Gig Harbor Washington to Bar Harbor Maine 2001

Wow!

We took a vote last night and all reluctantly agreed to go off route for a one day ride to Cut Bank, instead of three days via Canada. We paid for our transgressions. As soon as we left the park we started climbing, and climbing. In less than 12 miles we'd gone from about 5000 feet to 6300, only 300 less than Logan Pass! The next 15 miles or so was severe up and down. The mosquitos had followed us from the campground. We had a slight tailwind on the climbs, which meant that the mosquitos could just hover around our faces. I nearly wiped out several times while trying to wipe out the bloodsuckers. The headwind on the downhills blew them away from us and was the rare welcome headwind.

We stopped at the gas station/grocery/deli at Kiowa for a break. I grabbed a gatorade and a pack of donettes. Then I noticed that they had fresh blueberry pie and mint green iced tea, both homemade. Sorry Bruce, but it was the best blueberry pie I'd ever had and I had a second slice and glass. I can swear to its power. I'd been averaging about 6 mph all morning and did at least 20 all afternoon.

Part of the improvement could be the slow loss of elevation and the incredible tailwind. I've never experienced the joy of a prairie tailwind. I've never spent so much time in my highest gear, especially after spending the morning in granny gear.

Into the prairie.

The transition from magnificent mountain forest to endless prairie was startling, even if it wasn't as quick as I would have wished. If Glacier Park were an earthquake, the hills we were riding all morning would have been aftershocks. Then the hills continued to diminish, the trees disappeared, and new wildflowers appeared. Fields of forget-me-nots, clumps of tiny irises, little wind-beaten lupines, pink primroses(?).

Irises.

We turned onto US 2 and saw the next 600 miles of Montana stretched out due east ahead of us. It felt like the wind could push us across it in a couple of hours. I saw a bull mount a cow as I dodged some roadkill. Life and death on the prairie. My knees were complaining about pedalling so fast so I pulled over for an aspirin break. Gridley came flying by yelling, "I can't stop this crazy thing!" A couple of Amish bearded farmers stopped to talk about the trip, the bike, the route. They sounded like straight out of Fargo, the movie, "Yah, that's a long ride."

It looks beautiful to me, at 30 mph.

Approaching Browning I watched Gridley suddenly swerve, veer through traffic across the highway, jump off his bike and start doing a striptease. I passed as he was down to his last layer and he yelled something about a bee. He didn't get stung too bad and figured out that a sting is better than road rash.

Coming into Cut Bank the road suddenly dropped out below me with the wind still pushing. I got up to 44.5 mph before climbing back up the other side. My knees were very surprised by the hard pedalling after coasting. The tailwind thoughtfully pushed me up to where Garcia was laying in the sun, as he had been for half an hour. We crossed the street to Pizza Hut where we could watch for Kathryn and Gridley and eat yet another meal. We wolfed a family order of buffalo wings and almost a whole medium pizza before we saw them scream down, and struggle back up, the valley leading into Cut Bank.

We spent a couple of hours digesting pizza and guzzling iced tea while we let it cool down outside. Then we went ahead and let the wind blow us to Shelby. It took just about an hour to make the 24 miles.

On our way into Shelby an asshole trucker passed with inches to spare, refusing to cross the center line and leaning on his horn as he passed. We all met in a McDonald's parking lot. When Gridley pulled up he was talking about the truck and how he'd like to have a word with him. I pointed across the lot to the truck who's driver had just come back. We went over and he was complaining about us being on the road going 25 mph while he was hauling all these tons of cattle. We explained that we had every right to be there and that it was his responsibility to pass us safely. Of all the trucks that had passed us that day, only his had passed us unsafely. Mike argued that if it had been his mother driving her car 20 mph, would he have tried to run her off the road? I tried to make the parting point that we all have to share the road safely. Mike made the point that he was a lawyer and if he injured any of us we would own the truck. Fortunately, he turned off on the Interstate and we rolled on.

I was determined to upload all this stuff so I checked into a motel while everybody else found a campground. We met for dinner at 3 Hens, a cafe on Main Street with about 100 seats, open till 10 on Friday night and with nobody but us in it. Food was passable. Kathryn and Garcia came back to the motel to soak in the hot tub. Kathryn was so sunburnt she couldn't even get in. The jets felt good on our muscles, but the heat wasn't really what we were after.

We're planning on getting an early start again tomorrow, meeting on Main Street at 7:30. It's now after midnight and I've got a lot left to do to get this uploaded. Could be a short night.