2015. 09. 27. 1552

Yes, I know that many of you have stopped reading these updates since, well, there's very little chance of a bear attack to be documented. To mix metaphors, without a train wreck, why read on?

Well, what if I were to tell you that this update involves being in the same car with a convicted meth supplier and murderer who has been shot 5 times? What if I told you I almost killed both him and me while driving home yesterday? Would that give you any incentive to read on?

I suppose not. No bears, no reading ...

For the record, I think this will be the second to last update in the Road to Canada series. The final update will be a summary after I've had a few more days to think about the whole adventure.

Friday, as promised, Barbara picked me up from the pricey HoJo and we drove to Butte. The hillsides were simply aglow with aspens in their bright, fiery oranges and blindly brilliant yellows. Barbara dropped me off at the Butte Library and continued on to meet with her mother, vowing to return to the library to pick me up around 3 PM.

I had 5 hours to do whatever I wanted to do in the historic uptown Butte district. Too many, paralyzing choices! Should I visit the world renowned Dumas Brothel (spoiler alert: I did visit the Dumas Brothel, only to learn, it's just a museum/gift shop now. Damn!)? How about the Montana Chemical Dependency Center (which is actually sponsored by the tobacco industry to get people hooked on various chemicals)? 

How about neither? On the way down to Butte, the topic of Lars and the Real Girl came up. Barbara has never seen this gem, so my first goal was to find a copy. Did you know that the Butte Public library system has only one Ryan Gosling movie and it's not Lars and the Real Girl. I was so dumbfounded with the result of this spartan search, I asked for help from a librarian. He was a little chagrined to admit that, yes, it appeared that the Butte Public library system has only one Ryan Gosling movie and it's not Lars and the Real Girl. He suggested a pawn shop within walking distance and my fate in the historic uptown Butte district was now set ...

... on to a pawn shop!

Damn it, John, what about the murderer????

I walked down to Bruce and Bob's Pawn shop (note that this street view image shows a motorcycle illegally parked on the side walk, one of my favorite subjects!). They didn't have the movie (and the motorcycle wasn't on the sidewalk, either), but all DVDs were now half priced at only a buck apiece!

I had struck out (technically, that was only 2 strikes, but it was getting hot in Butte so I decided to forfeit the rest of my searching for Lars and the Real Girl at bat). As I was meandering around the historic uptown Butte district, I stumbled across the Butte Rescue Mission Bargain Center! My chance for a real third strike!!! Of course, they didn't have Lars and the Real Girl,. I had done it! I had legitimately achieved the "three strikes and you're out" plateau! In spite of not having the movie, they had a real nice belt for a buck which I bought to hold up my brand new Costco pants that were a bit too big (I lost 10 pounds on the ride ...).

So, I now had a belt but no movie. 

Murderers, John, murderers ...

I remembered that a couple of southbounders said that I had to visit the Berkeley Pit, home of a massive, rising pool (now more than 4000' deep!) of lethal water, so I headed that way. I stopped in at the The Broadway Cafe  for some gourmet pizza and talked at length with Cheryl, the owner, about the history of the place and the plans for the future (pave paradise, put up a parking lot). The daughter-in-law compared me favorablely to Grandpa Joe who, disappointingly, really did look a lot like me: he looked like an old guy in a pony tail ...

The Berkeley Pit was impressive for its size and the absolutely mirror like finish of the rising water. No one attempted to swan dive from the observation deck into the absolutely still waters of the pit, but there was a guy who was threatening to do a cannonball. I did not stick around for that because, really, how many times have we heard people say they are going to do that and they never do?

I returned to the library to await Barbara when it dawned on me I had the world's collection of movies in my pocket via a little thing we call "the cloud". I stole 431M of data from the city of Butte and downloaded Lars and the Single Girl to my phone ... for free (I had $6 worth of credits somehow). Damn, I could've just stayed in the library all day, catching up on back issues of Historic Uptown Butte Today! and you would've got to the murderer sooner ...

We returned to Helena where we ultimately joined Connie, fellow book club member, who was guarding the storage units she owns (long story ... yes, we know, John, murderer???).  We went for a walk to see if there were any vagrants hanging out in the land behind the storage units (not sure what we were supposed to do if we found any) and then we were treated to a spectacular sunset with the clouds aglow, vying to outdo the aspen, "Jesus Rays" shooting through the clouds. Wow ...

