Homestay with an El Salvadorean Family

As I was eating some mangoes that I found earlier along the highway, some boys on bikes came, and were interested in me and my bike. I shared one of my mangoes.

One of the boys, Joel, who had bad burns (and skin bubbles) and pigment loss on his hands and arms, wanted to help me byible bringing me around to different hotels to find a room for the night. $15, $20, or $49. Really high prices for accommodation in El Salvador.

Juan and His Child Friends

I told Joel that I needed to find a comedor to eat. He invited me to his house where his mother could cook me something. When I got there, his brothers, sisters, and friends were fascinated with me and my bike. Whitest gringo in petite red shorts and a big smile. These kids didn’t see how gay I was. I introduced myself as Juan, as Eoin is John in Irish, and it would be easier for them to remember. They all gathered around Juan, asking questions, and wondering about different things on my bike.

Daniel, Patricia, Luis, Kevin, Claudio, and Ana Ruth. I translated each of their names into English pronunciation, and they thought it was hilarious, especially Joel (Ho-el) and Ana Ruth (Anna Rootd).

When I asked if I could take a photo, they loved it. They had a great time posing for a photo and then seeing the result. I thought it might make them feel weird. My helmet was their favorite prop; they all fought over who would wear it in the photo.

Joel’s mother, Haide, cooked me eggs, black beans, rice, and tortillas.

I wanted to do something nice for them, so I rode off to the tienda and got ten ice creams, and brought them back.   Haide had one too.

As it was getting late in the afternoon, the kids asked if I would play soccer with them. I said yes, and they burst into celebration, yelling, jumping, and running around. But I still hadn’t figured out a place to stay for the night. I told Joel that I should probably return to the beach to set up my tent before it was dark, so I couldn’t play soccer after all. That was bad news. He said, with his mother looking on, that I could camp at their house, underneath the roof. Haide agreed, saying I was welcome to stay. I was hoping for that; much better to stay with them than at a lonely, unsecure area on the beach.

So then we played football. 8 to 12 year-old football where one person has the ball and everyone chases. We also had fun taking more photos. Juan was a superstar.

Gay Juan with Joel.

When we returned, I found that Haide had moved their eating table to clear an area where I could set up my tent. The kids asked me if they could watch me set up my tent. They were still excited about things I was doing. As they helped me set it up, there were lots of Wows and Es Bonitas. They thought everything was cool.

Patricia and Ana Ruth said I should put my bike inside their house for the night so it would be more safe. I wheeled it into their two-room, dirt floor hut. The first room was where Haide slept and there was a small area where they had a tiny TV and a few patio chairs. The second room had two beds for the four kids that lived there (Joel, Patricia, Ana Ruth, and Daniel). No bathroom or kitchen. Those were outside. The “bathroom” was essentially a big sink to wash dishes, clothes, and where you could dip a basin into a bucket of water to drip over yourself without privacy. I didn’t see a toilet, although I imagine you would just go behind a bush in the yard. I did a pee in the yard, but I’m glad I didn’t need to do more. The kitchen was a pot over an elevated fire. Their house was made out of corrugated iron (roof and siding) and wood (frame). Chickens roamed free, taking shits everywhere.

In the morning, I left to eat and swim at the beach, to freshen up. I went to that same area where I was going to camp, with the long, thatched cabana. A guy came and started raking the sand, an odd, pointless thing to do. We greeted each other and started a simple conversation. After the initial friendliness, he told me that it cost one dollar to use the area. I told him I had only been there for about 30 minutes. He told me it’s still a dollar. I turned cold and started packing my things. Stupid guy, trying to get a gringo dollar, raking the dirt.

I returned to the family to say goodbye. I really liked them and I wanted to thank them for their hospitality, so as graciously as I could, I told Haide I wanted to give them $20. She accepted but didn’t want to take the money from my hand, so I left it on the table. She said that if I were to come back to Metalio, I was welcome at their house anytime.

Entering El Salvador

I packed up and got breakfast next door at the comedor. I said goodbye, not sure how much they cared (probably not much), and started riding. Then I realized I didn’t have my biking gloves. I turned around, and searched all over the comedor and my bags. I couldn’t find them anywhere. Alvardo said I should look in my tent. What a pain in the ass. I had to unpack my neatly packed tent. They were in there though. It delayed me an hour. Two days in a row, I misplaced something and had to waste time finding it.

