Sunday June 29, Day 44 (Bad counting last entry) Woods Hole to Nagansatt RI 17 miles of riding

Woods Hole is on the end of a peninsula at the end of a peninsula. To travel south by land requires going a good ways north to get started. An alternative is to take a ferry to Martha's Vineyard and from there a ferry to Rhode Island. This also sets you up for a ferry across Long Island Sound to Long Island where is found the borough of Brooklyn with it's pedestrian bridge to Manhattan. I opted for the ferry route. Beth and Meredith came with me to M's Vineyard, to see the sights, as I awaited my ferry. We bid farewell for a couple of days until we again hook up in Manhattan. I got off the second ferry about 5:30 and rode on a few miles before darkness fell and I checked into a Holiday Inn. Nothing eventful to report, except that I found a dollar on the road.
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Friday and Saturday June 27 and 28. Saturday begins a new week, but I have lost track of the number. Must be days 35 and 36. The Birthday Weekend.

Mo and her great friend from toddler days Nancy Kanwisher are jointly celebrating their fiftieth birthdays. They are both uncommon women, Mo being the CEO of a school and Nancy being an MIT faculty member with numerous honors. The "party" consisted of what at one time would have been called a cocktail party on Friday night, a picnic on an island in the Woods Hole harbor on Saturday and a restaurant meal followed by folk dancing on Saturday. Insiders like Beth, Meredith and me also had two breakfasts and party prep and clean up activities with the honored couple. I was also graciously recognized on the first evening, it being my true birthday. Singing, scrabble, and beach walks filled other time. There were probably a dozen or more people we knew, in attendance, most of whom we had not seen for some time. At least three reminded me of my decadal scheme for living, so that silliness must have made more of an impression than I ever supposed. Woods Hole is the location of a fairly elite scientific community and some pretty comfortable summer living quarters. You can rent a nice family house in the summer for say $3,000 a week. It was quite fun to be on the inside with these guys. The more famous playground of Martha's Vineyard is served by ferry from Woods Hole. Hyannis Port is not too far up the shore. This is a place for self indulgence if one is so disposed. As you know your reporter IS so disposed which makes it at least bitter sweet for the weekend to run out and the bike ride to commence again.



Having only the sketchiest notion of an itinerary, I took a look at some maps and fixed upon a plan to leave Woods Hole by ferry, bound indirectly for Rhode Island. That's for tomorrow.

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(This entry should be read after the entry below it on the blog). Was she surprised?

The Symmes/Jones household was hopping on Monday night as the family, which includes three daughters, was getting ready to spend a couple of weeks at Chappaquidick. In addition to me and Beth, they were also hosting Marianne's sister and her friend. Marianne had prepared a big pasta dish and salad. We were all up late getting ready so as to get an early start in the morning. When morning came Beth rode with Whit to Woods Hole and I set off by bike for Boston. Of the 68 miles that day the most notable was around mile 65 when the skies opened up and it rained as I have never seen it rain before - not even in Guatemala. I got my raincoat on and then just huddled over my handle bars for about five minutes. Then, with the deluge still upon us, I started to ride. After a while I took shelter in a super market and called Betsy McCagg from there. It turned out that I was only a short distance from their home so when the rain subsided I headed out and arrived for my sleep over at about 6:30. Betsy's sister Mary and her family came for dinner. It was a fine thing to see these young families sharing what I consider the best years of all, those when one's children are young.

The next day I rode into Boston and caught a ferry to Provincetown on the tip of Cape Cod arriving with enough time to bike about half way down the cape where I spent the night at a hostel. I had two interesting meetings during the day. The first was near Cambridge when I asked directions of a young woman and after speaking with her for a moment I realized she was the very person Betsy had spoken of the night before and whose picture she had shown me. She will be the US single women's sculler at Beijing. The other interesting conversation was with a 50 something guy who was on the ferry and had a backpack. I asked him if he was going to be camping on Cape Cod and that opened a soliloquy on something called stealth camping. This guy was starting a walk down the east coast of the country in which he planned to camp at any unposted area that met his fancy. He pointed out that while it is against the rules to sleep on the beach during the night, it mostly was not so during the day. Nor is it prohibited to walk on the beach at night. He was prepared to reverse the normal order of things. Apparently you can read about stealth camping on line.

This brings us to Thursday, my day to get to Woods Hole and surprise Mo. There is a nice bike trail over the middle third of the cape. North of that there is a side road that is good for riding as the traffic is fairly slow and not too heavy. But yesterday the last portion of the ride was a bit trying. Nonetheless I arrived at the home of Nancy, the other birthday girl, and seemed to surprise Mo when she later arrived herself.

For the party givers and the early arrivers, the party was on.

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Spotty Blog

Saturday, Sunday and Monday I am in transit via train and plane to New England, where, I hope to surprise Mo by attending her birthday party. I even found a gift for her at the Road Mart. I will write for the next week, but not post until I see Mo

On Friday night (Wolf Point MT) I broke down the bike and practiced packing it in the suitcase. I did it for real the next day after riding to the train station. The rest of my gear, including my tent and sleeping bag went into a large cloth sided bag. I was pushing the size and weight limits of Am Track and also United Airlines. I was nervous, but pretty confidant. The train didn't leave Wolf Point until late on Saturday afternoon so I had lots of time to get myself and gear ready. Indeed I got on without a problem. There were plenty of open double seats so I was alone until Fargo. It was quiet and pretty and easy. I decided to have dinner on board to see how an Am Track dinner would be. Unfortunately my mother's training in how to like over cooked vegetables, and Wonder Bread, has been eroded over the years by all you readers who have prepared many meals for me, not least Beth. Take the train. It's great. Take your own food.

