August 17, 2015 – Sun, 80 degrees
Miles Today: 55
Miles to Date: 5,782
States to Date: 21
I did pass an awesome logging facility with this huge overhead crane that loaded logs onto rail cars. Giant sprinklers spewed water fifty feet high to keep the logs moist in this area rampant with fires.
I spent the rest of the afternoon cruising beautiful Coeur d’Alene and writing in their gorgeous library at a table overlooking the lake. Then I pedaled up French Gulch to visit my nephew Joey, whom I had not seen in ten years, and his wife Amanda, whom I’d never met. We had a great evening catching up in their cool and remote-feeling cabin only three miles from downtown.
August 16, 2015 – Sun and haze, 75 degrees
Miles Today: 53
Miles to Date: 5,727
States to Date: 21
For the next fifteen miles smoke laden air infiltrated my lungs, but the hour of exercise it took to get me out of Montana will probably not kill me. Idaho brought brighter skies and cleaner air, though the summer haze lingered.
Lake Pend Oreille is a spectacular place; New Hampshire’s Lake Winnipesaukee on a grander scale. It’s the last remnant of the ancient Lake Missoula, part of the Western Interior Sea that included the Bonneville Sea in Utah and the ancient ocean through Eastern Colorado. I pedaled along the eastern shore to arrive at Sandpoint by noon thanks to crossing into Pacific Daylight Time.
August 15, 2015 – Cloudy, 75 degrees
Miles Today: 64
Miles to Date: 5,674
States to Date: 21
Coming off the hillside where my warmshowers hosts live I came upon several signs: I Control My Own. An Internet search didn’t reveal what these signs were protecting, but in Montana, it could be most any form of private property.
In time, streaks of sun began to filter across the mountains. I could only imagine how glorious the Clark Fork Valley would be in full sunlight.
I appreciate that Montana was the first state to install historical markers along highways (1938). They are uniformly interesting and informative.
However, I am less convinced that every little shack with a coffee pot is brewing Espresso.
I stopped for lunch at the Trout Creek Huckleberry Festival. I find a festival most every weekend, and they are all pretty much the same: lines of craft booths; an alley of food vendors; kiddie rides and a performance stage. The variation (in this case a plethora of products made from huckleberry and art created by chain saws or made from chain saw parts) is insignificant compared to the similarities. Festivals are no place to talk about tomorrow. They are full of people in groups, enjoying each other and their neighbors. Hardly conducive to the conversations my question triggers. Still, I devoured excellent fajitas and a giant bowl of huckleberry ice cream before moving on.
Just outside of town I met a woman cleaning up from her yard sale and we had a terrific interchange. Nothing restores my spirits more than a positive interaction. Besides, the sun came out and the mountains shimmered all the way to Noxon. The Noxon Motel is as basic as can be, yet perfectly clean and neat. I had several hours of solitude until my recent travel companion, Peter, showed up around nine to crash in my room. He’s a nice young man from New Jersey I met three days ago. We’re on the same route. We don’t cycle together – every cyclist has his own rhythm. Still, we’ve landed in the same place the last two nights. Whether that will continue, only the road can tell.
August 13, 2015 – Haze 100 degrees
Miles Today: 73
Miles to Date: 5,610
States to Date: 21
Fire Danger: Extreme! I had heard there is often August snow in the mountainous Montana, so I wasn’t expecting the hottest day of my trip here. Then again, ‘unseasonal’ is the only consistent adjective we can apply to weather anywhere these days. Yesterday’s heat hung over early morning, the mercury was already passed 90 when I stopped for a break at 10:30, and the air was brittle and dry all afternoon.
Surly didn’t like the day very much either. First I had a blowout on the decline into Arlee which proved challenging to fix. The air was so hot I never got the tire pressure right, both bike and rider were lethargic. Then I got a wire caught in the same tire. Thankfully, I disengaged it before a second flat.
I have been thinking about the John Steinbeck line that people here love to quote: “I’m in love with Montana. For other states I have admiration, respect, recognition, even some affection. But with Montana it is love. And it’s difficult to analyze love when you’re in it.” I am not in love with Montana, but I am confounded by it. The four cities I’ve visited have each been more interesting and vibrant than I expected. The landscape is breathtaking. But beyond the cities, I have met too many jaundiced people.