On my suggestion, we made a Panda run and ate our pseudo-Chinese food sitting on the back of Connie's pickup truck, Montana style. Then, believe it or not, we watched Lars and the Real Girl in Barbara's car while parked on the street outside the storage units. It must have looked very odd to the few cars that cruised by ...

That's it, I give up. No murderer, no reading ...

I'm almost there and now you're leaving???

The next day I rode my bike to the Helena Regional Airport and picked up a Hyundai Elantra for the long trip home. I pulled out of the pricey HoJo around 9:30 AM with a full tank of gas, 60 ounces of Mountain Dew, a bag of pretzels from the Dollar Tree and the determination to get home in 11 hours or less.

Just a few miles east of Billings, I picked up a hitchhiking convicted murderer. When I picked him up, he was not wearing a sign declaring all of his past convictions and dropped charges. My fault for not asking him about his criminal record before I let him in the car, but I thought I was "paying it forward" for everyone who had helped me out on the trip.

Hunter was also shot 5 times during the course of his life. His own brother shot him 3 times, he was shot in the chest at point blank range by a rival biker gang and had his left hand blown up when someone threw a gun on a bed, it discharged and the bullet went through his left hand.

I was too timid to question the validity of any of these statements.

Almost immediately, Hunter fell asleep. This was not part of my plan, either: A) I wasn't planning on picking up a convicted murderer and B) I was hoping that anyone who I picked up would talk to me to help me stay awake. Instead, Hunter's snoring helped put me to sleep.

I'm falling asleep just reading this over ...

... I had 4 bouts of microsleep. Nasty stuff, that. Each time I'd snap to, I'd put a notch in the steering wheel to keep track of the number of times Hunter and I had cheated death. I was only going 85 MPH.

Hunter wanted to get down to Woodland Park, Colorado, and I thought about driving him all the way, but I'm sure we would have been killed if I tried that as I microslept us off the highway and down an embankment (always down the embankment. What's with that?). I wasn't going to put him up at my place, so I dropped him off at the Lowe's at 136th and I-25, gave him all my remaining Slim Jim Original Smoked Snack Sticks, 0.28 oz, a protein bar, thanked him for not murdering me and I drove home. He was very grateful for the ride as he told me it would normally have taken him 4 days to get that far.

So, I did pay it forward, right?, and I lived to tell the tale which you didn't read because you gave up on this update 20 paragraphs ago.

Total mileage was 761.4 miles and I did it in almost exactly 11 hours, including two fuel stops (which also included a Burger King stop (Hunter's favorite restaurant ... any place you want to go, Hunter, is fine with me ) and a Wendy's stop (Hunter's second favorite restaurant ... that's good, right, Hunter? We got to both 1 and 2? Great, huh?)).

Oh, I also did a discharge a convicted murderer stop.

Isn't it great to be back home???? 

No and I'll be sorting that out in the coming days. Look for my last, convicted murderer-less update in the coming days.

JK

2015. 09. 24. 1510 Reintegration...

Day +1 ... Reintegration into Civil Society

People seem more ... on edge? It took me a while today to realize that even in Helena, laid back as it must be with respect to major population centers like Billings, people here are more keyed up than those of Lincoln County where a "free rider" is celebrated during the Ovando Gran Fondo rather than run off the course as would surely happen in Billings.

A few weeks prior to putting in a surprising number of miles on the ol' mountain bike, I was working on the concept of a campaign to do something nice for a stranger once a day. The act didn't have to be earth shattering, just something nice that the recipient would appreciate. One example might be letting someone get in line in front of you at the store. That person's life would be a bit better and hopefully they would pay it forward, kindness rippling outward around the world until it reaches North Korea where kindness is not permitted.

And that particular act of kindness, letting someone go in front of you in line, brought me back to earth today. I was in line behind, oh, let's call him "a guy". A woman with a child was in the other line and that line had suddenly come to a screeching halt because the customer at the register couldn't write legibly.

Don't ask ... I didn't.

At any rate, I asked "a guy" if he wouldn't mind letting the woman with a child go in front of us.

"No, I'm too busy!"
 Hold on. Let me get this straight. Your life is so finely tuned that you couldn't afford to give another human being one precious minute of your time by allowing them to go in front of you?

Welcome to Helena ...