The train seats had significantly more leg room than do coach seats on planes and until Fargo, at about 3:00 AM I had no seat partner, so all in all I slept pretty well.

Due to the flooding in Wisconsin the train did not go beyond Minneapolis and we transferred to charter buses to get to Chicago. In this transfer they gave preference to those who had continuing train connections beyond Chicago. Three buses were going directly there and the rest of the passengers were to be assigned to buses that would stop at destinations along the way. They didn't quite fill the three express buses with people who had continuing connections so they chose a few of the remaining group to be on those buses. At about this time I mentioned to the l guy in charge that it might be good to ask if anyone had plane connections to make and he acknowledged that that would be a good idea. Just then the woman assistant came in from the buses and said there was one more seat. I raised my hand to ask for it and the guy looked at me and said something about my bright yellow shirt and motioned me on. I hustled out the door with two suit cases and two panniers. Because I was last on the bus my bags were last into the belly of the bus and I looked forward to them being first unloaded when we got to Chicago. Feeling pretty lucky, if not actually smug, I hopped on board and started down the aisle. I figured my seat would be at the back right next to the restroom, but not so. About half way back on the left side was an empty aisle seat, well sort of empty. I paused when I reached it and looked down, a little unsure. The guy in the window seat said it was available as he hitched himself up. It occurred to me that he may have been going to Chicago to audition for a place on the biggest loser, if you get my meaning. Be careful what you wish for.

On arrival I unpacked the bike, put it together and rode to the apartment of our friend Maggie. She took me in, we went to a place she knew that does great Chicago style pizza and we talked the evening away. Maggie is in her late twenties and works in the health division of the Boeing Co. She started out in Seattle doing fitness training for the Boeing execs and they took her back east when the company moved. She lives downtown and is having a great time there. She also has an expanded work position, and a budding male relationship so things are pretty good. My only disappointment was that I did not get to see the lake front before meeting Maggie as I had planned, because I had trouble getting my bike put back together quickly when I got off the bus. However in the morning Maggie went for an early run along the shore and I followed on my bike. The night before Maggie had found on line instructions on how to bike into O'Hare through the taxi entrance. The only alternative seems to be via a freeway. I set out at about 8:00 on the 20 plus mile ride.

It turns out Chicago is a great biking town. It is flat and has a well developed system of bike lanes and routes. There were dozens of people biking that Monday morning. It all went fine until I actually got into the staging area where cabs wait to be allowed to the passenger load zones at the terminal buildings. The online instructions said there would be odd stares, but no one would object to a biker. Wrong. I was stopped by a security person who wanted to know who said I could enter the airport in this way. I showed him my printed out instructions and said they came from that authoritative place "on line". I hoped that would mean something. It did. It meant that the guy was befuddled. He didn't believe I was supposed to be let through, but knowing I was ticketed for a flight, and that there was no other safe way for me to get in, he didn't want to send me back to the freeway. Finally after about 15 minutes he decided to let me go, but to follow me closely in his patrol car so that no cabbie would run over me. And that is how I rode to O'Hare. He made copies of the instructions for further investigation. I hope I'm not the last one to get there that way because it worked very well.

Three hours later Beth and Marianne Jones picked me up at the Manchester NH airport and took me to Concord for the night.

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The guy who figured out how to spoil ice cream

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Friday June 20, 35th day, Glasgow to Wolf Point, 50 miles

Five weeks completed today and I am still in Montana. Well, there are reasons, right?

Today's flat tire came early, about 10 miles out of Glasgow. You might think this was an unlucky thing since I used my last patch to get over the last 10 miles into Glasgow the night before, but here's the truth. I am a really lucky guy, maybe due to the three 4 leaf clovers that Rita gave me when I visited her on day 1. I had heard that the guy in Havre was the last bike shop on the Hi-Line, but it ain't so. There is a funky place in Glasgow run by a retired insurance salesman. He said he bought the property for tax purposes. This guy is about as out of date as the hundred or so bikes that he has jammed into this house and yard. He just posts his phone number at the shop and people call when they want something. Before leaving town that morning I took the time to call and ask if he could supply a patch kit. He said he'd be right over. He brought a tube and two kits. Now if he hadn't been there and willing to come to the shop with that stuff, THEN I would have been in trouble. Also I should note that the time off of the bike is actually a time of recovery for my butt and hands.

All my tire problems have been with the rear wheel where most of the weight is being carried. I think that may be part of the trouble. I will reload some weight to the trailer. I had no more trouble yesterday if you don't count eating jalapena ice cream.

A guy in the tiny town of Nashua says he's got over 300 flavors, but none of the 7 I tasted was as good as chocolate chip mint. The worst was the Jalapeno. This is ice cream for Tracy. The rest of you can just say no thank you.

And now for today's special, an annotated list of the road kill:. (Not for the squeamish)

We could start with homo sapiens, not actually still in place, but represented by their white crosses. Their numbers are impressive as noted earlier, but less on the Hi-Line than west of the divide.

Numbering even more than the homo sapiens are the ground hogs, whose furry little crushed bodies litter the road. I nearly got one myself two days ago.

The antelope get taken in season and out I suppose. You usually smell them before you see them. For some reason they are all well off of the roadway. Maybe they are moving fast when fatally struck and the momentum carries them 30 yards beyond the shoulder.

The reptilian world is also represented. Rattlers and garter snakes, I would say, though positive identification is often difficult.

One sad, sad amphibian had just not gone fast enough and lost his left hind quarter under a wheel. He was a good size turtle and I stopped to check him out. He had not yet expired, but the flies were all over his exposed wound. I tried to think of something to do for him, but had no ideas.

