike, converted into a fixie-style city bike. Another bicycle had been stripped of a paint, with the finish consisting solely of rust. As the name implied, it appeared to be mostly a bicycle repair shop and didn't really have what I was looking for, but it was worth the stop just to see such a neat place. 

   As dinner time approached, I decided that I really didn't feel like eating junk food, and decided that I was going to fix something real. One visit to Albertson's and $13 later, I had 1lb of chicken, a bag of spinach, and some assorted other items. Returning back to Katie's house, from which she was still absent, I spent a enjoyable hour in the kitchen creating a chef's salad. It was probably the best dinner I'd had in a month. 

June 25

   Today was singularly awesome.  I decided to stay another day in Missoula, as I still had a few things to do and still wanted some time to relax.  In the morning, I tooled around and didn't do a whole lot, and the fun didn't really start till the afternoon.  Katie suggested that we go to a hot springs an hour or so away, and I was more than happy to accept the offer.  We drove through landscape that was unbelievably beautiful, with dense pine forests encroaching on the road, and then rising steeply up to snowcapped peaks.  every few miles, picturesque streams would tumble down rocky hillsides to meet the river we were driving next to.  Fly fishermen waded in the fast moving river, casting for trout, and signs warned of moose and bighorn sheep.  The whole effect was so surreal and amazing that I suffered from slight sensory overload, and I felt that there was just too much there, that to absorb it all I would just have to stand there and stare, and stare, for 100 years.

   To add to the scene even more, we saw a family of elk, next to the side of the road, sleek and beautiful in their summer coats. 

  We drove past a few hot springs, all of them with parking lots filled with cars, until we came to a little pull off that didn't even have a sign.  Huge, muddy puddles took up most of the space, but what was left was occupied by a couple of forest service trucks and

an old motorhome.  We hiked into the forest on the newly created trail, and my sensory overload became so intense and pleasurable that I wondered why people even needed to smoke weed, when the world has places like this to experience.  After a few minutes of hiking, the woods opened up onto a small clearing, with a pool no bigger than a hot tub perched on the rocky valley side.  There was one lone guy in the pool, who I assumed was the owner of the panniered Schwinn we had passed leaned against a tree.  As we eased into the hot water, we introduced ourselves to Daniel, who happened to be headed west, same as me.  Daniel was looked young, maybe 25, and had a curly black hair and a nondescript beard.  He identified himself as a musician/writer, and told us about his band, Besides Daniel. We fell into a conversation, and Daniel came across as a really relaxed guy. He didn't really seem to plan ahead a whole lot, but he told us stories of how things just always seemed to work out. 

   His bike and gear is worth relating. He had a very old and beat up Schwinn road bike frame, with a pair of bullhorn track bars, a brooks leather saddle, an old set of panniers, and a lone 52 tooth chainring in front. In short, it was not a touring bike. However, the entire thing was built pretty much built from scratch, and the mishmash of styles and components gave it an unbelievable amount of character. In comparison, my Jamis is boring to the point of death, it does it's job competently, but fails to inspire any emotion whatsoever. 

   Any way, before I knew it Danny was like "Dude, we should ride together." and I'm like, "let's do it." because he was a couple days ahead of me, Danny decided to ride to Clarkston WA and wait for me there. Just like that, I had someone to ride with. 

   After hours in the hot springs, and more conversation with a French couple and then a Cheyenne brother and sister, we finally dragged ourselves away and hiked back to the car. As we were loading up, it started to rain, and came down harder the further we went. We worried about Danny, who still was planning on doing some more riding. As Katie and I got more and more into our conversation, which ranged from politics to education to religion, the miles started to slide quickly by, and I found myself disappointed that it was only an hour drive. During a lull in the conversation, I was looking out the window and noticed a moose crossing sign. On a whim, I studied the woods behind sign, and there, believe it or not, were a pair of moose, standing there on their spindly legs staring at me. "There's a moose!" I exclaimed. "Wait, are you serious?" Katie replied. After I answered I'm the affirmative, Katie pulled a quick u-turn and we parked for a closer look. We both stood out in the pouring rain, me shirtless, and stared. It was not only my first time seeing a moose in the wild, I had seen a moose and elk both for the first time. 

   After we got home and cleaned up a bit, Katie suggested we go out and find some dinner. We enjoyed some excellent pizza, and then headed over to City Brew coffee. After lounging around for a while, Katie mentioned a film she had rented, so we headed back home and watched the Intouchables, a French film. It was a brilliant picture, and the fact that it was subtitled to English didn't hurt the impact at all. 