But the day is not lost for today I discovered ... (drumroll and trumpet fanfare, please): anti-monkey butt. I had been complaining to someone on the road  (why is my brain locked up so I can't remember who I was talking to ... I'm pretty sure, though, it wasn't THE Marshal) about my "road rash" and they suggested that there was a product available at sporting goods stores to address this "problem". Well, I walked into Sportsmans Warehouse today and asked the crew there to promise not to laugh at my question.

They did NOT promise not to laugh ... they would promise in Lincoln County, I bet.

I asked if there was an anti-chaffing product. Well, not only was there such a product, they carried it AND it was available right at the check out stand! That's how popular anti-monkey butt is. It's an impulse buy!!!!

Who knew? I suspect that Clarion Brands, LLC, of Solon, OH, who is "dedicated to maximizing the performance and comfort of sports enthusiasts and people who work hard all day long." knew. They're making a living selling anti-monkey butt. Helping their stock, I bought a small container.

It's essentially high priced baby powder which I sprinkled liberally into my riding shorts before taking the car and my bike back to the airport. I'm sorry to report that it doesn't seem to help, but maybe you have to use it for an extended period of time?

Helena Regional Airport, located just down the block from the capitol dome of the Great State of Montana, has a whopping 6 commercial flights in and out each day: 6 landings, 6 departures.  The entire flight schedule is displayed on an old 27" CRT monitor ...

Look out, Billings!

One of those pairs is the United flight to/from Denver: gets in the night before, 12 hours later (I guess the jets have to cool; thus, the phrase "cool your jets" ... hooboy, I have already lost it) they fly back to Denver in a seemingly infinite loop, back and forth between the Queen City (Denver) and The Queen City of the Rockies (Helena).

Which naturally brings the topic back to me, John F Denver (F stands for "from"): what are my plans for getting back to Thornton which doesn't have an unofficial nickname (I intend on starting a nickname contest. Winner gets a 1 week pass at the rec center!)? Well, the exciting news is tomorrow I'm going to rendezvous with Barbara Nye, proprietor of THE cabin and cornerstone member of the Lincoln County Book Club which I attended a few scant days ago (seems like forever ...)! We are Going Back to Butte (I really have to start writing country music tunes) where Barbara will visit with her mother and help her run errands. I'm hoping to visit with Darryl (remember? He's the Montana employee who was monitoring pollution at the Berkley Pit? We ate at the L&D all you can eat Chinese buffet a while back?) at the Berkley Pit, perhaps get a taste of that contaminated water and have a blood test. I'm also hoping to nostalgically visit one of my worst campsites along the roaring I-15 at the KOA "Journey" campground.

Ah, sweet memories of that orange security light blasting into my tent all night!

So, visiting with Barbara precludes my taking the one and only Friday 7:48 AM United flight to Denver. The Saturday numbers are bad last I checked: -1. Sunday +11, but here's the thing: If I stay another day to get the Sunday flight ($65 at the highfalutin HoJo) I'll also have to pay $60 to a bike shop to pack my bike into a sturdy box so I can check it (it will not fit in the overhead compartment, even with BOTH wheels removed). For that kind of dough, I could drive back to Denver in a superior Avis rental car (last night I had a practically brand new Forester ... it will be funny if I get the same car to drive to Denver) AND, assuming no collisions with reckless deer who simply refuse to look both ways before they cross the highway, I'd be home Saturday night ... exhausted but happy to be in the bearless confines of the cul-de-sac. And we United pass riders know that a +11 flight, two days before departure means nothing. I could show up Sunday morning with my luggage and box of bicycle and not get on the plane ... I'd have to spend another night in Helena, burning through my monetary reserves like there's no tomorrow.

So, I'm planning on driving back to Denver Saturday morning. I'll ride my bike to the airport to be there when Avis opens at 9 AM (route goes right by Panda Express and Costco, neither of which will be open at that ungodly hour), drive the car back to the highfalutin HoJo to get my gear then 287 to I-90 to I-25 to 136th to York to Signal Creek Blvd to E 131st Place to East 131st Avenue to Home in Thorton. Got that?

Completing this rather mundane update (well, come on, the anti-monkey butt thing was ... different), I'm currently at the Helena Library, having ridden my bike over here after riding back to the HoJo from the Helena Regional Airport. I think I've put in a whopping 6 miles today and will probably top out around 10 miles for the day. My bike seems so light without all the gear mounted to the rack ...