There have been a couple of middle sized furry mammals that I could not identify.

There have been birds aplenty, of varieties various. Most I don't recognize, but they have included red winged black birds, doves, and a hawk at least.

I believe every Montana gas station has a heavy duty windshield washing tool and bucket for each pump. They're so ubiquitous that I suspect they may be legally required in the hope that cleaner windshields would lead to fewer white crosses. Anyway I have 5 dead bugs on my windshield and I've swatted many more than that into eternity while they were enjoying their last supper on my arm. Not a bad way to go I've always thought.

Finally, just for completeness, I mention the many tire treads that have gone to their final rest, which is in fact on the road.

I think I am going to be off of the grid for a few days now so there will be a period without postings, but I'll be back. When I return I will try to remember to tell you of the amputee, walking to demonstrate her faith

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Thursday June 19 Day 34 Malta to Glasgow, 81 miles Some Good Luck

Wow, what a day. First of all there was a strong, steady wind at my back. The land was more rolling than yesterday and on the up hills, when I was going slowly, I could often feel the wind push me ahead. Two or three times when I was rolling along the flat, unaware of the wind, I turned back to see something or pick something up and I had to struggle to go to the west. Second the road and the traffic were both as good as could be. Third, today I listened to my iPod as I was riding. You all know that I am a conservative, and one thing I have been conserving is my iPod music so that I wouldn't get tired of it. Today I gave myself a treat.

Some readers know that I wrote a book a couple years ago. It is an ABC for eighty somethings. It offers my thoughts on good and bad ways of dying. Today I refined that a little. I have said to Beth many times that if I get killed while riding my bike, she must know that I was having fun. Here's better. If I get hit while riding across the prairie of north eastern Montana, on the Hi-Line, with the wind at my back, and my buds in my ears, listening to Pavarotti, know that I was near my bliss point.

Update from yesterday:
there were no itchy spots from yesterday's mosquitoes and though there were a bunch of trains rumbling through all night long, none was able to keep me from my slumber.

So today went great until mid afternoon when I thought I would be arriving in Glasgow by mid afternoon. I was cruising down a hill when the bike began to wobble in a queer way. I applied the brakes and wondered what was up. Then I realized I had another flat. You may think this was an unlucky event, but consider this. In all my ride across Montana, I have seen only two rest areas and the second one was about 40 feet from where my tire went flat. What are the odds. In fact this was extremely good luck. It meant there was shade, a place off the highway, a picnic table to put my stuff on and a rest room to clean up in. So you see I was in fact, very lucky, even more than you yet know.

After you take off the tire and extract the tube from rim you must then find the puncture. This can be difficult. I knew my hole was small because the leak was quite slow. The guy who taught me how to patch bike tires said that if you just keep pumping air into the tube, the hole will eventually reveal itself. Last summer I finally decided to test that assertion when I had a tube with a leak that I could not find. I just kept pumping air into it and looking for the hole to open up, when suddenly the whole thing burst. Since I had no spare tube with me today due to the flat two days ago, I could not afford to blow it to smithereens. (What is a smithereen anyway?). The other method of finding a leak is to inflate the tube and then submerge it in water. The rising bubbles reveal the leaking point. I took the pressurized tire to the men's room, but found that the sink did not have a stopper. I would have folded up a paper towel and stopped the bowl, but the hand dryer was a hot air blower of the kind with three step instructions: 1 push the button, 2 rub hands together in the hot air 3. Rub hands on your pants. There was only one way to find the leak and you can guess what that was. Did I do it? Yes of course. There was no alternative. I did however flush first. Once the hole was identified I proceeded to patch it in the usual way, but with great care, since I had only one patch, having forgotten to get a new patch kit at the last two bike shops I've been in. I pumped the tire, reloaded the bike and with some apprehension started on the last ten miles.

If you come to Seattle by ferry or other boat you have a very nice view of the harbor and skyline as you arrive. If you fly in at dusk on a clear day you may get a view of our mountain and then the water and islands of the Sound and finally the city lights. It's very pretty. If you are driving across the high plain of Bolivia on your way to La Paz and night has fallen you will be bewildered by the absence of any sign of a large city. You will think, "I know it's the third world, but don't they even have street lights." Then suddenly you will find yourself at the edge of a great basin and there below will be the lights of a metropolis. It is a great entry. If you ride a bike across the Hi-Line from the west toward Glasgow, and it's the end of the day and you are tired, you might be looking for a sign that the town is near. You will reach a point of ground a little above the rest and there just on the horizon will be the first thing to see when approaching a prairie town, the water tower. I've heard that standing on the deck of a sailboat the distance to the horizon that one can see is seven miles. Seldom do you see that far on land, but coming into Glasgow I figured I could see the water tower from about eight miles. This too is a great entry.

Good night my friends. Tomorrow is another day, with another piece of a long, but dandy road.

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Wednesday June 18, Day 33 Chinook to Malta, 74 miles, in 6 hours of riding.

Up a bit before 6:00 in order to get an early start. My motel offered a continental breakfast and there I met the first other bikers that I've talked to. They're a married couple from just outside Seattle at Duval. I set out riding a strong tail wind, the best yet. The road was flat and straight with very little traffic. The first 20 miles were just sweet, but then things turn sour. I got a flat. To get a wheel off my bike requires that I unload it completely and take off the fairing. When I got the tube out my heart sank as I saw that it was not patchable. As some people suffer from depression, I suffer from constitutional optimism and I was pretty sure I had not brought a spare tube. I was cursing my stupid optimism and thinking I would be having to hitch hike again. But then, as I was putting unused tools back in their places I found a tube. Rapture! Rapture! The whole thing took about an hour and I was really glad I had pushed on the night before and started this day early. For much of the middle day the shoulder had a rumble strip right where I had to ride so that was not good and after lunch I had four miles of unpaved road to plod along. Nevertheless I got to Malta in time to make a short visit to the local dinosaur museum. Though small it was great. To get to see it was the reason I had left early.