At the border, I changed my Guatemalan Quetzales for US dollars, which they use in El Salvador, and then crossed easily. I got a stamp on the Guatemalan side, but nothing as I came into El Salvador. I was assured by two border officials that I didn’t need a stamp, but I wonder if that’ll give me problems when I leave.

It was hot as shit and the beach wasn’t far away, so I stopped for the day after only doing about 30 miles. As I came into the beach, I stopped at a place and had three ice creams.

Then I found beach access through this place that seemed great for camping. A long, thatched cabana with picnic tables set up underneath, and no one around.

The beach was wide, lined with palm trees, and empty. I took a dip and washed my clothes in the salt.

Then the day got a lot better.  See Homestay with El Salvadorean Family

Escuintla to El Obraje

As I was getting ready to leave at 7:30 am, I realized I had left my rain jacket in Jamie’s truck. Ahhhhh, there’s a major delay. I had to run down the street to the payphone to call Jamie, but he wasn’t picking up. I did this about every 15 minutes for two hours, waiting around for this deadbeat to show up.

And he finally did, at about 9:30, and then I left.

I stopped at a trucker restaurant for breakfast. I told the lady that I had a few bottles that I needed filled with water. The breakfast wasn’t good, but I got 4.5 L of water for free.

It was mostly a boring ride that day. When I stopped at a panaderia, a bread place, for lunch, a couple of small girls kept peaking out from behind a wall saying “Hello” and “How are you?”

I didn’t want to get to the border town to stay the night, so I stopped at El Obraje, a small town about a mile away. I asked at a comedor about accommodation. There was no hotel in the area, but I didn’t want a hotel anyway. I told them I had a tent. They told me I could put my tent up in the adjoining, roofed area next to the restaurant part.

I was able to wash my clothes in their big sink where they had a gutter system rigged up to bring in rain water. And then I “showered” in their bathroom, pouring rain water over the most necessary parts of my body with a basin. I took a poo in their toilet and flushed it down by pouring a basin of rain water into the bowl, as the tank didn’t work. A natural, rain water washing system.

The lock for the door.

Soap.

Toothpaste.  Use everything.  I cut open my toothpaste in San Pedro too.

The comedor was run by two sisters in their sixties, one of their sons, and his wife. The sisters were hard to read, and my interaction was limited because my Spanish sucks. They would mumble something rapidly, I would give them a big smile, excuse myself for my Spanish, and ask them to repeat it more slowly. Without a smile, they would repeat it with the same speed and mumble; no compassion for my situation. When I was washing my clothes outside, one of the sisters came up to the door. I turned around and smiled at her, and she shut the door. But at the same time, they were attentive to my needs, making sure I was comfortable by turning on the light for me when it got dark, offering me a glass for the gallon of water I bought, and asking if I needed anything else before they went to sleep.

The son and his wife were much more friendly. Alvardo came to offer me mosquito repellant, and hung around to give me advice about the border and El Salvador. He was interested in my trip too. I complimented him on his bicycle, especially his front rack, and asked where I could get one like it.

The town was tiny. It was only a few scattered comedors (cheap restaurant), tiendas (small shops), and houses with a big abandoned gas station in the middle.

Getting a place to stay at a comedor was great though, since I was able to eat there too.

Surfing in El Salvador

WIPE OUT!! Here I am after surfing in Playa El Zonte, El Salvador.

Surf es arriba, hombre.

Guatemala Lost Photos – CENMA Market

Here are some more recovered photos that I lost.  These are of the CENMA market in Guatemala City.

Guatemala Lost Photos – Biking

I was able to recover some photos that I hadn’t backed up before I had my camera stolen.  This guy copied all my photos to his computer, and then deleted everything with me in it.  Kind of weird, but I´m grateful that he kept some.

View before a storm

In the clouds

Trash on the Mountain

I love this dog.  Look how sad he is!!  His posture, his eyes, and tail between his legs.  I fed him with some of my bread, but he remained sad.  The saddest dog I´ve ever seen.

CouchSurfing in Xela, Guatemala

House and Small Farm on the way to San Pedro La Laguna

Descending to Lago de Atitlan

Lago de Atitlan

San Pedro La Laguna to Escuintla

I took the boat from San Pedro to Santiago instead of riding on the road around the volcano because I was told it was dangerous. Banditos.

When I got off the boat, I was excited to get on my bike. It had been so long. I was ready to ride. I rode up a steep, cobbled street from the dock into town. It was probably only 100 feet, and at the top, I pushed a little harder to get over the lip in the road. But I lost my balance and toppled over, me and my bike, still clipped into my pedals, and in front of the center of town. As I was on the ground, I looked around to see who noticed. A lot of eyes were on me, the gringo dressed in all black with an egg-helmet on his head, lying in the street with his pack-mule. My pride was hurting. It was the first time I had fallen since I got these clipless pedals.