I'm hoping for another bearless night ...

JK

2015. 09. 23. 2226 Three Improbable Events

Look. I know that any account prior to the actual arrival at The Border is anticlimactic, but, if you'll bear with me, you'll learn about how I almost didn't make it back into the United States even though I hadn't officially left ...

... and three improbable events, AKA miracles.

I left Whitefish a bit after 7 AM Monday morning and started the long slog to North Fork road. The wind was calm all day, a great gift from the weather gods who had been "head winding" me for most of this trip. In the calm, still morning a thick fog shrouded the northern end of Whitefish Lake, but the rest of the lake surface was free of that low lying cloud. Very peaceful and somehow mysterious at the same time ...

Around 9 AM the sun finally rose above the nearby mountains and the gloom of "valley riding" was replaced with the golden warmth of the sun. The road itself, like so many of the roads I had encountered in the Swan Valley, was carved through the forest so I only got occasional views of the mountains on either side of the dense forest that hemmed in the road when I reached a clearing. When I got those views, I was reminded of Bob Ross's landscapes: stark, knife edged, sedimentary mountains, evergreens spreading below tree line, valleys and parks tinged autumn orange below.

BTW, it only took me a month to realize that I much prefer biking in sunshine rather than in the shadows ...

Improbable Event I

Remember Marshall, "THE Marshal", who had cut me a break on the cost of my camp site a few days ago at Wayfarer's State Park? Well, I uncharacteristically stopped at an intersection to check on how far it was to the pass when I heard a car coming up the road. I decided to wait for it to pass, but it turned out to be a half dozen ATVs.

You'll never guess who was in that brat pack of geezers on all terrain wheels? THE Marshal!!!!

Turns out that they always ride on Tuesdays and on this Tuesday, they opted to head up this road to look at some fire damage.  If that's not unlikely enough, if I had ridden past that intersection, I would never have encountered THE Marshal: they turned left, I went straight. So unlikely that I would have met him again ... but I, unbeknownst to me, I was waiting for him.

The final push to pass before Red Meadow Lake wasn't too technically difficult, just long. Man, I'm tired of climbing hills! But, as is always the case, the downhill was a blast.

Improbable Event II

As a reward for the climbing, I decided to stop and eat lunch at Red Meadows Lake. A beautiful, alpine blue-green, achingly pure, clear water mountain lake, flanked by a mountain slope exploding with orange and red shrubs. Well worth the climb.

Red Meadows Lake http://www.struck.us/BikePics/BikeStories48-2.html

Well, you'll never guess who was there? Tina Seeley, from Pensacola, (I didn't know her, either) who was trying to make a big decision about her life: should she move back to Montana? We talked quite a bit about The Line (see previous post on this topic) and I felt that she knew what she should do (The Line ... move back to Montana) but was afraid to do it (not riding the line). I will never know what she decided, but I think our conversation might have nudged her to return to Montana.

What are the odds that I would bike to Red Meadows Lake to encounter someone who was ready and anxious to hear about making choices in her life?

The rest of the downhill to North Fork Road was a blast with the proviso that I was constantly afraid that I would have a high speed encounter with a bear. To prevent this from happening, I sang "Rocky Mountain High, Colorado" at the top of my voice, complementing my recently discovered John Denver persona. Don't know if the bears didn't like the screeching or they just weren't in the vicinity, but I didn't see any bears on that swift decent.

Why can't the downhills last longer than the uphills?

When I hit North Fork Road, I had to decide to either go 5 miles off route to Polebridge (which meant 5 extra miles in the morning to get back on route) or continue on to Tuchuck Campground (just like "Two Buck Chuck" but without the two ...). It was sunny, I only had 5 hours of seat time and Tuchuck was "on route". So I turned north (remember that Canada is north of the US), rather than south, and headed to Tuchuck.

Man, talk about a bad Line ... this road may have been one of the worst on the trip (save the worst for last?). It seemed as if the builders of the road took sharp stones and impregnated them into the road, sharp points pointing skyward. Very difficult to ride as each time my tires hit one of the sharp edges, I slowed down. Now imagine doing a 1000' climb on that surface ...