Today I got a toxic diatribe about our President in response to my question, from an ice cream vendor no less. As I pedaled away, unsatisfied by a stingy scoop of huckleberry, I realized that nature’s majesty could not counteract the meanness of that man. Why, I wondered, does such an expansive place create such narrow people? The kind of question worth spinn
ing for a good twenty miles. Perhaps narrow people seek out the place? Ultimately I realized that Montana is expansive, but it’s not generous. Life is difficult here, for animals and for people. Resources are scattered far and so populations are spread thin. It is a large pie, but not an expanding one, and not a very nourishing one. People truly believe that they must protect what they have – water, land, livestock – by themselves and with extreme measures if necessary. I can appreciate Montana’s beauty, but I just can’t love a place with so many guns and so little goodwill.
My downcast perspective lingered through the long hot afternoon. Five miles from Plains my warmshowers hosts pulled up in their truck. They’d been in Missoula for the day, were looking for me, and insisted on sagging me to their house. The sky was mixed with scattered thunderstorms and fire smoke. They’d already picked up Peter, another cyclist I met during the day. They thought he was me, and invited him for the night. So we were four for a tasty dinner that lifted my spirits but sparked my fatigue. I was in bed before nine, before dark.
August 13, 2015 – Sun 90 degrees
Miles Today: 12
Miles to Date: 5,546
States to Date: 21
Day 100 of my adventure – in the Bicycle Mecca of America! Every touring cyclists knows about Missoula – headquarters of Adventure Cycling Association, freecycles bicycle cooperative and a small city’s worth of bike-centric people, traffic-calming paths, and two-wheeled activities. Surly and I spent the day tootling around and talking to a bunch of people doing great stuff in every quadrant of the social-economic and political scale.
First stop: PEAS Farm, a ten acre vegetable farm, one of 21 local food production efforts run by Garden City Harvest. PEAS combines a unique mix of paid staff, college interns and at-risk high school students to provide fresh food produce to CSA subscribers and for low-income mobile markets. They invited me to join them for a delicious lunch.
Next up: Freescycles community cycle shop. Bob Giordino showed me around their repair area, and ‘parts department’. I used the stop to do a quick once over on Surly, who is in great shape.
Afternoon ice cream break; Adventure Cycle Association, where I ran into other cyclists I have met along the road. I also had meetings with their membership director, one of the founders, and the current CEO to talk about tomorrow.
Last stop: Dress for Success Missoula. One chapter in an international organization that assists women in transition to prepare for job interviews by teaching job getting and interview skills as well as giving them appropriate outfits for interviews and the workplace. Terri Griffith and her staff, all of who are volunteers or in work reentry programs, represent the contributions that women emerging from abuse or prison have to offer.
I rode over to my warmshowers host for the night. Bruce Anderson is perhaps the most prolific warmshowers host in the world; several hundred cyclists a year. His sunroom and living room are giant crash pads and he has an introductory binder to describe protocol. Small crowd tonight – just two of us. Every warmshowers experience is different.
August 12, 2015 – Sun 90 degrees
Miles Today: 57
Miles to Date: 5,534
States to Date: 21
Any day that starts in Ovanda is a good day. I woke in my shepherd’s wagon with more energy than it takes to keep a few sheep in line, ate a stupendous breakfast at The Stray Bullet, downed two cups of their savory coffee, had an introductory lesson into fly fishing as a metaphor for life, and was still on the road before nine. True, I was headed into a storm but that hardly seemed to matter.
The storm proved short lived, the sun came out, and the ride into Missoula through the Blackfoot Valley was just one gentle downslope after another. The lumber mill town of Bonner had delightful rows of worker’s cottages all painted with matching trim with a row of street trees. So simple and elegant – why has contemporary architecture forgotten the power of repetitive pattern in its quest to make every building distinctive?
