Jordan, MT to Missoula, MT

My last blog post went up as I sat at a bar, eating some fries and mooching off the wifi. After I finished, I was informed that it was the one-year anniversary of the bar's establishment, and so free food was being served in less than 15 minutes. One of these days my luck is going to catch up with me...

I dined on a fresh BBQ roast, and plenty of potato salad. In addition to the BBQ, they were having a nut roast- what i thought would be peanuts. Luckily, the gentleman next to me informed me that they were indeed, Rocky Mountain oysters. So I indulged in Montana's form of "junk" food.

These signs frequented the roadside

I picked up a weather radio a few days ago, since the weather seems to be extremely unpredictable. Not only am I unable to check the weather as often due to the lack of internet connectivity, but the two or three people I come in contact with out here don't seem to have the slightest idea. I had heard that a big front would be moving through in the afternoon and getting severe towards the evening, so I decided  to get an early start, hoping to make my 75 mile day by the afternoon in order to avoid the storms. I had one rest stop along the way, and the skies were clear enough that I figured I could take a little time to eat and walk around since I had been riding since 6. That quickly changed when I left the bathroom and saw a pretty angry looking cloud come over the horizon. I considered my options. Stay at the stop and hope for it to pass, or try and book the last 25 miles to the town of Winnet in hopes if beating the looming storm.

At first, it seemed like I had made the right decision. Though there were storms on both sides of me, I had managed to be giving straight through a clear passage.

Until the road began to curve...

What was a bright afternoon quickly turned for the worse

All of a sudden, thunder. Then came the rain, and of course my favorite, frequent lightning strikes, touching the ground near my vicinity. Lesson learned: don't play chicken with nature.

I really don't mind riding in the rain. I can even tolerate wind to some extent. But lighting quite frankly scares the shit out of me, especially when I'm by myself. In the open. With nobody around. On a steel bike. In Big Sky Country. I was seriously beginning to consider sticking my thumb up at the pickups that would pass me once every half hour or so in hopes of a ride to a safer place. But before I knew it, I was close enough to the town to not think anything of the storms. Stopped at the general store to pick up some comfort foods (chocolate and gardettos usually fix the problem) and headed to the park to pitch for the night.

No surprise showers tonight!

My plan for the day was a short ride to Lewistown. Not a tough feat, except for the Judith Mountains which stood in the way. Though not exactly the Rockies, it would be me biggest climb thus far, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a tiny bit nervous. The climb was easier than I had imagined, but I was met at the top with good ol' Montana headwinds, putting a damper on what would've been a beautiful decent into the Judith Mountain basin.

For the past few days I've been hearing a click near my cranks at the same point in the rotation almost consistently. Irritating would be an understatement. I had heard of a bicycle shop in the town, and decided to take my chances that it'd be open on a Sunday afternoon. After asking a few locals, I wound up outside a house belonging to the guy who runs the High Plains Ski and Bike shop out of his garage. Though the sign said closed, he must've seen me ride up, because he came out of his house almost immediately after I pulled up. Luckily he was free and agreed to take a look. 

Everything checked out to be fine mechanically, and we could not locate the source of the noise. In typical cycling fashion, the click had stopped shortly before coasting down to Lewistown, so I couldn't even show him first-hand what was happening. He ended up taking off my cranks and dipping them into a cleaning solution, getting the grime and dirt to which he assumed was causing the problem, taken care of.

Though I couldn't tell if the problem was fixed since technically there wasn't a noise when I came in, it definitely felt like a smoother ride. The wind had died down and it was a gorgeous day, so I couldn't justify sitting around off the bike. I decided to ride on to Denton. Making good time, I saw a sign advertising the 'Gigantic warm springs' and decided to check it out. A steep dirt and gravel road off the main drag, I quickly questioned my decision and whether or not the climb back up would be worth it. 

It was paradise.

I was the only person there, but it gave the impression that hardly any people knew of its existence. Though I took more time than I probably should, I can say it was the best little break I've had in this trip. I went for a dip and had some snacks, just enjoying the scenery (since I had seen mostly wide open ranch lands the last week).