... when I finally reached Tuchuck around 5 PM, I was very tired and very relieved. I had picked Tuchuck as my destination since it was an official Forest Service campground and there would be others camping there to share in fighting off any bears. When I arrived, no one was there, but it was relatively early. I set up the tent, ate dinner (1/2 a delicious Safeway deli meat sandwich with extra horseradish sauce and a Snickers bar), brushed my teeth, did my journal and ...

NO ONE ELSE SHOWED UP! I WAS ALL ALONE IN GRIZZLY BEAR COUNTRY!!!!

In an impolite word: F!

The campsite had bear boxes and I dutifully put my panniers and dry bag into the boxes. I thought, ironically, that this protected my bags but didn't protect me. But I was really, really tired from the 8 hours of "seat time" on the bike, so I laid down in the tent and I was out like a light!

When I awoke a few hours later, it was dead silent and the first quarter moon was shooting slivers of ghostly white light through the campsite. Looking through the towering pines around my site I could see my last spectacular canopy of stars and the Milky Way. Very magical ...

But as soon as I got back in the tent, the Keller worry gene kicked in and I started fretting about bears. Damn! I should have started a fire! Should I go to the campsite across the campground, get the firewood I had seen there and try to start a fire in the dark or would it be better just to remain in the tent if there are bears about? Maybe I should sleep in the bathroom? Should I pick out a tree to climb?

Ultimately, my rational self (bear attacks are soooo rare!) settled the Keller worry gene side and I finally got to sleep. I was surprised when the alarm went off at 6:30 AM on my last day of riding and I was actually still asleep!

Cold, cold, cold. There was frost on my bike seat and the tops of the water bottles were frozen! Time for the heavy gloves ...

I still had another 1000' of climbing on sh*tty road before reaching the Whitefish Divide. I prefer to ride up rather than down in the morning as riding up warms me up, riding down makes me even colder. The sh*tty road followed up one valley and, when I reached the end of that valley, I thought I was done climbing, but, no, the route called out a turn on another sh*tty road, still heading up.

Have I mentioned that I'm tired of climbing?

Finally, I reached my very last pass, Whitefish Divide, and started a fast decent on that terrible road surface. I sang all about it in the hope that bears would hear my vocal complaints about the road and stay off it.

Then, some 8 miles from the highway, a gift from the road building gods: a 1 lane, paved road, going downhill! WOW!!!! After riding on that terrible road, I was effortlessly flying downhill. Bears be damned, I am turning it loose!

Brakes? We don't need no stinkin' brakes.

When I reached the highway, I turned towards the border on highway 93 and continued to enjoy the asphalt, the sunshine on the plains, the lack of wind. I enjoyed it so much, in fact, that I failed to notice that I had ridden 1/2 mile beyond the next turn. Damn! I had to go back which burned precious seat time!

Still, turning back allowed me to talk to a tech (on the road I was supposed to take) who was helping to bring fiber optic Internet to rural Montana. I don't have fiber optic in urban Thornton! A massive backhoe was compacting the soil after the installation. The cab was in the left lane, the arm of the backhoe arched across the right lane. The operator stopped, waved me on, but didn't move the massive arm: I was riding under the arch of dangerously powerful, hydraulic equipment.

Maybe I should have stayed on the highway?

I finally reached Eureka (I don't make these things up) and stopped in at the library which was located on Dewey Street (I don't make these things up). I was going to eat lunch at a restaurant in town, then bike boldly to the border, but I was anxious to reach my final goal so I headed north on an empty stomach.

About 10 miles, asphalt, no wind, but ... one ... last ... hill ...

... then downhill to the border crossing. The interesting thing was the road I was on skirted the border and, if I wanted to forego the drama of potentially dealing with US Customs, I could have stopped, walked 10', crossed a normal farm fence and made it to Canada.

But that's not where the official ACA route went so I followed the route to the US/Canada Border.

As I stood under the border sign, without a selfie stick, I tried to get people passing north to stop and take THE picture, proving that I had made it (no proof, though, that I had actually biked there ...).

No one stopped ... thanks!

But the cars were backing up at Canadian customs so I walked over to the last car, explained my plight and they gladly walked back with me to take the photo I sent out earlier.

That's when the border altercation began ...

As the friendly photographers were milling around, a Canadian customs agent came out of the building and yelled at everyone to get back in their cars. I can only interpret this to mean that by international conventions no one is allowed to walk in the DMZ between the official border and a customs inspection station.