   I went to bed, happy content, and tired, full of all I had done today. 

   Random bit

   As I have all these experiences, I'm becoming more and more addicted to this way of life.  The constant intrigue of never quite knowing what is next, never really planning more than a few days ahead, is impossibly freeing.  As I move from one place to the next, and meet all these amazing people, my world is expanding at an unbelievable rate.  Every day I'm doing  something I've never done before, having some new experience.  Each new thing hits me as a thrill, with each successive adventure seeming to be better than the last. The land is amazing, and seeing the world from a bicycle is so much different from seeing it by car. To borrow a concept from zen & the art of motorcycle maintenance, looking at scenery from a car window is like watching television, it's easy to look out the window and say how nice everything looks, but that's all there is, you're only seeing. On a bicycle, you are actually part of the scene, you're not just seeing, you're experiencing. On a bicycle, there is nothing between you and nature but maybe a set of Maui Jim lenses, every sound, sight, and feeling is right there, impossible to avoid. There's no A/C, no cruise control, not even any suspension. To top it off, you're moving at a fraction of car speed. All this, combined with the satisfaction and joy of using your body to do something difficult, rewarding, and at times, both intensely painful and fun, blur together into something that is so joyful that it's impossible for me to describe. The knowledge that I've ridden 2,000 miles, really done something that is an accomplishment, an achievement that has taken over a month and lots of perseverance gives me great satisfaction. More than satisfaction, it gives me confidence, as well as a sense of pride. I think to myself, "I've ridden my bike this far, slept in all kinds of odd places, eaten simple food, and broken social conventions like teacups. If I put my mind to this, and have accomplished it, what's next." Then I become giddy and decide I want to be a surf bum, president of the United States, and own Apple, all at the same time. Okay, so that might be a bit extreme, but still, the future is beckoning. 

   

-homeless fragment-

 I've done more than travel, I've lived on the road. As I move through this trip I've discovered a huge gap between being a tourist, and being an adventurer. Slowly, I've crossed over that gap, and found that there's so much more to traveling. I've adopted a whole lifestyle difference, and given up much of what today's society has adopted as necessity. In doing so, I've stripped away the insulation that separates people from the world they live in. I've grown closer to the land closer to people, and closer to God.   

Another state

This. For 150 miles. 

Unfortunately, I'm out of the forest at this point. It still is very nice though. 

Yet another state

My fabulous supper. 

  

Days 29-32

June 19

   Having decided to take the easy way, I only needed to ride 60 miles today, so I took my time and moved slowly and deliberately in the morning. I took especial care packing my bike. "Maybe I should clip those water bottles on the other side," I thought, "let's see, I've got to get these bungee cords knotted just right." "Are my panniers evenly weighted?" I took my time with little details like these, and when I was satisfied with the final result, headed out for Fort Benton. 

   I realized pretty quickly that it was a good thing I had decided to take three days instead of two to get to Great Falls. I don't know if it was due to my previous hard day of riding or what, but I didn't feel very good. I've had it happen in the past, often inexplicably, when my body just doesn't seem to want to do what I want it to. Nothing really hurts or feels sore, but I don't seem to be able to move as fast as I like. 

   A couple days ago I had seen a pronghorn, one sign of the west. Today I saw a mule deer, another western critter. It was a doe, standing next to the road. When I passed, she thought it prudent to run off, and did so with a gait that just about made me laugh out loud. I guess I knew that mule deer run differently than whitetails, but I'd never seen one before, so it struck me as very funny to see the deer bouncing away, all four stiff legs going in unison. 

   There are a lot of deserted buildings in Montana, and I'd been meaning to explore one of them. Apparently, there where booms in the state's history when optimists would build and try to settle, but from the ruins I saw it looked as if it often didn't work out. Finally, I passed one that was just too interesting to pass up. The wreck in question was not, in fact, a building. Instead, it was an old passenger rail car, with the "Northern Rail Company" still visible on its side. Taking a careful look up and down the road for traffic that might object to my exploration, I parked my bike in the ditch and walked to the car. I checked both doors, but both where boarded up. However, I noticed a window that was open, and hauled myself up for a closer look. When I had tried the doors, I had scared off a pidgin, so I wasn't surprised to several more birds staring me from where they perched. There wasn't a whole lot more to be seen, but I still found it very interesting. 