 Another view of the springs 

I got to Denton with just enough time to pitch my tent before the sun went down- a full day by my standards.

I packed my gear eagerly the next morning. My elevation map showed a wicked downhill that was supposed to come up about 10 miles into my ride. Even better, the air was calm. Would I finally be able to get some speed??

As I rounded a corner, my heart sunk a little bit. A road construction sign was in place, followed my a warning to motorcycles to consider using an alternate route.

Well, I guess I'll take riding my brakes and enjoying a little coast over no coasting at all. I waited at the temporary stoplight, they had a car leading traffic in order to minimize confusion. When it came up, the guy told me that it'd be in my best interest to throw the bike in his truck and let him take me down. 

To my cycling friends: 8% grade, two full miles.

Down the canyon, sulking the whole way

Maybe some day I'll come back, just to ride that hill.

Since I went further that I originally planned the day prior, I planned on staying in Fort Benton that night, a town that Adventure Cycling recommends to take some time to explore. However, I had a tentative warmshowers host in Great Falls, so I called and asked if they preferred to have me one day or the other. I could stay the night in Fort Benton and arrive any time the next day, or make haste with the rest of my Monday, getting there just after 8. They said that night would be easier, so off I went. An additional 50 miles isn't so bad when you know there's good company and a hot shower waiting.

In those extra miles, three things drove me absolutely mad.

First: Mosquitos. Mosquitos that make the stuff we have in the Midwest seem like a walk in the park. If I were to get off my bike at any point, within seconds I was thrown into a slap-happy mosquito killing tantrum. It did, however, motivate me to keep pushing. Not because I physically needed to be on the bike, but if started riding anywhere less that 7mph, they'd be able to stick their suckers into my skin, causing me to make constant choices between controlling my bike and not getting bitten.

Second: Hills. By now, I'm fine with hills. Heck, it'd be safe to say that I enjoy riding them. What I don't like, is a nice long hill with a stretch of gravel around the turns. 

I hit 30mph before realizing that I should probably slow down before hitting the curve...

There were four consecutive hills, two up hills and two down, each with between 100-300 yards of this mess. I was getting frustrated.

Third: The ticking noise was back.

So imagine if you will, riding up this massive hill where the pavement suddenly changes to gravel, because of the lack of traction and the fact that it's fairly steep I'm going slow- slow enough to get getting mosquito bites while riding, and then... 

Click

Click

Click

Click

Like clockwork, with each rotation of the pedal.

But when I came within 5 or so miles of the house, a white pickup slowed down asking if I was Adam, and Ron gave me a ride back to his house, where Becky already had dinner made. It's rare on a trip like this for me to be completely full, but damnit, Ron and Becky made sure I was just that. After a hot shower, we talked a bit about the usual- bikes, biking, and what I should expect for the next leg of my trip. Their daughter Allie just graduated from High School, and was getting ready to head to El Salvador for a while. She also shows steers, something I know nothing about, so I took the opportunity to help hang some fans in the barn and try and understand as much as I could.

I don't know if I would have the energy to take care of an animal requiring so much work, but major props to those who do. It was a fun experience nonetheless.

Of course, I was fed to the max the next morning, and Becky even made a sandwich and cut up some poppyseed bread for me to take to-go. They had cousins in town, and since they were on their way into the city, took me along so that I missed to stretch of gravel leading from the house, and to get closer to the bike shop, where I hoped to finally fix the mysterious clicking noise. Of course, the clicking wasn't happening when I brought it in, and when the guy at the shop took it around the block couldn't figure out what was wrong, he took it in back to give it a closer look. The root of my problem? My bottom bracket was giving out. Oh well, I guess after 2,000 miles something's gotta give. Now with a new bracket, I took off out of the city.

An hour later, I saw another guy on a bike heading the opposite direction, so we of course, had to chat.

Now retired, Lawrence was biking coast to coast, mostly along the northern tier, but branching off in the Great Lakes. The last long distance cyclist I'd seen had been weeks ago, so it was nice to see and chat with him. We gave each other pointers for what was down the road, though he was going only as far as Dickinson, ND before heading north again to parts unknown to me.