Me? Since I hadn't been cleared by Canadian customs (but had been on Canadian soil since I had to walk north to convince those people to take my picture), I just turned south and headed back on the two lane road I had arrived on. As I'm biking, I see a US Customs agent pop out of the US customs building, bring a pair of binoculars to his eyes and look me over as if I were an enemy combatant.

Clearly a terrorist threat, he yelled at me to stop proceeding and ordered me to come over to the customs building! Now!

Whatever, dude ...

He demanded my passport (fair enough), but then wanted proof that I hadn't been in Canada. Kinda hard to prove a negative, but I had shown him the picture of me at the border which inspired him to ask to see the last 10 pictures I had taken. Unbelievably, I had taken a picture of "the last hill", simply a steep hill on asphalt Airport Road. When I explained what that was, he said, unbelievably again,

"I recognize that road ... you can go."

WHA?????

As I was packing up, he told me that the reason he had called me over was he thought I was trying to duck paying duty on goods I might have brought in from Canada.

Later, I talked to two other people who suggested that the US Custom Agents at the Roosville crossing were (paraphrasing here) d*cks.

Improbable Event III

I was going to ride back to Eureka (10 miles) then hitch a ride further south, but I thought I'd eat my other 1/2 of the delicious Safeway deli meat sandwich with extra horseradish sauce and hitch hike while doing so. I allowed 1/2 hour and, if someone didn't pick me up, I would ride to Eureka.

Only needed 10 minutes ...

... Maureen reluctantly stopped and ultimately took me to Glacier International Airport where I had reserved a car to drive down to Helena. But first we talked about a wide range of topics, including, of course, The Line, and she took me to her home in Whitefish where we had a beer and had a good discussion of politics with her husband, Terry. Maureen and Terry are Canadians who can work remotely and, coincidentally (too many coincidences on this trip????), they are mountain bikers!

I invited myself to join them on a ride in the future and they gladly agreed. Reminded me of Mark and Susan from Tennessee at the Mobley Entertainment Center.

I also met their dog, The Dude. He enjoyed being petted and I was calmed by doing the petting.

After beers Maureen drove me to the airport, following part of the route I had ridden just two days earlier. She dropped me at the gate and I strolled into the Avis office to get my one way car to Helena.

Thanks, Maureen, for starting me off on my way home.

The drive back to Helena was surreal in that I traveled south, traversing a lot of the ground I had just biked north. Particularly stunning was driving The Swan Valley. While it took me 1 1/2 days to bike it, it seemed to take FOREVER to drive it. It was almost shocking to realize that I had covered all that ground and that was just a small portion of the total trip.

Swan Valley

The icing on the cake was when I drove into Helena on US 12, the road I took after the rains cleared in Helena, the same road that Ron and Jean live on who stored my bags at the Holland Lake campground. When I rode that highway out of town I never thought that I'd be driving on it in the opposite direction.

I opted to try the Howard Johnson's across the street from the Super 8. Costs $10 extra per night, but it's nicer, quieter, they have a bacteria laced hot tub and don't forget the Longhorn Casino with drinks and hot slots.

I am not sure what my next move will be and I'm not going to worry about it tonight. Update to follow tomorrow on my plans to get back to Thornton.

OK. The elephant in the room:

How did I feel when I reached the border, having ridden my bike approximately 1200 miles over the course of 31 days?

Frankly, I was too busy trying to get THE picture then dealing with Customs then hitching. About a couple miles BEFORE arriving I felt very emotional, but I promised myself I wouldn't cry while biking and I didn't. Over the coming days I'm sure the immensity of what I've done will hit me.

I'm very grateful to verify that I did not see a single bear on my trip. If only I had known that during all those camping nights that I worried about it ...

I hope all is going well for you and your loved ones.

JK

2015. 09. 23. 1244 Canada!

2015. 09. 22 Tuchuck Campground T-1!!!

Vance here. John did make it to Tuchuck Campground (48.92227 , -114.60008) as he had hoped, a 60 mile ride with almost 4K vertical feet of climb.

Mount Thompson-Seton is close to where John is camping. 

John is only 38 miles away from his planned entry-point into Canada--at the Roosville border crossing, British Columbia, and it has a lot of downhill.  Unless he has significant problems he should achieve his goal tomorrow. 