I'm camping tonight just across from the Duval riders, There are mosquitoes but they are not treating me too badly. I'm wearing long pants and arm warmers.

Did you hear that? Or perhaps you felt it. A four engine, 105 car freight train just rolled past, about 50 yards from where I sit. It is the second one in the last hour. The proprietor told me that they go by here, but I think I will sleep ok as I have been right along. One other small feature of the day was the mosquitoes. As you know, mosquitoes are usually not a problem when there is wind to blow them away, but today my lovely tail wind just blew them along beside me making me a sitting target so to speak. I'll be interested to see tomorrow how many bites I'll find on my body.There are some here in Malta, but not as many as were on the road.

This is really nice riding country, flat and straight with courteous drivers.

And now to bed.

P.S. My clothes are starting to get a little ripe.

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Tuesday June 17th Day 32 Chester to Chinook, 88 miles

We were up around 6:00, farmers hours, and after a breakfast of biscuits and gravy I bid goodbye to Polly and Dayton drove me about 25 miles to Chester which is up on highway 2. I set off from there at 9:15 thus creating a gap in my journey from West Glacier to Chester.I had been resting for 6 days and felt pretty strong. There was a nice wind out of the southwest which was a help. It is now Wednesday evening and I am having trouble remembering yesterday's ride. Oh yes, it was flat and straight. Maybe that's why I don't remember much. I did find the pillow department and not far from that another mattress department, this one had only one item, no box spring, but it was a pillow top queen. We just paid about a grand for one just like it a year or two ago. OK that's enough on that topic, right?



I got to Havre, the only sizable town here on the high line, as highway 2 is known, at about 5:00. Since the next day's ride was looking like 90 miles I decided to do 20 more that day. I had a little bit to eat and then set out. I rolled into Chinook by 8:30, still in the day light, but a huge black cloud had been following me and I heard today there was hail in Chester. Hail destroys fields of wheat.

Motel, shower, bed.

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An ordinary meal

Jumbo shrimp, brussel sprouts, and apricots with a peanut sauce
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Days. 26 - 31 My Time With Dayton and Polly

So Dayton plucked me off the cold, sleety street of East Glacier (there seemed to be only one) and hauled me to his home in Great Falls. I have news. Our countrymen on the prairie no longer live in sod houses. I'll come back to this.

When Dayton found me I had been honed into a medium tough bicyclist with steelish legs and an iron ass. He and Polly began immediately to chip away at this fine specimen through a series of gourmet meals, comfortable furniture, a barber and other forms of soft, dandified living. In theory I might have escaped back to the road on Saturday or Sunday, but in fact neither the spirit nor the flesh were willing. Now it will probably take an expulsion to get me back on my bike.

Dayton is a farmer. On our ride down from Glacier we talked of farming. From time to time over the past few decades, in certain parlors of Montlake and Capital Hill I have expounded on the life and ways of farmers. Dayton is my exclusive source and until now my principal, if not my only point has been that farming, while a spiritually rewarding occupation is also fraught with worry. The time here has broadened my perspective and no doubt added to my lecture, to wit: farming is complex, at least dry land wheat farming. Here I will leave out harvesting the crop, storing the crop, selling the crop, choosing the machinery, operating the machinery, controlling weeds, utilizing moisture and several other topics and elaborate only on fertilizing. Here they add nitrogen and phosphate in order to increase yields (output per acre) and increase the protein in the wheat. Phosphate stays still in the ground. Nitrogen sinks. Phosphate needs only one application which can be done at the time of seeding. Some nitrogen can be applied at seeding, but not all that is needed. Later applications are necessary. Nitrogen increases the protein content of the wheat which at certain levels earns a premium in the price. But the premium does not rise indefinitely. Therefore a farmer could waste money by paying for nitrogen which results in protein that earns no premium. That is, there is such a thing as wasteful application of nitrogen. The land is not of a consistent quality over the entire farm so the applications of both nitrogen and phosphate need to be adjusted according the particular soil. That's about all I got on fertilizer.

Dayton is also the fellow with the luminous toe nail.

Polly is a lady. By this I mean two things at least. One, she knows what's right and what's not, and two, she aspires to what's right. There is not much compromise with these principals. A meal for instance is not to be undertaken lightly or hurriedly, but rather with care and creativity. (A note to other good cooks of my acquaintance, you know who you are: just because you haven't heard me say such things about you doesn't mean I don't know they're true for you too.). Polly's house is of a comfortable size, but not immodest. The walls are hung with original art, some influenced by her work as a docent at the Charlie Russell Museum. She practices for her piano lesson on a 150 year old baby grand. Her free lance writing for the Great Falls Tribune focuses on fitness and travel. Her calligraphy desk is ever ready at the side of her office. The orchid on the coffee table gets personal attention.. You get the idea. There's also the symphony board, the tennis, the thrice weekly fitness class (she attends it, she doesn't teach it) and the summers at the farm and her grandmother role to round out her life.

Here's some of what we did while I was with them: told the old stories and some new ones, had a dinner party, went out for Father's Day dinner, had a steak dinner in and a steak dinner out, took a 20 mile bike ride, had a picnic, went to fitness class, visited the several falls of Great Falls, all with near record water coming over, went to the farm and worked on spraying the cheat grass on the land that is fallow this year, so it would not infest next year's crop (I watched).