   Checking out the rail car made me realize that I appreciate an item's historical significance far more when I view it in its natural environment, than I do in a museum. In a museum, there are many and often rare artifacts, but the sterile environment seems to strip them of their significance for me. On the other hand, as I rode away from this relic of history that had been neglected for so long, I could almost imagine what it must have been like to ride in it. "to think," I thought, "what other persons have touched the very seat that I just did, what kind of people has the inside of the rail car seen?" It was any experience that I thoroughly enjoyed, and left wishing that I had investigated more places like it. 

   When I arrived in Fort Benton, the first thing I did was to head to the city pool for a shower. As I walked my bike up the sidewalk, I was met by a young shirtless lad, astride a bicycle and looking curiously at me. He looked to be about 8 or so. "You just get done swimming?" I asked him. "Yep", he replied, "I'm still all wet." After a pause, during which he eyed me and my bicycle, he asked "where are you from?" I told him,  "Michigan." After another brief pause, "you take a plane?" 

   "Nope, rode my bike"

He looked mildly impressed, and rode on his way. As I walked into the pool building, I heard him a distance off proudly telling some friends, "did you see that guy over there? He rode his bike here all the way from Michigan."

   When I checked the weather at the library, I saw that there was a severe thunderstorm watch for the night, and sure enough it got dark out, and then began to rain. And then began to hail. I hastily moved my stuff into the bathroom, which was fortunately large and clean, and spent the rest of the night indoors.  

June 20

   This day started out looking pretty bleak, had some excitement, and ended enjoyably. 

   The bleakness manifested itself in the form of headwinds. Like, nasty, gusty, cold, drizzly headwinds. I didn't have that far to go, but 50 miles at 5 miles an hour meant that I worried about making it there before dark. My solution to this problem, of course, was to hitch a ride. When most people hitch a ride, they do so in a car. I, being of the adventurous type, hitched a ride in a Rhino. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Yamaha Rhino, it's a two seat utility vehicle similar to the John Deere Gator. It shares one thing in common, and one thing decidedly not in common with the Gator. Both of these vehicles where designed with vaguely the same purpose, which is to haul stuff and people off road. Note that by "stuff", I do not mean fully loaded touring bikes. To my knowledge, the gator moves at pretty reasonable but entirely adequate speeds, maybe 20mph. The Rhino, as I learned, tops out at 50. 

   So I stick out my thumb, this guy pulls over, I drag my bike partway into the bed and then climbing into the cab, reaching behind me to hold my bike in. The guy, who informed me that he had just bought the machine in which we where sitting 10 minutes ago from his neighbor, pedals the thing to car-like speeds, and I sit there reading the warning sticker that says not to drive on pavement. 5 or 10 miles later, he drops me off, and with a "good luck" roars away. 

   Thanks to the few miles of motorized bliss, I am able to make it into the city at a reasonable hour, and crash at a McDonalds where I eat $2 worth of calories and text the guy with which I'm planning to stay. I get a quick reply with his address and a promise of dinner. Hastened by the prospect of food, I ride the mile or so with my croc-clad feet barely perched on my LOOK pedals. 

   I found the house easily, and met Mike and Hank, Mike's roommate's dog. Mike was a 23 reporter for the Great Falls Tribune, and seemed to fit the mold I've created for couch surfers perfectly. Young, friendly, smart, and relaxed, Mike and I chatted while he grilled some kebabs that were making my mouth water. 

   After dinner, which was excellent, we took Hank for a walk to the grocery store and got a couple of cigars. Returning home, we climbed out onto the roof/porch and lighting our cigars, fell deep into a conversation about the meaning of life and religion. As each of us spoke for longer and longer intervals, I found myself totally absorbed in the moment, using all my faculties to understand the abstract concepts we discussed. As it got dark out, I realized I hadn't had a real intellectual conversation with a peer in quite a while. It was an experience that I enjoyed a lot, and I fell asleep worn out with the effort of mental exercise. 

 

June 21

   From Great Falls, it was only another 3 days with of riding to Missoula, which I had been hearing was a really cool city. I decided to take a day off there, and made couch surfing arraignments ahead of time. 

   My first day of riding out out of great falls took me slightly out of the way, but Mike had told me that the country would be worth the extra time. Apparently western Montana is a bit more populated than the east part of the state, and I enjoyed riding through areas with a few more people. Things were now getting decidedly hilly, and I rolled through sweeping valleys, through little stands of trees, and over clear little streams. 