2015. 09. 22. 0631 Off to Tuchuck

Depending on how I'm feeling, I may bag Polebridge and continue on to the Tuchuck Campground. It's about 60 miles from Whitefish, but requires a climb of 2500' (have to do that even if I go to Polebridge) then a climb of 1200'. It will all depend on the weather, road conditions, how I'm feeling, etc. 

Follow me on Spot to see what I decide to do today. 

T-2!

JK

2015. 09. 21. 1347 No, I Didn't See Any Bears

The Last Northbounder:

The Semi-Fictitious Account

Of a Geezer Riding a Bike From

Denver to Canada

Subtitle:

No, I Didn't See Any Bears 

A story of Power Links, deer tripping the wire, deer not waiting for the light to cross ...

Last update was from The Pit Stop in lovely Lincoln, Montana, On Friday. In the past 4 days I've ridden about 241 miles, logging a 75 mile day yesterday. Lots to write about ...

The forest services roads that took me up and over Huckleberry Pass traveled along a couple "benches", long stretches of road along the side of the mountain above a valley. Fantastic views across the valley to pine forests, brilliantly illuminated by the long angle of the afternoon sun. I turned another switchback and, WOW!, my first view of the ragged peaks of the region, thrusting skyward, treeless, layered, blocky, massive. Prior to this point, the hills and mountains were more rounded, always below treeline. These peaks seem more like the mountains of Colorado. Some of them have recently been dusted with snow (winter is just around the corner up here), some inlayed with glaciers. Very beautiful change from the tree covered mountains that have preceded me on this trip.

On my screaming downhill run down to Harry Morgan (yes, named for Henry Morgan, famous actor [Editor's note: John really doesn't know this to be true]) Fishing Access Campground, I ran into Chris and Simon from New Zealand. I tossed each of them a few slices of pizza from the pizza I had ordered just hours ago at The Pit Stop and gave them the mini clipboard I had purchased in Helena. For the record, I have never completely eaten a pizza on this trip, having always shared the spoils with fellow travelers.

Those Kiwis gobbled up the pizza right then and there before I was even able to dig through my panniers to find the clipboard. I think they were hungry ...

As I was racing downhill, I got spat out into ... Montana grasslands. The transition was so dramatic: one second trees were flying by on either side of me, the next second open fields. Head spinning. Whitetail deer were there to greet me. I thought that, as one of the deer leaped over the barbed wire, that he/she had gotten tangled in the barbed wire since the barbed wire ZING'd when the deer hit it ...

... but ...

... the next day the same thing happened in a different location which makes me think that the deer like the sound that barbed wire makes when they pull it with their hoofs. I think it's their way of saying, "Your stinkin' barbed wire can't hem us in!".

That night I camped on the North Fork of the Blackfoot River (well, not on it, next to it). I put my bags it the bear box and slept peacefully, knowing that if bears did come into the camp, they would eat me, but NOT my protein bars.

The next day I inadvertently participated in the Ovando Gran Fondo (a race organizer told me, sotto voce, that it really wasn't a gran fondo since the event wasn't long enough, but Montanans don't speak Italian)! This is a mountain bike event, limited to 250 participants, to raise money for the Missoula symphony orchestra. Their route covered much of the route I was going to travel! I crossed the start line about a half hour before the official start and the riders reeled me in just a few minutes after they started. I urged them to join me on the trip to Canada, but no one took up my offer. The riders and race organizers were all very friendly and didn't object to having me on "their" course.

I got free water!!!!

Just before I reached Seeley Lake, I encountered the first and only road closure due to the summer fires. I don't think the area was still actively on fire (might be still be smoldering, though ...), but someone told me that the road was closed due to burned out trees blocking the road.

I did NOT learn this from the rangers when I stopped in to check on road closures at the ranger station: the ranger station is closed on the weekends. I guess no one uses the forests on the weekends ...

I was going to take a different road to get back on the official route, but my ^$%#$%^#$%$#$ chain broke again!!!! What's ironic is I tried to give the new chain I had been carrying since Pinedale to the Kiwis, but they declined the offer.

Thank the powers that be for that declination, if any ...

The replacement chain had a "power link" which allowed me to connect both sides of the chain by inserting the link and ... pulling. WAY easier than using a chain tool! Next time I'll carry a couple of these which will make "field repairs" on the side of the road much easier.