I said I would come back to the house. Here it is. The house is not grand or ostentatious, but let me put it this way; if a world renown musician came to town to play with the local symphony, as does happen, and he or she were billeted at the Kolstad's house, the person would not stand agape, but there would be no element of a civil way of life that would be missed. In the guest shower, for instance, there are four vials filled with lotions for purposes unknown to me. Surely nothing more is needed.

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Dayton and Polly

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Controls on new combine

There is a panel of about 20 buttons to set various components
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Wednesday June 11 Day 26 West Glacier to Great Falls Zero miles

The snow that had started outside the Vista Motel the night before was still falling when I awoke. The temperature must have been at about 32 degrees as twelve hours of snowing had resulted in only a small residue on the lawn and roof and none on the road. I had called the highway and weather people the night before and thought there was really no place for me to go had I been on the east side of the pass as conditions there were equally poor. For this, I was inclined to stay with the comfortable place I was, rather than to go off to some new place of uncertain comfort. The exception to this was if Lori's friends did show up with a ride over the pass for me. I decided it was time to check in with my friend Dayton who's farm, about 100 miles south east of the park was my next stop. I called and learned that Dayton and his wife Polly were at their home in Great Falls as the weather at the farm prevented much useful work from getting done. Dayton immediately offered to come and pick me up, (at least a two hour drive for him), and bring me back to Great Falls. Other than embarrassment at being a pain in the neck I couldn't think of a reason to refuse, but then before long Lori's friends showed up and took me over the pass and as far as East Glacier.

The friends were two guys in a pick up with whom I didn't talk much and one guy in another pickup with whom I rode and talked a fair amount. These were not the sort of guys I usually see a lot of. They were hunters and fishermen, probably about 45 or 50 years old, on their way to a fishing competition. I talked with my companion, first about hunting and fishing and then about fishing and hunting. After that we chatted about the number of cyclists he knew of who had been killed on that road (3). The conversation then turned to hunting and fishing and was sprinkled with some pretty enthusiastic remarks about how much beer the guys had with them to get them through the tournament. Lori had said they wouldn't show up early because they are drinkers and as we drove the guy kept taking swigs from a Gatorade bottle and I wondered if it hadn't been fortified in some way. Did I tell you that his name was Billy Bob. Honest. After a while Billy Bob mentioned that they were friends with the proprietor of a bar at the top of the pass and they might be stopping in for just one martini. I thought about Dayton waiting for me in East Glacier and I was beginning to think I might be safer on my bike. Billy Bob was clearly disappointed when the lead truck did not stop at the bar. They did stop at their friend Hog's place about half way up the pass and tried hard to convince him to join them, but he refused. This was my good luck because he would have got my seat and I would have finished the ride back in the bed of the truck. Dayton was waiting in East Glacier when we arrived and after switching my stuff to his truck and having some lunch we drove to Great Falls. I will post on Dayton, Polly, their home and my time with them in my next entry.

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Lori giving me a cookie

When was the last time the manager of your motel invited you to share her dinner? Or drive you around? Or use the office phone to make as many personal calls as you might like. For the first two days. I though I was getting exceptional service from this woman, but then I heard her on the phone offering similar services, though not dinner, to another prospective guest. Best of all was that the kindness came wrapped in the warmest of good cheer.
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Tues June 8, 25th day Glacier Nat'l Park

Editor Note: This entry replicates the previous one. I'm not sure how it got posted twice. The other has been edited a little for clarity. I'm not sure how two got published. I didn't delete this one for fear of losing the comments that were attached.

In the 70's Stewart Alsop, wrote a piece in Newsweek comparing Nixon and John Mitchell with G Gordon Liddy. It was titled The Phoney Tough and the Crazy Brave. The phoney tough were Nixon and Mitchell, who's toughness never required anything like removal of one's tie while Liddy's bravery extended to asking (supposedly seriously) on which corner he should stand in order to facilitate his assassination for knowing too much about the. Watergate break in. I think the gist of the article was that the phoney tough just had no capacity to comprehend the crazy brave. I do think that toughness and bravery do have a kind of natural link. Alsop's pairing comes to my mind from time to time such as the last 24 hours as I have had to address what to do about Marias Pass. I am sure that I am not crazy brave, but I am not so sure that I am not phoney tough. (Incidentally I believe that Alsop was recognized for his personal bravery for his service in WWII.)

Some discomfort, such as cold and hard physical exertion seem to me to be a part of this exercise I am on. But risk of death or bodily harm are not welcome to me, nor have I any right to expose myself to such. I have decided to abandon the idea of riding over Marias Pass. Perhaps the physical difficulties should be accepted as part of the deal, but I think there is real potential for disaster given the road, the traffic and the conditions. On Wednesday I will try to hitch a ride.

That settled, today I rode about 35 or 40 miles through the park up to the point where the road through the park, the Going To The Sun road, is closed. As I got higher, the steady rain became steady snow so that by my arrival at the closure my windshield, (fairing) was coated with snow so it could not be seen through. On the way back I stopped in at a fancy lodge for a late lunch and warm up. Wet and cold it was.

I got back to my motel at about 4:30. The woman who runs the place is the personification of cheery kindness. She offered to fix my dinner and when I demurred, she came up with a water boiler and a cup of noodles soup. Later she came to my door to tell me that she has friends who might be driving over the pass tomorrow and if so they would take me. She will be pictured.

Snug, warm, well fed, with reading material and half a crossword puzzle. It is at these pleasant moments that I miss my life partner.