My initial plan of making it to Missoula two days after Great Falls came to an abrupt halt after yet another onslaught of headwinds. By doing it in three days, I had a chance to rest up, and besides, at this point I was in no hurry. Augusta, my first night after the city, was a nice little western-style town. A few saloons and a general store, nothing too fancy. Camping wasn't allowed in the park, so instead of heading to the RV park right away, I decided to ask the sheriff if there was a place I could pitch for free. He gave me a few options. There were a couple reservoirs about 7 miles from town that May or may not charge for camping, but he assured me that the guy doesn't come around too often and that he (the sheriff) wouldn't come down.

Unfortunately, it was an additional 7 miles out of the way. Not a huge problem, except I had mentally checked myself off the bike, and was in no mood to wrestle the winds any longer. I managed to talk the campsite host down from $15 to $10, assuring them that I wouldn't even be taking a shower, and called it a night. The view was pretty great too...

Next was the big day, my first mountain pass. Rodger's pass, while in terms of passes was no monster, was still the highest peak I would climb on this trip. By now, I knew the prevailing western winds were inevitable but that they were the slowest in the morning. I woke up extra early to bike the 30 miles to the pass before they came in full force. While present, they didn't seem to effect my climb too much.

Until I reached the top.

Damnit! Nobody should have to pedal down a mountain. Yet here I was, fighting what was now constant 20mph winds gusting up to 40. All of that work, for nothing. And to make things even more miserable, there was yet again, a hefty dose of construction.

And then it happened. The pavement sloped down steeply where the shoulder had previously been. I wasn't able to correct in time, and my front wheel hit the soft gravel as a result of the sudden dip. My bike went down, and I went up. 

Somehow, I escaped quite literally unscathed. A few nicks, but not a drop of blood was drawn. I sat down off the road with a view of the mountains, Considering my luck and for the first time thankful for headwinds. If I had been going faster, no doubt I could be in rough shape. No doubt I was having a rough day, but after sitting a while, I thought to myself:

The most miserable day on a bicycle is still a better than a fantastic day back in the "real world". And hey, at least I have a picture at the Continental Divide...

So maybe I didn't have a wild downhill ride, but it sure was pretty. I made it to Ovando in plenty of time, and there were a couple cyclists at the town center, where cyclists had the option of staying in a teepee or an old wagon. Patrick and Alyssa, who were biking th transam trail but were branching off to do a bunch of rails to trails, had taken the teepee, so took residence in the wagon. It was a delight to talk to people other than my shadow for a change. We played a game of horseshoes and continued to talk well into the night. It's amazing how late it becomes before the sun finally sets here in the mountains.

 When I realized I would be bunking with two hornet nests and a plethora of spiders, I changed my mind and pitched my tent outside. After all, it was a clear night and I really do enjoy sleeping under the stars.

When I was in North Dakota, I took some time to explore the visitors center at Theodore Roosevelt National Park. It was nice to take in some different scenery at the time, and gave me an excuse to get off the bike. While I was perusing the displays, a woman came up to me and we began to chat. Almost instantly, she asked if I had a place to stay once I got to Missoula and that she and her husband would be glad to have me when I come rolling through! I called her up a couple days ago asking if I could take her up on the offer, and the answer was yes.

So I rode happily through more headwinds, knowing that I would see a friendly face waiting in Missoula for me. But before heading to my hosts Marcia and Jerome's abode, I made a necessary stop at the Adventure Cycling headquarters, where I got a tour, had my picture taken, had some free ice cream, and finally, weighed my bike.

I hadn't been grocery shopping in a few days, and all three water bottle were empty. The weight?

89 pounds of bicycle and gear. No wonder my legs look a little different....

Marcia invited me to stay not one, but two nights after telling her I was looking for things to do in town for a rest day. So here I am, spending some time in an abnormally bicycle friendly oasis in what else is a desolate, dry state.

Total miles- 2,300