Wed 24 June, 2009
east Glacier to Cut Bank to Shelby, MT
This morning I was up early because I had spent a sleepless night FREEZING! Burrowing into my sleeping bag and wearing my knit cap and all the clothes I had did nothing to keep me warm. I packed up my little mesh tent and my kit in a flash, and then headed across the street to the hostel café/bakery, which Kevin had finagled to open early. Had a hot cup of coffee, and the woman who opened the café brought me a small heater for my feet which were frozen cubes. We sat in relative comfort, waiting for the Whistle Stop Café next door (where we’d eaten dinner last night) to open. When the Whistle Stop opened at 7, we left the hostel bakery and crossed the parking lot to it. The woman from the bakery followed us over a few minutes later, bearing a tray of freshly baked sticky buns.
I ordered Huckleberry French Toast and we were all surprised when it appeared—really a Salzburger Knockerl pastry filled with huckleberry cream similar to the one I'd had in Vienna on the Experience Plus Danube River Ride last year. It was delicious, but it was so rich that I couldn’t eat it all. Passed it to Tim, who is a bottomless pit, and he shared with all.
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| Salzberg Knockerl (top left) and Huckleberry French Toast in East Glacier, MT; one and the same |
Passing under the dark RR underpass out of East Glacier, Diane hit a pothole and flatted. I stopped with her in a parking lot on the main road (MT-2) and began to take off her rear tire to help her change tubes. Tim showed up and took over, giving Diane instructions on how to fix a flat as he went. Good thing he did, because 5 miles down the road my BOB flatted, and Diane got to practice on it.
When Diane and I and Tim made it into Browning, the hub of the Blackfoot Reservation, we found Kevin, Bill U. and Rick waiting for us. Kevin was angry with me because I’d forgotten to turn on my cell phone, and he’d had to wait in Browning. I prided myself on taking this chastisement without being defensive, but it stung to be called out in front of the others nonetheless. We’d been told by several that it was not safe to camp on the reservation, so with a strong tailwind, we flew into Cut Bank.
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| Our reception party on entering Browning |
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| Kevin, Bill, and Rick waiting for the tail of the dog before the Browning C of C |
Cut Bank gets its name from the "cut bank" (gorge) which formed canyon-like along the Cut Bank--previously Marias--River. Cut Bank is a typical agricultural community, the area also having large oil and gas leases as well as beef ranches. Riding to Cut Bank, the terrain gradually flattened to rolling hills and vast fields and the eye could now roam great distances in this the "Big Sky" state. A penguin sculpture at the east exit from the city touted Cut Bank as the "coldest spot in the nation."
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| Montana Wheat Growers grain silos near the railroad; we would follow the railroad for days |
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| Internet photo of the Cut Bank River |
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| Roaming room for the eye |
We stopped for lunch at the C&L Café. On arrival at the café I experienced the only lasting episode of A-fib of the ride, but recovered normal heartbeat quickly after sitting down for a bit. At the café, we discussed the itinerary and decided to continue another 23 miles to camp at Shelby. On the way out of Cut Bank, Bill noticed that Kevin’s BOB tire appeared low. It was going flat, so Tim helped change out the third tube of the day. I kept riding so that my slow pace wouldn’t cause anybody to wait for me again.
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| Internet photo of Shelby main drag |
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| An exhausted Diane blowing up her air mattress |
After dinner, we got to know the rest of the cyclists camped in the campgrounds, or most of them. Three women pedaled in late as well as two couples on motorcycles. Counting the six of us, there were 20 cyclists in all: we six; the three women whom we did not meet, Pat & Dave from Louisiana, whom we’d met at the Izaak Walton Inn the day before (turned out that Pat was the rider whose BOB had been dragged around by the black bear at Dickey Lake); two male Adventure Cycling cross-country cyclists; two men and two women from Canada riding to Guatemala to raise money for medical clinics; and our two young guys from Stillwater: Cameron Meyer, Patrick O’Conner, and Stuart Ketting from OKC.
In town I had stopped at a Radio Shack to buy a flash drive with more memory for my photos. Stuart had dashed into the store breathless and ripped open his shirt to reveal an OK emblem. He had seen the OK flag on my BOB. Turned out I knew Cameron slightly (he had been a wrench at OSU Colvin Center’s Bike shop and he and I had corresponded about an article for the Red Dirt Pedaler's newsletter, Wheel Issues, that I put together each month; he also knew daughter Lucy and her friend Jay Criswell). The three were riding bikes cobbled together with spare parts from Cameron’s bike mechanic job and were pulling a large makeshift trailer. All three were sleeping in one large, old-fashioned tent. They excitedly shared their tale of crossing Logan Pass in Glacier (jumping the barricade to do so and getting caught in the same storm that saw us ducking into the Stanton Creek cabins). They were pinned in their tent for hours, eating Vienna sausages and Pop Tarts. Apparently the road down was in pretty bad shape from avalanches and road construction.
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Tim's photo of Stuart telling me of the group's Going to the Sun ride and his crash coming into town--which earned him lots of nasty road rash and gave him a slight concussion
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Tomorrow? Can't remember our destination. Tune in and find out.