As it took me an hour to effect the repair, I decided NOT to ride up the side of the mountain; rather, I continued on paved, but busy, US 83. For the most part, people gave me a wide berth when they passed me, but one $%$##&##^ hole "buzzed" me, trying to get as close as possible. The other lane was wide open. Very stupid, dangerous and just not nice.

If I hadn't broken my chain I wouldn't have stopped at the overlook and met Erin and Nick from ... Boston. Erin is taking a photography course in Missoula, Nick was visiting her. We agreed to rendezvous at the Holland Lake campground. I lumbered off, they continued to sight see. That evening we all drove to the Hungry Bear for dinner, but about a mile short of the restaurant, an oncoming car struck and killed a deer which just grazed Erin's car. There was no damage to her car; Nick and I cleaned up the side panels. The other car's front fender was obliterated ... the next morning I rode by the scene of the accident and felt very bad for the deer.

That night, though, it rained a bit and was surprisingly mild. For the first time since Wyoming, I didn't zip up the mummy sleeping bag, using it more as a quilt than a blanket.

Yesterday I rode up the Swan valley to Bigfork. Now, you'd think this would afford fantastic views of the Mission Mountains to the west and the Swan Mountains to the east which flank the Swan River, but the roads were seemingly carved through the dense forest: there was no way to see through the dark, thick, close packed stands of trees! The numerous white tail deer, on seeing me coming and wondering what the hell I was, would simply bound into this wall of trees and disappear.

Mission Mountains

But this claustrophobic via made me worry that there could be bears lurking just off the road. After so many bear stories from everyone who wanted to tell me how dangerous it was to travel through this region of the Montana, I was appropriately on alert. I ended up singing, making up silly ditties about what was going on at the moment ("I'm racing downhill, Mr. Bear please don't kill ... me" No one said it would win a Grammy); as is par for the course, at the end of the day I just raced down the hill without alerting bears. If you can catch me at 30+ MPH, then I guess I deserve to be your trophy.

Part of the route departed from the official forest service roads and for the first time on this trip, I rode single track (just a path, not a road). Very fun!

I didn't want to camp solo so I pressed to Bigfork, turning in a 75 mile day, nearly 9 hours "in the saddle". I stayed at the Wayfarer's State Park. I didn't bother to check the fee schedule and set up the tent in a nice site, but Marshall, AKA "The Marshal", the campground host, informed me that I was in a $28 site: the $10 sites for tenters were next to the garage and dumpster. Eventually, The Marshal cut me a break and just charged me the $10.

I took The Marshal to dinner at Burger Town ...

It almost seemed hot last night; this morning, at 7:30 AM, it was 60 degrees. I made the swap from "cold weather" gear to "hot weather" gear before reaching the Bigfork city limits at 8 AM.

Today's ride of a mere 40 miles (hard to believe that this seems like a short ride ...) was very easy, as the route did NOT involve any serious climbing and was mostly on pavement.

YES!!!!

I saw a lot of turkeys this morning, my first turkey spotting on the trip. My favorite was the rafter of turkeys (don't believe me that's what a group of turkeys are called? The Internet never gets it wrong): they were all gathered around a sign that said "Deer Crossing". This either proves definitively that turkeys can't read OR it validates their outlaw persona.

It rained just as I arrived in Whitefish which further inspired me to be currently ripped off at the Best Western Rocky Mountain Lodge. Hey, laundry is only $1!!!! Room is very nice, they have this business computer and my bike is enjoying some private, downtime in the room even as I type.

Whitefish, Montana

The track on the GPS is working perfectly which means I don't have to deal with the map at all when I'm riding; I can now concentrate on alerting bears about my presence ...

... or not.

Believe it or not, if I don't run into trouble, I WILL REACH CANADA IN TWO DAYS!!!!! The plan is to stay in Polebridge tomorrow night then ride to the border Wednesday. Only a couple big climbs left, but both are less than a few hundred feet higher than my home back in Denver ... in other words, there should be plenty of oxygen available for the climbs, unlike the passes along the way that approached 10,000 feet.

After I send this, I will investigate options for getting back to Denver. I'm hoping some kind soul will give me a ride from the Canadian border to Kalispell where I will either rent a car and drive back to Denver or fly back.

Hard to believe the trip is almost over ...

... but, finally, this update is over!

JK