I descended from the lake into the lowlands for about an hour, covering 30 miles quickly and easily. Then I got on the Pacific Highway, CA-2, a boring road. The air was steamy. I thought it would be a flat, easy ride, but I had to climb a lot. I struggled – I must have lost my legs. I was slow.

I stopped at a roadside pineapple stand and had a lady slice up one for me. Her hands were all over it, so when she was done, she dipped them in her bucket of water. Brown water.

The road was killing me. So boring. There was nothing around. I started feeling an urgent need to poo. I figured the pineapple had sped things up. But there was nowhere to go. I found a ditch that was partially obscured by a tree, offering some privacy. I took off my gloves, got my toilet roll, and prepared myself for something weird. I pulled down my sweaty bike shorts and that disgusting crotch-sweat smell hit me. My forearms and face and shirt were dripping sweat. And I had to add to the unpleasantness by doing a very natural shit in the ditch. It was bad. A fresh pile of human brown. I felt bad but I figured the rain would wash it away.

Downsizing to a New Setup

Before Eleanor came to visit, I was realizing I didn’t need my two front panniers. Everything I had packed in there was light, and it could all fit into my two rear bags. I didn’t like how easy it was to detach the front panniers. The rear ones, on the other hand, are strapped down underneath my tent and sleeping bag. Getting rid of the front panniers would give me a couple less things to worry about. I could also get rid of my front rack, which is probably about 5 lbs.

And I wrapped a green strap around my seat tube.

Inspired by the possibilities of downsizing, I took a hard look at everything else I was carrying. Did I really need it? Was I realistically going to use it? The other major item I decided against was my pot and homemade stove. With food so cheap and so good and so easily available, I couldn’t see myself cooking up some pasta while passing up a much tastier meal for $2. Plus, then I wouldn’t need to carry food or fuel for the stove. It was a pretty easy decision.

The downside to losing my front panniers is that all the weight is in the rear. The handling of the bike is less stable, and I feel bad for the rear tire because the weight from my butt is on it too.

And although I’ve lost some weight and bulk, I’ve upgraded on water carrying capacity, and water is heavy, so it’s hard to tell if I’m actually lighter.

I’m thinking about some way to carry my extra 1.5 L water bottles in the front. I was thinking about attaching two hose clamps at two points on the fork, on each side, but that would mean I would have to screw and unscrew them each time I wanted to fill up. Getting a cheap rack here would also be an option, and I might be able to strap my sleeping bag onto the top of it too, so I can spread the weight more evenly across the bike.

Vacation From Bike Touring

My bike touring has been sporadic after splitting with Ryan. To summarize: From Austin, TX, I got a ride down to Valle de Bravo, Mexico, spent a week there, rode one day to Toluca, got a bus ride back to Texas, rode my bike and hitch-hiked for two days, then got a ride to Phoenix, spent a week there, got a week-long car ride through Mexico, spent almost a week in Tapachula (on the border of Guatemala), rode my bike for two days, then Eleanor arrived and we took buses around Guatemala for almost two weeks, then I spent about another week and a half in San Pedro, trying to learn Spanish. So, in the past two months, I’ve been biking fully-loaded for only five days.

It’s been a really long break and I’ve been getting excited about starting it again. After being almost a month in Guatemala, having two cameras stolen, and realizing the expense of buying one here, I’m feeling frustrated and restless. It’s got me motivated to get out of here, get to El Salvador, and get a move on with this trip.

STOLEN: Another Camera

I bought the same model Sony Cybershot DSC-W55 camera on eBay for $100 and had it shipped to Eleanor. I thought this was a good plan because the camera came with everything that was stolen (camera, battery, and memory card), and also included a protective case! I still had the charger and USB cable, so I could pair it all together and have the complete set.

I was going to be at least a week in San Pedro on Lake Atitlan, so I used the Spanish school’s mailing address, and had Eleanor ship it to me, regular mail. I checked on how much it would be with UPS: $80. Regular mail: $8. I decided I didn’t want to get postal insurance because filing a claim with them is a lot of work with only a slight chance of reimbursement, although I was worried that the Guatemalan postal service might “lose” it.

