Ovando, MT. Note the man in the background. He is selling peaches for $4 a box.
The mighty Blackfoot river. Note how low the water is. And the thirsty cows.
Meet Esther- I'm so happy to have her company, and she flies out of Bozeman too soon (a few days from now)
I haven't updated this blog in over a week now, which is 98% due to the fact that I have been riding with company and it's way too easy to get seduced into ukulele playing and conversation than pull out the foldable keyboard that I brought along for the sole purpose of blogging. Here we go! As I type this, the keyboard is precariously balanced on a box of Pop-tarts (Esther's favorite touring food) and Lipton tea (I'm trying to wean myself off coffee. Apparently I'm addicted. Heavy withdrawal symptoms experienced yesterday. oops). We are relaxing at our 30 mile lunch break in the small, flavorless town of Lincoln, MT. This town is basically a smattering of steakhouses and ice cream stands along a 1/4 mile stretch of Highway 200. We stopped to get lunch at the first place upon entering town, and there was only one other group of customers. I overheard them talking about, "how we can attract folks passing through Lincoln to actually stop in town, grab a meal, stay awhile, instead of stopping for one second to fill up gas". Good luck, folks. There is not much here. Esther and I had more fun in Ovando, which has 5% the population of Lincoln but upon entering town there is a small encampment featuring a wrought-iron figure of Merriweather Lewis and his unfortuntely named dog Seaman, a teepee, a wagon, and a hoosejaw! For those of you who aren't familiar with 1800's slang, "hoosejaw" refers to prison. The prison, the teepee, the wagon, and the lawn of the museum are all open for cyclists to camp on! Esther and I opted for the teepee, and learned that underestimated the warmth that the thin cnvas wallls would offer. I was freezing, nd barely slept. I lay curled in a ball in my sleepingbag and wondered if the cold ws excerbating my left pinky, which lost ensation about three days ago due to n improperly installed handlebar grip. Yeah, I installed it. I thought the newfangled Ergon grips would make my wrists feel great, but I instlled the left grip at bizarre angle which I discoverred only fter riding 60 miles of rocky trails and now I can't type the letter "a" on the keyboard, since my left pinky might as well not exist. "S"s aren't so good either. There goes the ring finger. When I start leaving off my "d" s you'll know it's getting worse. I certinly pinched a nerve, and so Esther and I took day off in Seeley Lake where we swam around, and joined the locals in their bellyaching over the haze created by the wildfires. Some of the Great Divide route has been closed, as the trails south of Seeley are currently ablaze. We were informed of this by a blue eyed ranger who pulled over along the highway to chat with us about the wildfires. Wow. He had a great left arm. Eventually he pulled away and Ether and I watched the white Forest Service truck rip down the highway, carrying the gorgeous ranger and our hearts along with it.
Meet Esther's bike- the Gunnar is speedy and sturdy but balks at rocky descents
We have been riding the highway since Seeley Lake since Ether's bike is ill-equipped to swallow the gravel, rocks, and roots tha the Great Divide is trying to force down its throat. I had no idea how treacherous the route would be when I invited her back in July to accompny me for a segment. It is rocky. Very rocky. Today's ride has been smooth along Highway 200, and we stillhave 35 miles to go to get to Canyon Creek, tonights destination. 35 miles and a Continental Divide crossing, to boot! On that note, we will get rolling as we have 1,80 vertical feet of climbing ahead and the air is thick and hard to breath with all the particulate matter from the fire. More soon.