Helena to Lincoln then Missoula

I’m sorry the blogging has been a bit thin lately, the rides have been tough for one reason or another leaving us both pretty worn out at the end of the day. I thought it was just me being old when I was riding solo, but bert is the same, and the two 21 year-old (or so) lads we met touring the other way say they’re pretty bushed at the end of the day, and struggle to get up in the mornings.

The other reason is that I’ve got well stuck into the story of Scott’s journey to the south pole, ‘the worst journey in the world’ by Apsley Cherry-Garard, and it’s hard to put down.

It’s actually very difficult to remember where we rode and stayed, the days blur together, each one seemingly taking much more than a single day in memory. Whenever people ask me where I rode from that morning I have to struggle to remember, each day is like an endless dream, and the morning seems a lifetime ago. Often I just have to say that it was about 50 miles to the southeast and then they’ll name the place, and I think “of course! That was only a few hours ago!”

Helena was a cool little town, but after the chicken sandwich I saw nothing of it as I holed up in the room and got room service. I was still a little weak as we set out the next day, but I’m used to pushing on endlessly now, it’s all mental really.

The tiny road wound along the foothills with the mountains in the distance, it was one of the most beautiful roads of the tour, rivaling the closed island road on the gulf coast. One house had a guy outside setting off explosives, I’m not sure what for, didn’t hang around to find out. Bert had to adjust his saddle so I cruised off solo, marveling at the scenery and enjoying the silence and isolation.

We stopped at a post office in the hamlet of Canyon Creek, just a tiny general store and a few houses. The shopkeep lady shouted ‘I’ll be there in a minute’ from her garden, so we chilled on the steps until she came, stocking up on chocolate milk and stamps.

We knew a long climb was coming next over the continental divide, for the first 10 miles or so we wound gently up Canyon Creek itself through a mountain pine forest, the creek chuckling away beside us. Bert stopped again for another saddle adjustment so I had the road to myself again. It was even more isolated, and riding past a small cliff I heard stones skitter down from above, I was checking for mountain lions lying in ambush but my fears were unfounded, probably.

Bert caught up just before the climb steepened from gently ascent to proper switchbacks. He always goes ahead on hills, I’m a slow steady climber anyway, and my bike is loaded a lot more heavily than his, so he gets stuck in and I work my way up steadily.

Normally I love out of the saddle switchback climbs but I really struggled on this one, I think a combination of altitude, heat, the weakness left over from being ill the day before, and pushing myself up the gentle climb faster than normal as part of a road game with bert, trying to drag out the time before he caught me up. Either way I struggled up the switchbacks, getting a blinding headache that made me ride with one eye shut, that stayed with me for most of the next day.

At the top we were both too tired for the usual ceremonies, and we realized that what we thought was a stick was actually a chewed-off deer leg, quite fresh, so we got stuck into the descent. The forest opened out to show the road ahead descending through a long valley to distant snow-capped mountains, making us both grin.

After the descent it was a fast slog for 11 miles, my riding has definitely got stronger after having to push myself to keep up with bert, and we did a strong 16mph into a decent headwind. Lincoln was a pretty little tourist village (people here laugh if you say village, it sounds very quaint, they call them towns) and we bagged ourselves a cabin in the forest on the edge of town.

Do you have any rooms free?
Yes
How much?
60 dollars
Does it have wifi in the rooms?
Yes
Does the sauna work?
Yes
We’re yours

The forest smelled of fresh pine, I really love mountain forests, the trees were tall and strong, you could look up at them for hours. After a heap of food and a couple of beers in town we were heavily chilled and horizontal.

Bert has developed a monstrous appetite on this ride, whereas I’ve gone the other way. Usually he picks at his food and leaves half of it, now he wolfs it down then orders more. On leaving Helena we had a full cooked breakfast, 20 minutes later he downed a big burger in a garage, in the bar he has a huge beef and cheese roll with fries then a massive chocolate brownie covered in ice cream, surely a 2 person dessert but he sucks it down, whereas I was too full to move after my club sandwich and merely had a little taster spoonful, which he grudgingly let me have.