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Tues June 8, 25th day Glacier Nat'l Park

In the 70's Stewart Alsop, wrote a piece in Newsweek comparing Nixon and John Mitchell with G Gordon Liddy. It was titled The Phoney Tough and the Crazy Brave. The phoney tough were Nixon and Mitchell, who's toughness never involved any action that required the removal of one's tie while Liddy's bravery extended to asking (supposedly seriously) on which corner he should stand in order to facilitate his assassination for knowing too much about the Watergate break in. I think the gist of the article was that the phoney tough just had no capacity to comprehend the crazy brave. I do think that toughness and bravery do have a kind of natural link. Alsop's pairing comes to my mind from time to time such as the last 24 hours as I have had to address what to do about Marias Pass. I am sure that I am not crazy brave, but I am not so sure that I am not phoney tough. (Incidentally I believe that Alsop was recognized for his personal bravery for his service in WWII.)

Some discomfort, such as cold and hard physical exertion seem to me to be a part of this exercise I am on. But risk of death or bodily harm are not welcome to me, nor have I any right to expose myself to such. I have decided to abandon the idea of riding over Marias Pass. Perhaps the physical difficulties should be accepted as part of the deal, but I think there is real potential for disaster given the road, the traffic and the conditions. On Wednesday I will try to hitch a ride.

That settled, today I rode about 35 or 40 miles through the park up to the point where the road through the park, the Going To The Sun road, is closed. As I got higher, the steady rain became steady snow so that by my arrival at the closure my windshield, (fairing) was coated with snow so it could not be seen through. On the way back I stopped in at a fancy lodge for a late lunch and warm up. Wet and cold it was.

I got back to my motel at about 4:30. The woman who runs the place is the personification of cheery kindness. She offered to fix my dinner and when I demurred, she came up with a water boiler and a cup of noodles soup. Later she came to my door to tell me that she has friends who might be driving over the pass tomorrow and if so they would take me. She will be pictured.

Snug, warm, well fed, with reading material and half a crossword puzzle. It is at these pleasant moments that I miss my life partner.

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The vista is in the background

In case the irony is not coming through, it is that all that is to be seen of the vista is a huge grey cloud.
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Monday June 9 Day 24 Kalispell to West Glacier about 35 miles

I began by taking my wheel to a bike store to get a new tire and while I was at it I had the guy tighten up the cassette, (the set of gears on the rear wheel) and the rear hub. He had some experience with hubs of this sort and he also rebuilt the bearing that I had abused in Bellingham. The new tire was bulkier than the blown out one and altogether the bike was in pretty good shape from this attention. About noon I set off for West Glacier. There was cloud cover, but only a brief rain squall. There was good shoulder almost all the way and once I remembered to put in my ear plugs to drown out the traffic noise it was quite a nice ride. Got to West Glacier around 4:30 and spent about an hour checking out sleeping possibilities and even rode further up the road a little bit to check it out. For a couple of days I have been aware that the weather is expected to be pretty bad now so as I am finally here at the foot of the pass I have to resolve what I will do. I found a motel that is being brought back to health by some new management which was willing to dicker on the price. The woman running the place has been a sweetheart, happily allowing me to use the business line to call Beth and other kindnesses. I had good calls to both the highway department and the weather office in Missoula where I talked with an actual person, apparently a professional weatherman. I had planned to go over the pass inside the park, but due to all the late snow it will not be open for a couple more weeks so I am faced with going over the divide on Highway 2. Here are the factors. The weather is bad and getting worse. The road features a lot of big trucks and two significant stretches with no shoulder. A wind turbine farm is under construction on the east side of the mountians and because there is insufficient gravel in the area it is being trucked over from the west side. This is creating a seemingly endless stream of dump trucks to share the road with and not all the drivers seem to be good at sharing. Except for one place, it is some sixty miles to get to any significant human habitation. There's a lot of climbing involved and I am uncertain of my capacity relative to the demands of the climbing. There is an inn part way along, but it is mostly serviced by the railroad and I could not find a number to call to see if they have an available room.

Here are some possible courses of action. Wait for better weather. This solves only one of the problems, but it would allow me to play around in the park. Start at dawn to avoid traffic and get at least to the inn, but I'm not sure I could get a room and then what would I do. The weather should worsen with time and elevation gain. I think I could hitch hike from most any place so I could hitch past the first shoulderless section and then bike, or I could bike and then hitch if things got too bad and there was no place to stay. Or I could just try to hitch a ride all the way. I went to bed with these thoughts running through my head.

Scored a crossword puzzle at the grocery store and did a little yoga before retiring.

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Day 23 Polsun to Kalispell 30 miles by bike, 20 miles by pick up truck

Off at 9:15 on a totally overcast day. The Big Sky Country also sometimes comes with a big cloud, as it has since midday yesterday. But the actual precipitation was minimal and I rode for 30 very pleasant miles along the east shore of Flathead Lake. It was Sunday morning and the traffic was very light until about the third hour of riding. Whether due to the hour or the proximity to the town of Big Fork traffic picked up after a couple of hours. I often forgo socks as they simply get wet and don't add much warmth and my feet had grown cold and I was looking forward to a lunch break when about a mile short of Big Fork my rear tire blew out. I knew from the pop that it was more than a merely punctured tube. I have a spare tube and patches to repair tubes, but tires are a different matter. I unloaded all my stuff and turned the bike over and pulled off the wheel. The break was about an inch long running along the working surface of the tire. I searched my worldly goods seeking something strong, thin and flexible that I could insert between a new inner tube and the inside of the tire at the point of the rupture. The right material might hold the tube within the tire and allow me to ride again. I found some nylon patching material in something I had brought along called the Optimist's Repair Kit. I placed it in the proper place, inserted a new tube into the tire, got them both onto the wheel and pumped the tire up. There was a slight bulge at the point of the break, but basically it seemed to hold. I put all my stuff back on the bike and gingerly began to pedal the last mile into Big Fork. My jury rigged patch held for about 3/4 of a mile. When it blew again I knew I would have to hitch hike into Kalispell where I also knew there are bike shops. There were lots of pick ups going by and I wasn't worried about getting a ride. Being a white bearded geezer serves to allay fears. I walked the bike into town, running on the rear rim, picked up a subway sandwich, returned to the highway and stuck out my thumb. About the 5th truck to pass picked me up. The driver was a guy about 30 who works as a siding contractor. He grew up in the area and knew where the three bike shops in Kalispell were to be found. The two good shops were closed on Sunday so he dropped me at a motel near the shops and I was in for the night.