I got flummoxed when I had to ride along I-90 for the last five miles. Yikes – no shoulders at the bridges. I still managed to find Missoula’s famous deli, Worden’s, in time for a late lunch. I spent the afte
rnoon in my fourth cool, trendy, Montana city, arranged interviews about tomorrow for tomorrow, and pedaled to my warmshowers host for summer veggie lasagna, local beer, and banana bread so full of chocolate chips it should have been called a brownie.
August 11, 2015 – Sun 90 degrees
Miles Today: 78
Miles to Date: 5,577
States to Date: 21
I rolled out of Helena by 8:30 a.m. for my climb over the Continental Divide – for my fifth time! Riding conditions were excellent, so MacDonald Pass, at 6200 feet, was not nearly so difficult as other assaults across the Divide. Still, the 3,000 feet rise over 16 miles was a good workout.
On the downside I stopped for two guys hunched over the open hood of their semi. They were Beevis and Butthead characters with goofy grins, one was tall and skinny, the other squat and fat. The short guy stood with a blown hose in his hands apparently baffled at what to do. I offered a bicycle tube to squeeze over the hole, but he declined. Further on, while on a cold drink break, they eased their massive truck into the station and filled the radiator with gallons of water. I headed north on Montana 141 so never saw them again, but I imagine they didn’t get as far as I did.
Highway 141 is a gorgeous road through a huge valley. Parts are lush with farms, other sections dramatically barren. At 52 miles I found a rare patch of shade along an unnamed reservoir and took a writing break. An empty pickup tied to a boat stood in the pull-off. As I was getting ready to leave, another pickup pulled in. Turns out a couple just starting their vacation broke down, returned to Helena, and borrowed another pickup. They transferred all their stuff, including the boat, to their new ride while waiting for the tow truck from Helena to retrieve the broken vehicle. They were remarkably cheerful given their difficult start. Ten miles later, they gave me a happy honk, beginning their vacation in a borrowed pickup. I was reminded how easy it is for me if Surly needs attention. She fits easy into any Samaritan’s vehicle.
The remainder of the ride was pleasant, though the scent of dead skunk and charred timber polluted the fresh mountain air. Smoke from active fires rose in the distance.
Ovando is the most unique town I’ve stayed in during my journey: population 75; one roadside restaurant; and a collection of eclectic shops at an irregular square that used to be the center of town. An enterprising woman has converted a sheep wagon, a tipi and the old jail into cyclist sleeping digs for $5 per night. I decided to enjoy a full dinner before turning into a nomad shepherd.
Trixi’s is a long, narrow building whose fake wood paneled walls are covered with real elk and moose heads. There are ten seats at the bar, eight slot machines, six tables, three video arcade games, a foosball table and one pool table. The waitress, Ovando born and bred, chatted me up as she shuffled three tables together. This region suffered a dry winter and spring, so the summer fires are severe. An extended family was evacuated from the blaze I saw, and was coming in for dinner. Turned out to be the woman who arranged my lodging; we met like old acquaintances. She and her family were in party spirits; confident the fire wasn’t a serious danger.
The world is immense, full of glories and dangers. Our machines fail us, our climate turns forests to tinder, but each mishap creates opportunities to meet interesting people.
August 10, 2015 – Sun 90 degrees
Miles Today: 15
Miles to Date: 5,499
States to Date: 21
Helena is a delightful town; I had a perfect rest day here. I started with an early morning spin through town – checked out Last Chance Gulch, downtown and the capital. I was fascinated by how the Helena’s founding purpose – gold discovered in Last Chance Gulch, shaped the capital into an unusual urban form. Unlike agricultural communities, which dwell in valleys, or railroad towns, which are linear, everything in Helena presses up against the north face of Mount Helena. The ‘center’ or town isn’t in the center at all; it is at the far south end of a community that continues o to grow north. The original, irregular, grid, which represents development from 1864 until after World War II is full of interesting architecture, significant Victorian mansions, lovely bungalows, and lots of shade trees. The sprawl is limited to the north and east, which makes it less dominating.
After a filling lunch of pizza buffet, I met with Krys Holmes, Executive Director of the Myrna Loy Center. She connected me with Edwin Bender of followthemoney.org and Tim Holmes, a renowned artist who’s embarked on a project of giving his drawings away to random strangers as a means to spur connection.