The next morning my headache is still with me and I’m seriously thinking about staying another day here. He’s feeling pretty wiped out too after the climb so we decide on a late start, getting a couple of hours kip, a decent brunch then heading out after changing his rear tyre which started shredding at the end of yesterday’s ride. We decide to always carry a spare from now on, that’s the 3rd tyre to die on this trip, one from being cut by debris and two from just being weak, touring tyres being hard to find in shops.

It is predicted to be about 89F today, but it turns out to be 100. Luckily the road is gently rolling along the Blackfoot river, the scenery changing yet again to become just like Switzerland with lush alpine meadows, rushing rivers and grazing cattle. To think that 5 days ago we were in semi-arid desert plains, 3 days ago we were snowed in at Old Faithful, having to break out in sub-zero temperatures, and now we’re in a baking hot Switzerland, it is almost beyond belief, no wonder the journey seems like a dream.

A roadside sign helpfully points out that it is wilderness all the way from here northwards into canada, a distance of a couple of hundred miles easy. Cool.
At a gas station we immediately spot a couple of guys in bike gear, and then see their touring bikes. Awesome. These are the first touring cyclists I’ve met so far, and I am jealous of their road beards, although they admit to having started them off early. They’ve been on the road a couple of weeks and last night was their first night in a bed, this makes bert and I a little ashamed. They are impressed at the idea of riding from miami to denver solo, saying that they struggle to get up in the morning as it is when they can help motivate each other. It’s great to chat, and we are really sad to say goodbye. A real pity they weren’t heading the same way, it woulda been a great laugh.

He accidentally torments me over the final 15 miles by wrecking my carefully constructed long-distance mental state by counting down the miles. My way is basically to forget about how far to go and just ride along without thinking about it, this is especially important when I’m tired, like the final 15 miles on a 100F day. Just as I’m forgetting about the distance and riding along he will say ‘only 12 miles to go now’, and I am brought back to the reality of 12 hot tired miles, nearly an hour’s worth, with who knows what hills to come.

He also plays the 'towing' road game, sometimes latching on to my bike so i have to drag him along, and as we get into the edge of town he grabs me by the scruff of my neck and drags me along like a child whilst berating me loudly. I can hardly stop laughing when he does this, and it's funny to watch people stare. We take a wrong turn onto the interstate slip road (no big deal) and do a u-turn, as we ride back up the wrong way on the shoulder a car comes past with 4 mouths wide open in shock and horror, clearly assuming we've been riding the wrong way down the interstate for some time.

We’re both glad to see the hotel, and Missoula turns out to have a cool downtown as it’s a small college town, we both like these. It has an undercurrent of violence though, Ben, who we met at Signal Moutain Lodge, has a brother who lives here. Him and his mate got put in hospital by 7 guys who jumped out of a car and kicked their heads in because they thought they were gay. There is also an ‘out’ policeman who regularly gets abuse scratched into his car, or stuff thrown over his house, or worse.

Still, this goes on pretty much everywhere, it’s a cool town just the same. The waitress likes our accents and brings her friend over to meet us, and gives us free large whiskeys. Downing the whiskey was a mistake I still feel. We leave about 1am and fumble our way back into the room. I somehow manage to order a pizza on the phone, one of the most difficult tasks of the trip after drinking so much.

After dealing with our hangovers we headed into town, checking out the bike shops and cool bars. Now it’s now, we’ve rented out some ‘family guy’ dvd’s, soon there will be some food. Tomorrow we have a hefty climb through Lolo and a couple of nights camping with the bears. The statistics all sound fine, but I suspect they will be little comfort lying in a tiny tent with bert’s feet in my face in pitch black listening to something heavy snuffling around outside.