Kalispell had been my goal for the day and I had intended to go into one or the other of these shops to get a little tune up work and check on the local wisdom regarding getting over the mountains. So I was not set back at all. Nonetheless this episode was disheartening in just the opposite way that climbing down from the bridge onto the dirt road two days earlier had been buoying. Here I had failed. I had used an internal combustion engine to move me forward. It is not a case of despair, but it is a disappointment. I have resolved to remove my license plate that says Zero CO2.

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Sat. June 7 SR 135 near Paradise to Polson. 66 miles, 5.7 hours of riding

What a beautiful ride were the first two hours today. A flat to descending road, with little traffic, through a lush valley with tree covered hills on each side, and a wind at my back. It was as good as riding gets. But nothing lasts forever and I began to see that I was riding in the direction of a big, big, big grey cloud. At about 1:00 I got under it and a cold rain began. It rained the last 35 or 40 miles which made a very ordinary motel feel like The Ritz. I've now stayed at 7 motels and 4 campgrounds. I stay at motels for reasons of weather, bears, or lack of alternatives. They have ranged in price from about $25 to $112.50.



My body has recovered from a tendency to leg cramps, a raw crouch, a sore and painful Achilles tendon, and most worrisome of all, a sore knee in the first week. I think I am now in about as good cycling shape as is possible for me. I'm still not very strong when it comes to riding this loaded bike up hill, but I don't expect much improvement. I am gratified that my aches and pains have been curable without having to take time off.

Finally I will just note that I am writing this entry at 2:30 AM because somewhere near here someone is pounding a drum. I think there is some sort of pow wow going on. Notes in the base range travel far.

Editorial comment: In editing this entry I did not correct the spelling of crotch since doing so would make two comments that were submitted, a bit mysterious.
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A lot of almost anything

looks pretty good. Can you see that this is a cross. There are dozens and dozens of these markers, all in surprisingly good shape. I think the State must install and maintain them as a deterrent to reckless driving. Most are white metal. This one has been festooned with plastic flowers.
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Department of Bedroom Furnishings

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Day 21 St. Regis to Quinn's Hot. Springs About 25 miles

Friday June 6 was shaped and shorten by events of the previous day, as yet unreported. Since. I've now told Beth about the following by phone, I can also record it here.

I got into St. Regis on the 5th and checked into a KOA camp ground. Except for one other site, all the patrons were in motor homes of various dimensions. The owner assigned me a site at the back, away from the noise of the highway. As I was about to leave the office he remarked that it would be good, if I had any food to have it well secured as there had been bears on the grounds this year. Since I did have food and no place to secure it, we agreed that I would leave it in the office and collect it in the morning. Later as I was setting up my rain fly tent the wife came around and chatted me up on the subject of bear behavior and where I might run for help should I need to. It seems my site, nicely away from the highway noise, was just where the bear came and went from the campground. As the rain began I retired to my quarters, where I alternated sleeping snugly as the rain pelted or lying awake snugly, thinking about what I would do should a bear decide to eat me. I couldn't think of a single thing I might do, except to not again sleep in a soft sided bedroom where there are bears about..



The next day, the day of this report was shorten by the intermittent rain, and the distance between accommodations on the road before me. As there was, some 20 miles up the road, a moderately fancy hot springs resort and then nothing for quite a while my resolution, just alluded to, kept me out of the couple of campgrounds where I might have gone. I went instead for the resort. The afternoon of not riding, was spent happily tinkering with my bike. The best news of the day was that when I left St. Regis I would be entering a rain shadow and sure enough that's what I did.

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Day 20 Mullan to St. Regis 45 miles

I forgot to report the bad thing that happened in Mullan. The keyboard that makes these long messages possible suffered a non fatal injury. Part of the hinge mechanism came apart. I have been able to work around the problem, but if the key board ever becomes unworkable, I will have to abandon the blog and any long email.

Mullan is six steep miles west of the border with Montana and the summit of Lookout pass. The first two were not bad but then it either got steeper (it is very hard to judge the pitch of a road) or I got more tired or both. In any case I was pretty wiped out by the summit. From there it was down hill to St. Regis. You might wonder why I didn't get further in the day. The reason is the little adventure I had coming down. (No injury involved.) I was coasting along about ten miles from St. Regis when I came to a road repair project. As I got further and further into the situation the shoulders got less and less until finally I came to a place where the two east bound lanes were closed, and all the traffic was using the two normally west bound lanes and the fog line on one side was flat against the guard rail and on the other flat against a row of jersey barriers. There was no shoulder at all. There was no way I was going to ride there. I unloaded all my gear, lifted it and the bike over the jersey barrier into the forbidden east bound lanes and pedaled on, not knowing what I would come to. Though the lanes were closed there was no work going on there at that point. Eventually I met a couple of workers on the project who, after some consideration of my problem pointed out that below us about 60 feet, (we were at moment standing on a bridge.) was a dirt road. They said if I could get down to it I could take it past the closed portion of the highway. Recalling Dwight's tales of carrying bike and gear to places they were not intended to go, I decided to attempt the descent. I backed up to the point where the bridge met the land, unloaded once again, and started down with the bike first. It was pretty steep and pretty loose material, but with dropping the bike only once I made the bottom. The packs were easy after that and the road while rough was beautiful and came out where the guys said it would. A couple more miles and I was in St Regis for the night.