   With a wind they almost cooperated, I made it to the town of  Vaughn easily, inspite of a late start. When I arrived, however, I discovered that there was no obvious place to stay. The "park" was nothing more than a few picnic tables on maybe 2,000 square feet of grass, right in the middle of town. I dug out my phone, and confirming that this was indeed the only park, decided to check out a cemetery a bit outside of town. Arriving at said cemetery, I discovered that somebody had left the lawn mower shed open, and so I proceeded to unload my bags and set up camp. After unloading, I headed back to town to cook and eat dinner. I found a few picnic tables at a community pool that was still closed, and settled down to eat my food. Afterward, I gave the pool building a closer look, and found that somebody had neglected to lock those doors as well. Back to the cemetery I went, and returning with my bags unrolled my sleeping bag in a little side shed. 

June 22

   Today the big event was the continental divide. This would be the first major landmark of my journey, and I was looking forward to it. The scenery continued to grow more and more beautiful, with pine covered mountains now looming ahead. Also looming ahead, I noticed, where some pretty serious looking rain storms. As I approached the mountains, I was in the sun, with nothing behind me but blue sky and puffy cumulus clouds. Ahead, not only could I see the darker clouds, I could actually see the rain coming down. As I rode into it, the temperature dropped, and gusts of wind blew rain into my face. Wimping out, I parked my bike against a locked gate and huddled under a semi trailer in a DOT yard. I didn't think the rain would last very long, as I could actually see more blue sky on the far side of the clouds. Sure enough, things calmed down within a few minutes, and I was back on the road. 

   The slope up the the pass began so gradually that my first thought was "why is it getting so hard to pedal?" then I looked behind me, and the perspective shift let me see that I was climbing a 6% grade. It really wasn't all that bad, as I was climbing In the lee side of the pass, the wind died down. I was actually going faster up the pass than I had gone into some of the headwinds I'd encountered. 

   When I made it to the top, a bit of that adrenaline that boys are always hunting for hit, along with a sense of accomplishment at what I'd done so far on this trip. I thought, "if I can ride my bike from Michigan, over the continental divide, and beyond, what can't I do?" As I enjoyed these feelings, I took a break to admire the view from the top of the pass, and then started the long descent down the other side. As soon as I had the crested the top, the wind had, of course, resumed. I felt a bit cheated as I coasted downhill, I should have been going much faster than I actually was.   

   I was headed for the town of Lincoln, which was located about halfway between Great Falls and Missoula. Because of my map's detour, however, it would be a 60 mile ride. I was hoping to stay in a motel that had cyclist-only lodging, but after I found out that it was still $25 a night I decided to just head for the park. 

   The park's only picnic shelter was a bit to exposed for me, so I slept under the stars for the first time of the trip. Well, not totally under the stars, but the overhang of the old building I stayed under didn't provide a whole lot of of coverage

I don't know if you can read this or not, but it says "In God we trust"

Anyone want to take a guess at the political climate in this area?

Impossibly beautiful. 

Yes!!

Let's not have any of that, please. 

Super tame deer. It was bothering picnickers. 

Truly awe inspiring. 

My gear

Here, somewhat belatedly, is a look at the stuff that's making this trip happen. It's going to be mostly pictorial, and there is a slight chance that it will be updated in the future. 

The bike. This is the heart and soul of the whole shebang. It's a 2012 Jamis Aurora, which I settled on purchasing after careful deliberation. When I set out to find an touring bike in a reasonable price range, I realized the two big players where the Surly Long Haul Trucker and this. I had a chance to ride both, and deciding that they would both be perfectly adequate for what I wanted to do, made my selection based on price. My bike has functioned excellently so far, I really couldn't ask for more. There are bits here and there that I would change if I had a chance, such as the sluggish rear derailer, but nothing serious. It shows it's true colors as a touring bike by handling better loaded than it does unloaded. 

This is my cook set. It's an old pre shaker-jet MSR Whisperlite, and a MSR Skillet. If I remember right, I told the story of my acquisition of this stove in a previous posting. 

This is a small sample of what I'm eating. My budget for food is $50 per week, so it certainly isn't gourmet. 

 

Here's the panniers and front bag I'm using. The largest bag is one of my Axiom rear panniers, the smaller one of my Louis Garneau front panniers. My handlebar bag, which is also made by Axiom, is one pice of gear I have found to be quite indispensable. 

Here's my sleeping arraignment, which consists of a Mountain Hardwear Phantom 32 down bag, a cheap Thermarest trail scout sleeping pad, and a trash bag that gets used as a groundsheet. I happen to be especially proud of my sleeping bag. 

