Mile 1184: Camping in the yard of Halfway House Motel,
Essex, Montana
 |
| Section 2: Northern Tier Route we're following |
*****
After we leave Eureka, we have a 50 mile ride to Whitefish,
MT, where we hope to connect to my niece Kelsey, before heading into Glacier
National Park. We are coming to the end
of our mountain and trees sojourn. When
we cross the Continental Divide, we will soon enter a whole new ecosystem, the
Great Plains of the United States. It is
true that the terrain will become less demanding, but we are nervous about
miles and miles without shade. It has
been an exceptionally cool August so far in the Northern Plains, with
temperatures in the 80’s instead of the 90’s.
We hope and pray that pattern holds for a few more weeks.
The ride to Whitefish is really good. We are noticeably stronger. Hills that would daunt us in the beginning
are now chugged right up. Our endurance,
strength, and wind can now get us up hills we previously would have had to
walk. I continue to be faster than Wes,
but with the changes on his bike (better tires, better free-wheel gearing), he
is mostly keeping up with me. He
attributes it to my bike. I attribute it
to my more strategic riding…and my bike. (to be fair)
50 miles through hilly terrain is just at the edge of our capacity,
so when we come to within 5 miles of Whitefish, we are already pretty
tired. We have been following the
Stillwater River, which turns south right before Whitefish. That means we have a big, twisty saddle ride
up in order to change drainages into the Whitefish River. Somehow, we didn’t perceive this essential
fact as we were planning the day’s ride.
Whitefish used to be a small ranching town, but in the past
30 years, it has become a tony skiing and western lifestyle destination. That means that we start to see big fancy
estates the closer we get to town. One
would think that the increase in tax base would mean that roads would
improve. But that would be wrong. The minute we cross into Flathead County, the
two foot wide shoulder on the road, where we have been riding, becomes a
sporadic 6” shoulder. This isn’t fun at
all, but at least there is clearance on the side of the road. Also, the road is fairly straight, so
vehicles can plan how and when they will pass the bicyclists gingerly riding
their bikes at the edge of the road.
Things take a terrible turn for the worse at the beginning
of the climb out of the Stillwater Valley.
The road narrows, and begins winding.
At the same time, the shoulder disappears completely. In fact, the edge of the road is now a full
4 to 6 inches above the surrounding land.
Often that edge has deteriorated, so that the white line doesn’t even
exist anymore. As the road winds, the
edge is either a cliff going down, or a cut into the hill. This means that an error in riding will send
us off the 4 inch ledge, which will either throw us off the cliff or into the
cut, which would make us fall into traffic.
As luck would have it, we are arriving in Whitefish near 5pm. There is a lot of traffic, and it is moving
fast. One of the anomalies of Montana is
that for years it did not have a speed limit.
Finally, the federal government forced the state to post speeds, but
many Montanans disregard the posted speed as a mandatory political
statement.
We are climbing, slowly, steep hills with big, blind
curves, and no shoulders and no escape routes.
It is terrifying. Some cars and
trucks refuse to move over. Some can’t
move over because of oncoming traffic.
We are incredibly exposed. At one
point, I try to ride in the soft gutter going down the mountain. Wes is ahead of me, attempting to wave the
traffic down as he pedals as fast as he can, occasionally yelling, “Hey, there
are people here!”
We are climbing a steep ridge. I am pedaling as fast as I can, but I am
winded and tired. A big silver Dodge
truck is right behind me. The driver is
impatient. Just as we turn the corner
and approach the parking lot for the Stillwater Fish restaurant, the driver
guns the engine and I am forced to jump, yes, actually jump my bike and
BOB across the gutter into the parking lot.
The truck misses me by less than 6 inches.
I am left shaken and emotionally overwrought by this
experience, but there are still miles to go to get to the town. There is one small spot, just outside where a
fancy subdivision has gone in, where there is a shoulder. Wes pulls over and I go up to him and begin
weeping in his arms. At that very
moment, he sees a big lumber truck approaching and fearful that my bike is too
far out in the road, tries to drag me out its way. Our bikes are tangled with each other, I
don’t know what he is doing, so this only adds to the trauma and confusion.
I am still crying as we continue climbing up and over this
saddle. Where I am shaken and weepy, Wes
is ANGRY. He takes his bike into the
lane and signals furiously for cars to slow down. “WE HAVE THE RIGHT TO BE HERE!” he yells.
Finally, there is one more big downhill before we turn off to the state
park where will make our camp. There is
no shoulder along with a hard edge, but the way is little wider. I tell Wes I am afraid, and in his state, he
yells at me. He makes his way down with
no traffic, but as I go down, a car zooms right up on me and barely avoids me
at the last second.
I am still doing that hiccup-y little crying thing when we
get to the biker campsite. It is
completely taken up by other bikers, who have strewn their shorts, jerseys,
tents, and sleeping bags everywhere, apparently in an attempt to dry them out
after the rainstorm of the night before.
Wes would like me to stop with the emotional upset already… “It’s over,
we’re fine…” but I am still in full trauma mode. It takes us a good 30 minutes before we can
set up the tent… outside the bounds of the site.
We have a quiet, sort of sullen night, drinking tea and
eating reconstituted powdered hummus. We
make arrangements to see our niece, her new-ish baby, and finally meet her
husband the next day. The next morning
is a rough ride through heavy construction, where the entire road is being torn
down to the dirt bed and the cars are traveling in single file. We are relieved to get the restaurant, which
is right at the end of the construction.
A new chapter begins as we re-connect with family and take care
of quite a few chores. The traumas of
the previous day, while not gone, are yesterday’s news. That is the reality of a road trip. Each day is its own self, with its own
blessings and sometimes terrifying and traumatic curses.
*****
Posted from Cutbank, MT
No comments:
Post a Comment