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Day 19 Harrison Idaho to Mullan. 77 miles

Daniel, good fellow that he is, drove down to meet us and ride in the morning. The chief reason for coming this way was to enjoy the really great bike trail that connects lower Lake Coeur d'Alene with Mullan, the last Idaho town before you go over Lookout Pass. We heard from folks in Harrison that there was a wash out not too far up the trail from their town, but no one knew how bad it was. Since it didn't seem to be too far along we decided to ride out that way and see if we could somehow get across. Out about 5 miles we came to the spot and found it to be about 40 yards across. There was not going to be any fording of that. We were forced to turn around, go back to Harrison and take the road. This added some miles to the day and the first two or three were a substantial climb. We came out on Harrison Flats, which Chris remarked should be called Harrison Heights, and then rolled pretty comfortably for 20 miles or so. When the road started back down to the river Chris and Daniel turned back to ride to the car and Spokane leaving me to coast down to the trail, beyond the rupture and then do fifty beautiful miles to Mullan. I hope the reflection picture does some justice to the area.

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Montana road sign

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changing the bulb

Men at work
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reflections

Back on the trail. Can you see the reflections?
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It was such a great trail

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Guess we won't wade across

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Day 18 Biking. WITH Friends

Spokane to Harrison Id. 57 miles

Chris came with me today, or more exactly led me out of Spokane, along a series of back roads and into Idaho. I was surprised at how nice it was to have company. Of course Chis is a particularly companionable fellow, but as we rode along bantering about whatever subjects came up I realized I was much less focused on the miles ridden and the miles yet to ride. I hardly thought of what progress was being made. Although it was sunny at dawn as the day rolled along it became more inclement, till about an hour before quiting we were in full rain. My preparations for rain seemed to be adequate as I arrived at Harrison Idaho in quite dry condition. We took a motel and went out to dinner. The last ten miles or so were along a trail running on the east side of Lake Coeur d'alene. It was as nice a ride as one can have. After dinner we caught Obama's speech... How could he not be elected?
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Bike Rider Blocking View of Chris' Garden

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Day 17 At Rest In Spokane

My rest day worked out great. I went to the cell phone store where the clerk cleaned the camera lens to give me clearer pictures, the bike store to get some crouch lubricant (I couldn't think of a more delicate way to say it. Would non bikers have understood chamois creme?), the bank to get some cash, the hardware store to get a piece of plastic pipe for my bike stand, and the grocery store for the obvious. I cleaned and oiled my chain and repacked all my stuff. My clothes went into the laundry the first night I was here. I ate a lot of homemade pizza followed by ice cream. I talked with each member of the household and took the dog to the park.

When a person's circumstances change in a substantial way, such as taking a new job, getting married, or going from living at home to living on a bike, it takes some time to settle into the new situation. I think one is not likely to feel the same about the new way after one week as he or she does after a few weeks or months, when the new way is more routine. I'm not sure how this account is coming through to any readers. Does it seem a little bleak with all the talk about hills climbed and miles covered? There is no doubt that I have felt tired, lonesome, and worried about being able to do this trip. Talking with Chris on Sunday night about how I would get through the remaining mountains, was daunting. Now I am quite recharged and optimistic. The sky is cloudless. I have more faith in my body and less fear of the task. I am ready to go on.

Last night I got to look at the blog on Chhris' computer where I learned that there have been comments from readers. Web pages, including the blog, show up on the Blackberry in a somewhat less easily scanned form and I had never found the place for comments from you all. I am on to that now and appreciate those that have been made. I should also report what a boon it is to have my daily talks with Beth on the phone. It is such that I am altering my route in a couple of days from the back roads to I-90, so that I can keep them going.

The bacon is frying. The riding will begin in a little while. I will be enjoying it.

Thanks to the Copelands and fond regards to all.

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Day 16

72 miles Wilbur to Spokane. First day to average over 10 mph.



After a short day yesterday and a good night's rest I was off at about 6:30. No significant hills Just rolling flatish lands. About 10 miles from Spokane Mo intercepted me and led me home. Again the friends part of Biking To Friends was very rewarding as all the Copes were in residence. Chris had been pondering the question of where I would go from here and we spent some time with his maps. Since he has biked most of the rural roads around here he was able to show me what looks like a great route as far as Kellogg ID. Mo retired at her usual time (9:30) and I tried to watch a movie with Chris, but couldn't stay awake.



I've heard that Phillip Roth is a very disciplined writer who goes to his office at a regular hour, takes a lunch break at midday and then returns to finish his day's work. In so doing he is said to produce about one page of writing. It is about the same for me. I get up and start to ride. One day of work generates about one page or less of this account. Such are the thoughts of a guy riding his bike across the land.



I think I posted the same picture two times. This was a mistake. No need to try to find something significant in the second copy.

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Day 15

Soap Lake State Park to Wilbur 45 miles

Since the camp ground is by the lake shore the riding began with a stiff climb up to the main road. I was pretty tired today and cut short what I had intended to do. When I got to Wilbur I stopped at a market to get something to eat. The clerk happened to have heard a weather report predicting thunder showers to the east. Since I had just past a campground I decided to hole up. In fact it did rain a little in the night, but I had everything under cover and all was fine.
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Wallmart surprise package

Sometimes the merchandise is already packed.
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