And here's why I'm so proud of the bag. That, from left to right, is a 1 quart Nalagine, my thermarest, my bag, and my tarp, all stowed away and ready for travel. The 32 degree bag weighs a slight 22 ounces. 

This is one of my ACA maps. Each panel covers about 30 miles and includes all kind of helpful bicycle specific details. I fold it up to the panel I'm currently on and rubber band it to my handlebars. 

My borderline outrageous bottle collection. The two on the left are fuel bottles, and the rest are for water. I've got a total water capicty of over a gallon.

My cycling shoes. These where also a bit of a last minute purchase as my previous pair was very tight and I was worried that they would give me blisters with such heavy use. They're not the nicest road shoes, but they fit me quite well and have proved themselves comfortable. 

If you ever decide to do anything even mildly adventurous, this is one item you absolutely must have. My leatherman gets used many times daily, and I'd pretty much be sunk without it. 

My tarp set up. The exposure is pretty bad, but you get the idea. 

The final result. 

Days 26-28

June 16

   My excitement for the day actually started before it was even light out. 

   Earlier in the trip, a mouse or some similar rodent had gotten into our trail mix and made a minor mess. It was really more annoying than anything, and I didn't think twice about it. So when my mom later pestered me about potential incidents, saying, "you know that's going to be a problem," I paid no attention. 

   So I was awaken at 2:00am by the rustling sound of some despicable creature going through my unsecured food pannier. I started awake, fumbled for my flashlight and found myself staring at the beady eyes and bushy tail of a skunk, not 6 feet away. My feelings of annoyance where immediately replaced with feelings of panic and trepidation. Of all the animals short of a bear that could have invaded my campsite, a skunk was probably the worst. All he had to do was lift his tail, and he would very likley cause $100's of damage. My sleeping bag alone, which I was still ensnarled in, would be a catastrophic loss. I frantically dug in my memory for anything I'd previously heard or read that could assist me with the safe removal of the skunk. Coming up blank, all I could manage was to train my flashlight on the beast and stared in transfixed horror. Fortunately, the skunk was in a non-confrontational mood, and with a couple of pauses to return my stare, waddled out into the night. With disaster narrowly avoided, I reformed my ways and have been hoisting my food off the ground ever since. 

   Little did I know that this incident was certainly not the end of the day's entertainment. However, absolutely no entertainment occurred while I was on the road. With every passing day I'd started to loathe the grasslands on which I was riding more and more, and the day's terrain did nothing to redeem the aforementioned grassland. There was nothing, I repeat, nothing, between my starting town and destination town but cows. The sole outpost of humanity was a tiny rest stop on he county border. Other than that, the number of houses on the 70 mile stretch of riding probably didn't even make it into double digits. To make matters even worse, there was still a headwind. It was truly awful. The town of Jordan where I ended up wasn't much better. I'm not really a huge fan of most small towns in the first place, but Jordan was pretty bad. If it serves as any kind of indicator, the town streets were not paved. There was also some kind of shindig going on, which appeared to be pretty hardcore cowboy. Everybody in attendance was wearing jeans, a plaid shirt, and a cowboy hat, and most seemed to have arrived in massive diesel dualies. There was even some dude who had a license plate as a belt buckle. 

   My excitement for the evening also came in the form of people, but of the one sort who are probably more entertaining than drunk cowboys. Drunk bikers. Not cyclists, bikers, as in the Harley-Davinson sort. 

   When I'd trundled through town searching for a likley spot so set up shop, I'd noticed three motorbikes and two tents set up in what appeared to be the main park. Deciding that if said park was good enough for them it was good enough for me, I flooded a picnic table with junk and set up my tarp (not even a picnic shelter!). 

   As I was eating my dinner, the owners of the three bikes, two men and a woman who all looked to be in their 50's, came walking back from the shindig, where it appeared they had been participating in the festivities. Noticing me, they proceeded to comfortably flop themselves on my picnic table and commence chatting. Just buzzed enough to be in a good mood, but not so much as to be incoherent, they  proved good company. One of the motorcyclists, who sported a tasteful beer gut, related one of the cowboy's reactions upon learning that the potatoes where out.       

   "The guy said 'they're out of potaters' with a straight face and walked out." quoted the motorcyclist. "I mean, they've still got ribeye steak, and all this guy says is 'they're out of potaters' and walks out." 

   Of course, it was a lot funnier with his belly laugh. 