After a week, I was pumped when I got the package in San Pedro. I literally threw my fists in the air with my head down, and let out a quiet “Yes!” I opened up the box and found a neatly-folded white t-shirt. I raised it up to check if my camera was underneath. It obviously wasn’t since it was a shallow box, but I was desperate. My eyes wide, and mouth agape and panting, I let out a quiet “No! No!” I rented my hair and cursed. My feelings went in waves of anger and then disbelief.

My camera was my one big problem; I didn’t care about having my phone stolen, but I needed a camera; I need to document this trip. Realizing I had spent $200 on two cameras that promptly got stolen, and that I would need to spend $150 to $200 more to get a third – $400 total – it killed me.

Initially, I thought it was the Guatemalan postal service that screwed me. However, the t-shirt gave it away. It said “Samuel Gompers High School Physical Education.” I looked up Samuel Gompers and found that it’s a school in the Bronx, NY and that there’s a postal service hub in the same zip code that probably deals with international mail coming from Philadelphia. Some asshole American postal worker stole it. Eleanor had written “Shirt” with a worth of $12 on the customs form on the package. The postal worker probably scanned it, saw it was a hot item, stole it, and then rectified the situation by replacing it with what was written on the package – “Shirt.”

When I got online to email Eleanor about what happened, I saw Ryan was on gchat. I was still fuming, so I ripped up the chat window with CAPITALS. Ryan came back with news of Ashley wanting to date other people. We had both hit low points, financial and emotional, and we both wept – for my lost camera, and his lost girlfriend.

My real low point, though, came when I took a special trip to Panajachal, across the lake, to buy a camera. A good one, like a Canon Powershot model that’s a couple years old, cost 2000 Q, which is $250. I looked on eBay – $125. The expense of these stolen cameras really hit me. I decided I didn’t want to buy it in Pana, a tourist town, and I’d wait to get to Escuintla, a non-tourist, commercial center. All grumpy, I returned by boat to San Pedro. I was frustrated I had wasted $6 round-trip to get to Pana, annoyed at the Guatemalans along the road who were offering me services and handicrafts, and angry at the tuk-tuks honking and getting in my way as I was trying to walk. It was a dark day for me. I must have had a terrible grimace on my face.

I found an okay deal on a camera in Escuintla. All the retail places were “muy caro,” so I was lucky to find a pawn shop with a used Panasonic Lumix DMC-FS5 for $150. I saw online that this camera sells for about the same price in the US when it’s new. Oh well, it seemed to be the best deal going, plus it had a 1 GB memory card included and no additional tax.

So now I’ve spent about $350 on cameras.

Eureka, MT to Cranbrook, BC

mr. awkward guy

This morning was jam-packed with awkward occurrences.  It wasn’t Marina and Chad’s fault.  I’ll totally take the blame for them, just because the universe has placed some weird karmic burden of awkward incidents on my shoulders.  Maybe it’s for everyone’s amusement when I recant the stories.

That morning, I had been taking care of a few things before crossing the border.  This included getting a prepaid phone card, setting up my Skype account, transferring all my phone contacts onto my computer, and paying my health insurance.  The health insurance bit was the one that got me into the awkward circumstance.

After getting off the phone with Aetna, I said out loud, “God, that damn robot.”  I had trouble getting to a human employee for about 20 minutes while on the phone.  “Press 1.   Press 3.  Press 4,” I said with a complaining, whiny tone in my voice.

Chad was reading a book in the living room and probably had no clue what I was talking about.  Suddenly, I heard Marina say from the next room, “Hello.  How are you?  Hello.”  Her voice was somewhat monotone and figured she was making fun of the robot automated voice system.  I went along with it and laughed.

“Greetings human.  What is your favorite color?  Press 1,” I said in a robot voice, joking back.  Marina said something else, but I didn’t hear it so I just laughed.  I walked towards the other room in Marina’s direction.  The door closed.

Marina was on a business call.  I had been talking out loud to myself the whole time.  How embarrassing.  And Chad was right there to take it all in.  Did he notice the whole thing go down?  Was he playing it cool by keeping his eyes on the book?  I couldn’t even play it off.  It was just a pathetic situation.  I continued packing up my crap.

We took a few parting photographs.  This was our sad attempt to recreate the Beatles walk on Abbey Road.

I hugged Marina goodbye.  Chad stuck his hand out while I was going in for a hug.  I crushed his hand.  He stood strong with his back unshaken.  Awkward stiff hug.  What was wrong with me that morning?  Maybe the awkward stuff will subside in Canada.  No.  Probably not.

border crossing

Their house was only a few miles from the border.