It was after six by the time I pedaled out to my warmshowers host. Dawn Bridges is a phenomenal host. She and her husband Scott gave me a room with a view of the western valley, a private bath with a view of Helena climbing the hill, laundry, a great meal that included fresh garden vegetables, and terrific conversation. We didn’t rise from the table until after eleven.
August 8, 2015 – Rain, 65 degrees
Miles Today: 30
Miles to Date: 5,382
States to Date: 21
Today was short on miles and long on mental conundrums. Yesterday afternoon I was in downtown Livingston on a sunny afternoon enjoying the vibe of skinny young people serving up local food, creating art, and taping Bernie Sanders posters in storefront windows. This morning I pedaled to the truck stop on the outskirts of town for breakfast before climbing Bozeman Pass. I settled into a platter of giant pancakes, crispy bacon and sunny side eggs; a fly on the wall with big ears. All around me heavyset guys in big hats and booming voices complained and slandered with discomforting assurance. “Who elects these fools in Washington?” “Hillary is a crook, she should be in jail, not the White House.” “Obama hates Jews, at least he does one thing right.” “The Japs are about to invade Australia.” “My gun license prohibits buying guns out of state. Why the hell is that?”
For the first time on my trip, I shied away from joining a conversation and asking my question. The two loudest old men eventually shuffled out to a vintage Lincoln and sped down the highway. I engaged with two women who came in later, personable even as they said Obama is the antichrist and we are entering the end of times. For them, every sign that people of the world are coming together is proof that the end is upon us.
For 23 miles in the rain my legs pumped as my mind wondered how to make sense of my truck stop experience. I want to find reason and value in every person I meet, but I just don’t understand people who thrive in obstinacy and faultfinding.
The rain cleared. Bozeman was celebrating its Sweet Peas Festival. Hundreds of people lined Main Street for the parade and then trekked to the parks to see art, hear music and eat international food. It was exactly as the truck stop patrons predicted: the world coming together. Yet it seemed less like the end of times than very good times. I took a break in Bozeman’s gorgeous new library, a place to come together if ever there was one. The building has large windows that overlooked the park and festival. The world is so much more positive than my breakfast companions allow.
I don’t want to dismiss people whose primary occupation is maligning and complaining, but since they never offer solutions, I can’t figure out what they want. I almost hope they find satisfaction naysaying; otherwise they’d be mighty unhappy. Regardless, common ground is difficult to find.
I have been in two Montana cities that strike an interesting mix of tradition and progress. In between I found an isolated truck stop where people cock sure of everything wrong congregate. I like to think they will be welcome back to the center of things if they ever realize that living together in peace is something we should embrace rather than fear.
August 7, 2015 – Sun, 80 degrees
Miles Today: 57
Miles to Date: 5,352
States to Date: 21
Today was a dream cycle touring day. I woke without an alarm, enjoyed eggs and English muffins with my warmshowers host, and stopped by the Gardiner Market for a few supplies. So many of my Boston friends have been commenting on the hot, humid weather back home, I couldn’t help but document the perfect morning temperature here.
Fifty-five miles along the Yellowstone River to Livingston. The first twenty miles on US 89 descended a meandering canyon. I really loved the vertical rock formations on Devil’s Slide. The next thirty miles followed East River Road, a lightly travelled byway through aptly named Paradise Valley. Throughout the valley, the particular yellow that gives the region its name shows through on the bluffs. The two roads joined for the final descent into Livingston.
After navigating the usual ugliness where US 89 meets I-90, I cycled north to downtown Livingston, a hip little city with lots of galleries, coffee shops and boutiques. I wonder who frequents these places, but they all seem to thrive. I had an exquisite lunch at Chadz, topped off by a cinnamon bun at the Bodega Bakery. Downtown goes on siesta about three, so I took at writing break at the library; a classic Carnegie building with a truly pleasant addition.
I pedaled to the outside of town to my warmshowers host. We had a bit of miscommunication, and Eric only offered camping Thankfully the night was beautiful and his yard lush. My second night of sleeping outdoors was terrific.
The Awkward Pose 