   As they wished me luck on my trip and headed back to their tents, I noticed the woman fidgeting with some of my stuff down on the end of the table. I glanced over and pretended not to notice, but saw as she folded up some bills and stuck them under my wallet. 

June 17

   But wait, there's more! I had completed all my errands and chores in the morning, and was just about to mount my bike and ride off when another cyclist rolled into the park. He introduced himself as Steve, and pretty quickly established himself as one of the most high energy 60-somethings I've ever met. He talked non stop for a solid 2 hours, on subjects ranging from the oil boom to stealth camping. He was tall, almost gangly, with a white beard and eyes that almost seemed to big out with intensity. Overall, his nonstop chatter and the expression with which he delivered it reminded me of someone with ADD. I actually rather enjoyed listening, meeting new people is one of the reasons I decided to do this trip in the first place. 

   In the end, it was precisely 1:18pm when I left the town of Jordan. this posed a minor problem, as the only occupants of the 75 miles between Jordan and the closest town were cows and maybe the occasional prairie dog.  I really didn't want to stay out in the middle of nowhere, and decided to go for it. Steve had let me know that there was a nice city park in the town of Winnett, and I needed to make it there before dark. My mind made up, I rode hard enough that when I arrived I not only had time to make and eat dinner before it got dark, but also got to take a shower at the adjacent community pool (no hot water again).  

June 18

   I now had some decisions to make. My next major destination was the city of Great Falls, and I really wanted to find someone to stay with there. I had sent out a bunch of couchrequests, but hadn't had any responses. I was therefore very pleased to find not one, but two responses in my inbox when I checked in the morning. I picked one of them, but then was confronted with the dilemma of picking a day for my arrival.  My maps took a loop up to Fort Benton, mainly for the purpose of avoiding a busy highway without shoulders to ride on. If I ignored the maps and just took the highway, I was pretty sure I could make the trip in two days. If I followed the maps, on the other hand, it would mean three days, unless I rode two consecutive 105 mile days and spent the night on the side of the road. I wasn't really in any rush to go anywhere, so I decided to do it in three days, with stops in Denton and Fort Benton. After messaging my intentions to my host, I set out for Denton. 

   Overall, this turned out to be one of my most intense riding days yet. Within an hour of setting out, I finally saw some mountains in the distance. They didn't look too big, but some did have snow on the peaks. 40 miles later I was laboring my way to the top of a fairly wimpy 4700 foot pass. My tail wind had returned, but not as strongly as it had previously been. It was still strong enough to offer diminished resistance, and the descent into Lewiston took place at hair rising speeds. 

   I made a quick food stop in Lewiston and got back on the road to finish my 95 mile day. 10 miles or so later, I met another cyclist and we stopped to chat. He warned me that there was a chance of a hailstorm, so I made good use of my wind and rode as fast as I 

could.

Here's some quick stats on the ride

Departure: 8:45am

Arrival: 5:20pm

Temperature: hot

Water & gatoraide consumed: 200oz

Lowest elevation: 3000 feet

Highest elevation: 4700 feet

Avg speed: 13.6 mph

Max speed: 40.2 mph

This would appear to be the name of every person, landmark, or otherwise notable feature within a 50 mile radius. 

Yes, I dislike plains, but they can still be pretty. 

No pun intended, but this is a good sign. 

Me at the top of the "pass".

While small, that is still a legit mountain. 

A fairly spectacular cloud. 

One of the many reasons why mountains are awesome. 

Days 22-25

June 13

   The night before, I had been thinking about doing a really long day. I woke up to see that the tail wind that had been with me so long still remained, although at a bit of an angle. The wind settled it, and I decided to see how far I could go. 

   When I crossed over into North Dakota, the land had changed into plains pretty quickly. For entirely too long now, I had been riding on those plains. Now, also in the same abrupt manner, I arrived at the badlands. What a change! There was a visitor center off the highway, so I stopped and admired a section of land called painted canyon in Theodore Roosevelt national park. 

   I still had more riding to do, as I hoped to make it to a state park outside of Glendive. Finally, at 7:00, I arrived at the park. My odometer read 118 miles. However, the riding for the day wasn't done yet. It turned out that the state park was one of those miserable parks in which there is a significant distance between the park entrance and the campsites. That distance happened to consist mostly of shockingly steep switchbacks, partially gravel. On the gravel sections, it was so steep that I had trouble keeping my back wheel from spinning. The view from the top at least partially made up for the climb. 

   In the end, I decided it would be much easier to just stay in a picnic shelter closer to the park entrance than to deal with that climb every time I wanted some water. 