That morning, I decided write ‘I <3 Canadian Bacon’ on my bike board.  Surely Canadians will love it.  I thought about it later that day.  If I saw a Canadian with ‘I <3 American Cheese’ on a bike board, I’d question what the hell it meant.  It was probably the same thing for the Canadians.

I pulled up to the border crossing.  A blonde Canadian girl looked at my passport and asked me if I was carrying anything dangerous.  All the routine questions were asked.  She told me I’d need to go inside since this was my first time into Canada.  Ugh.  I didn’t want them pulling out all my neatly packed equipment from my panniers.

Oh shit.  Maybe they saw my bike board sign.  Perhaps they didn’t like it and would keep me there for hours.  All of these retarded fantasies ran through my head.  Will they mock me and call me a stupid American?  Will they de-clothe me of all my ugly cyclist gear and laugh at me?

None of this happened.  I was out of there in about 30 minutes.  They didn’t give a shit about my message.  I had told them I quit my job, so they were concerned I was ducking out of the US and moving to Canada.  Yep.  I have all my belongings on this bicycle.  You got me, border crossing people.

I celebrated my entrance into Canada.

ride to cranbrook

The ride to Cranbrook was a lot of off and on headwinds/tailwinds.  However, I did get some awesome views of the rivers and mountains.

Elk River.

Kootenay Mountain Range.

More Kootenays.

The roads in Canada have this great setup for drivers.  Their road systems are laid out on big signs that you can pull over and look at.

ugliest town in bc

Someone from Fernie had told me that Cranbrook was voted ugliest town in British Columbia.  I soon found out why.  Riding into town, I found that it was littered with strip malls and big chains.  There was a small road that had 5 fast-food restaurants right next to each other.  So much for escaping the fat.  I found that Canadians were just as fat as us.  I stopped next to a bank to get some Canadian dollars and counted 5 obese people walking into a KFC.  I wanted to steal their food from them.  Not for their benefit but for mine.

cyclists and karaoke at a pub

Emmy, my couchsurfing host in Cranbrook, was working at a place called Dewey’s Pub that night.  I walked in with a plan to play an elaborate joke I had drummed up in my head while riding that day.  I walked in, and she immediately knew who I was.  Crap.  I changed shirts and everything.  Did I suck that bad at pranks?

She hooked me up with a burger, fries, and pepsi…all on her tab.  Emmy didn’t even really know me yet.  I could be some really crappy guy, but her hospitality was immediate.  Really kind person.  After a few hours of hanging out, we were getting ready to go when I heard over my shoulder, “Whose bike is that over in the corner?”

Jim, Alex, and Merrick, three Canadian touring cyclists, had walked into the pub to grab some grub.  They had bumped into each other on the road, and they asked us if they wanted to join them.  Of course.

During dinner, I got made fun by all of the Canadians because of my inability to speak in metric terms.  I didn’t think twice about saying feet, inches, miles, etc., so I got ragged on every time I said something in the imperial system.  Damn you dirty Canadians.  You got me this time…

We all got to talking about our destinations, and Jim and Alex asked if I’d like to ride with them to Jasper.  I had been talking about the inflated cost of camping in Jasper and Banff, which was much higher than the camping costs in the US.  If we were all riding together, we could split the cost of campsites.  Unfortunately, our schedules were off by a day, but I exchanged contact info in hopes I’d be able to catch up with them later on the road.

Emmy parents, Paul and Debbie, even came out to join us at the pub.  A bunch of Canadians partied it up with a fat ugly American.

After everyone left, I pleaded with Emmy to do some karaoke with me.  This was my first night in Canada, and I wanted to do it up big by singing Third Eye Blind’s Jumper. After a few more beers, she caved.  We got up and rocked it out.  After the first lyric, I found out she had turned off her mic.  No wonder all you could hear was my screeching, terrible voice.  I imagine it was very painful for everyone at the bar.

To celebrate my victory over karaoke, I treated Emmy to a grilled cheese at Denny’s.  My food was pretty gross.

canadian clown

Merrick stayed an extra day in Cranbrook, so we all hung out that day.  Emmy had to work at Dewey’s Pub, so after chatting it up with her parents, we headed down to the pub.  We shot a few games of pool and took some emo band photos with a huge plasma TV in the background.   Soon enough, the biggest clown in BC walked in.

“Oh, hey you guys!” Emmy said out loud, looking at the door.  Three young people walked in.  They all had baby faces…not a day over 19.  They plopped down and ordered water.  Uh.