   Around 12 that night, a violent thunderstorm hit. There was lightning every 2 seconds, and the rain on the metal picnic shelter roof was so loud I had to cover my ears. I had parked all my crud up against a low wall that ran the perimeter of the shelter, maybe 6 feet in from the edge of the roof, and I had to get up and cover everything to prevent it being soaked by wind blown rain. I can't imagine the disaster it would have been if I'd been under my tarp. 

 

June 14

   Remember that 50mph headwind? It found me. Okay, so maybe it wasn't quite 50mph, but it must have been at least 20, with some gusts a lot faster than that. It was bad enough that there were stretches miles long where it was all I could do move 6mph. 

   I hadn't planned on such difficulty at the beginning of the day, but even so had thought it might be wise to not go too far after the previous marathon day. Consequently, I headed for the town of Circle, which I estimated to be a mere 50 miles away. At an average speed of 7.5 miles per hour, that distance took 7 hours of time in the saddle to complete. It took me 8.5 hours of in saddle time to go the 120 miles. So much for an easy day. 

   Picnic shelters have become my default place to stay, and I've become quite the critic. A good picnic shelter should have: (1) Walls. Even if it's just one. Anything is better than complete exposure to the wind and/or prying eyes. (2) Electricity. Keeping my electronics charged is important. I use my phone for navigation, calling, and finding places to stay. I use my iPod for audio entertainment, internet, writing, and a stack of other things (such as adjusting the level of my saddle). (3) Water. I do have six water bottles with a total capacity of over a gallon, but it's much more convent to have running water. 

   With this list in mind, Circle happened to have probably the best picnic shelter I've stayed in yet. One end actually had three walls, there where outlets that worked, and a veritable forest of water hydrants populated the park in which the picnic shelter was located. 

   This park even had a huge bonus, in the form of a public pool. I hadn't had a shower in entirely too long, and was beginning to consider looking for a farmer's pond or something. upon gaining access to the the obscure (think Dickens) dressing room, I made the unpleasant discovery that the showers did not have hot water. Nevertheless, it was still worth it. 

   Daunted by the prospect of riding in such wind the next day, I decided it would be high time for a break if the wind didn't die down or change direction. 

June 15

   I woke up to wind, stumbled out of my picnic shelter to check the flag atop a close by grain elevator, and stumbled back into my sleeping bag. It was going to be a day off. 

   I had a list of things I needed to do on a day off, so I set about completing as many of the items as I could. 

   Item one was to clean the chain of my bike. Rain helps to clean off your patio, but it does the exact opposite for your bicycle chain. I had been on a lot of wet, dirty roads, and my chain was caked in sludge. After some consideration, I decided all I really needed was some kind of tray and about a quart of gasoline. I secured my gasoline by clandestinely filling a plastic peanut container at a pay at the pump gas station. This left only a tray. Like a true homeless person, I rummaged around in some trash cans until I found what appeared to be a styrofoam take home box from a local restaurant. After ignoring a brief doubt as to the integrity of the foam when exposed to petrol, I removed my chain and set to work. Or at least tried to set to work. The moment I poured gas into my tray, it dissolved into a sticky mess and spilled its contents into a puddle on the cement. I then proceeded with plan B, which turned out to be a gatoraide bottle with the top hacked off. I finished my chain cleaning without further incident. 

   The next task was to work on my new liquid fuel stove. The morning before, I had to fiddle with it for 30 minutes before I could get my eggs cooked, and didn't want to repeat the process every time I wanted some food. Worse yet, it could die completely, rendering me severely handicapped. 

   What I really needed was a maintenance kit, but seeing as how the nearest MSR dealer was probably 200 miles away, I'd have to see what I could do without. After downloading some schematics, I took both the stove and fuel pump apart, cleaned everything, replaced a couple o-rings with some extras that had been included with the stove, and lubricated everything at the appropriate points. 

   When I was done with these tasks, I spent the rest of the day loitering about, organizing my stuff, and cooking food. It was a good, relaxing day. 

Some pics of painted canyon

My 5th  state and 3rd time zone!

The campground road. Very steep.

Days 20-23

June 10

   The day before I left, Jason, who ran the bunkhouse, had told me about other cyclist he had hosted who told horror stories of headwinds. One poor traveler, exhausted, had actually called and asked if Jason could pick him up because he couldn't make it the final 12 miles. After hearing those stories, all I could think about was how awful it would be to be stuck in a 50 or 60mph headwind. 

   Of course, I had a headwind all day. Fortunately it wasn't 60mph, or even directly in my face, but it did make pedaling much harder. Going down hills was slow, and going up them was even slower. It was very challenging. However, I kind of like challenges, and set about to see how far I could ride. 

   I realized two things that I really disliked about the wind, aside from the obvious. One, the boredom of going so slow, two, the sound. I enjoy going fast on just about any kind of vehicle, so when I've got a tailwind and can effortlessly cruise at 20mph, it's simply fun. Going 8 on a flat, on the other hand, is pretty awful. The gusting wind noise doesn't really pose any physical strain, but for some reason its very mentally stressful. 

   To combat these two problems, I tried a variety of means. The noise was partially remedied by plugging in my headphones and cranking the volume way up. My first strategy to make riding more interesting was popping tar bubbles. Apparently, when it gets hot outside, the tar patches bubble up into taught, 1/2 inch or so bubbles. Occasionally, these bubbles, when run over, give off a deliciously gratifying "snap". Running over bubbles kept me occupied for a good 45 minutes. 

   After the bubbles ran out, I tried weaving in and out through openings in rumble strip, but soon realized that it was only entertaining at reasonable speeds. 

   I had stopped at a gas station at about mile 60, when suddenly the solution to riding boredom hit me. Books on tape!  Or mp3, rather. I quickly logged onto the convenient internet and downloaded the first two chapters of Charles Dickens's "A Tale of Two Cities," and was whisked away from boring North Dakota to France, in the year of our God, 1775. 

   After 80 miles of very hard work, I decided to call it a night. So, I kept a lookout for likely places to stay, and upon spotting a fencerow, rode 1/2 mile off the highway and set up camp. 

June 11

   In the morning, the first thing I checked was the wind. I was very pleased to find out that it had swung around, and was now at my back. However, I saw flashes of lightening in the distance as I disassembled my camp. Fortunately, the storm passed well south of me, and I didn't see so much as a drop of rain. 

   The tailwinds held up, and I rode the 35 miles to Bismarck in a frightfully short time period. For miles and miles I crested hills at 16 or 18mph, and then flew down them at 25 or 30. 

   In Bismarck, I had a bunch of things to do, and ended up spending like 4 hours there. Disgusted with my time wasting, I once again rode very fast, not yet sure of where I was going to stay. I was originally planning on staying in a town called Glen Ullin at another cyclist bunkhouse, but upon calling I discovered that they where already full. At 70 miles, I rode into the town of New Salem, and decided to stay at the city park, which permitted camping. 

   A few hours after I got there, another cyclist arrived. I ambled over to chat, and Leon and I spent the evening discussing bicycles, panniers, tents, and whatever else came to mind. As we parted for the night, Leon offered to buy me a real breakfast at the local restaurant the next morning. 

   I was glad to be staying in a picnic shelter that night, as a brief but intense thunderstorm passed through. 

June 12

   In the morning, Leon made good on his promise of breakfast, but we had to wait until 9:30 due to more rain. I enjoyed an excellent meal, and after thanking Leon, we set out in opposite directions. By the time I had everything packed up, it was past 11:00, so I figured I'd have to pedal quick if I wanted to make it anywhere.

   I stopped at a gas station to refill my water bottles about 25 miles into the ride, and there happened to be some guy unloading goods off a semi. We exchanged pleasantries, he asked me where I was going and all that, and I rode off not thinking twice about the encounter. 5 miles down the road, who should pull over, in his reefer truck, and offer me a ride to Dickenson, but the same guy. For a moment, I thought about accepting, but it seemed like kind of a strange situation, and the weather was really nice, so I decided to decline the offer. 

    I was hoping to secure a place to stay in Dickenson, which was 80 miles from my starting point. Unfortunately, nobody responded to my couchrequests, so I had to come up with an alternate plan. The alternate plan turned out to be another city park, this time in the tiny village of Gladstone. When I arrived at the park, which looked rather unkept, the first thing I did was look to see what the nightly fees where. Low and behold, there was a court order taped onto the fees sign which pretty much said that for some reason or another, these people where not allowed to charge public fees, blah, blah. Essentially, camping was free! Of course, the water didn't work, and the bathrooms where a mess, but I suppose you get what you pay for. 

   

My fence row campsite in the process of being taken down. I should have gotten a pic when I had my tarp up, it looked pretty tribal. 

A massive gum ball spill in the middle of nowhere. 

The court order. 

Very pretty sunset. 

I've always wanted to put a penny on a railroad track.