I only remember one of their names, which happened to be the only normal person.  Her name was Asia, and she had a nose ring and a lip ring.  She did soil tests for mineral exploration companies.  She had some pretty interesting stories.  Conversation was flowing between Merrick, Asia, and I when suddenly it all went to shit really quickly.

I can’t remember the name of the guy who destroyed the mood for the night.  His name was forgettable, as were all the stupid things he said.  I’ll call him Rob.

Rob was dressed in some stupid prom-looking outfit.  He had on a purple tie, black slacks, and a black button-up shirt.  The top few buttons were undone, revealing his pasty, white skin.  I guess he was trying to show that he had a really tough day of…nothing.  After all, he was drinking water.

“I’m going to law school and hope to be a politician,” Rob said.  OK…cool.  I wasn’t interested, especially since his aspirations were to be a career politician.  Stupid career.  It’s not even meant to be a career but rather a temporary public service.  He soon found out I was from the United States and started complaining about Barrack Obama.  Dude, who the hell do you think you are?

I played devil’s advocate just because I was annoyed by him.  He started talking about the economy and threw all these shitty facts and statistics around.  Cranbrook’s unemployment is ‘blah blah blah’, which has decreased GDP ‘blah blah blah’.  I can’t quote him because I tuned him out off and on.  I was actually counting the number of facial hairs he had.  One…Two…Three…No, no.  That’s an eyelash.  Two.

“The United States used to be the greatest nation in the world from 1900 to 1960, but it’s gone to shit and they have nothing now,” he arrogantly claimed.  “You’re standing in the greatest nation of the world,” he proclaimed.  I asked him if he’s lived in the US or ever visited.  He visited Disney World with his grandmother in Florida.  If that was the extent of his personal knowledge of the US, then I would rather be talking to Mickey Mouse about the current state of Yemen’s economy.  This guy was an idiot, but I wanted to see what other stupid shit he’d say.

Then he got into the war in Afghanisan.  What did this kid know about war?  I’ve never served, but I’m not making stupid, blanket statements.  He sounded like a sound byte from the O’Reilly Factor.  “How can you fight against guys that believe they’re going to have 70 virgins when they die?” he shouted.  I laughed and called him out on how stupid that sounded.  He went silent.  I had shut him up…for two seconds.

I was getting frustrated.  Merrick had exited the converstion a long time ago by just walking away.  I should have done the same thing.  In the end, I told him that he should travel and open his mind before making silly blanket statements about war, Africa, Iraq, Afghanistan, and the current state of the US and its economy.  He agreed.  I wanted to punch him in the head.

Whitefish, MT to Eureka, MT

a little more time in whitefish

I liked Ian and Angela, so I decided to stay another day with them.  That, and the Star Trek/beer combo really left me with some pain that morning.  I couldn’t have cycled if I wanted to.  I spent the day going to the farmer’s market with Angela looking at cool, over-priced crafts and foods.

I took on the part of weirdo and hoola-hooped with all the children.  Some children stepped away from me.  I could hear their whispers…”Mom, why is this ugly guy hoola-hooping near me?”

Angela went into the library.  I couldn’t go in because they didn’t let people in with rollerblades.  Either rollerblades were really popular in Whitefish or this sign was made in the early 90s.

I bought some bacon to make with the pancakes for dinner that evening.  Angela, a cook at Safeway, ate half of the pancakes and fed the rest to her dogs.  I thought they were pretty good.  I guess she didn’t.  We watched An Inconvenient Truth during dinner.  Terrible.  Half of the film was about Al Gore’s boring life and how he developed a life-threatening disease called Crappy Narrator’s Disease.  He probably should have taken voice-acting lessons.  I felt like I was listening to Ben Stein.

onward to eureka

It was a tough goodbye.  I would leave alone.  Ian and Angela would stay in Whitefish with their love.  I should probably look for pathetic people to stay with for now on…not happy, in-love people.

They saw how heartbroken I was to leave them, so Ian welcomed me into his arms, embracing me for hours.

The ride to Eureka was pretty uneventful.  I had a couple oncoming cars come into my lane while passing slower moving cars.  One huge truck almost clipped me with his unnecessarily huge side-view mirror.  I didn’t flinch and steadied my course.  I bet he was really really mad.

I got a great view of Dickey Lake along the highway.  I celebrated with a Gala apple.

After eating a burger in the town of Eureka, I cycled to Marina and Chad’s house, which lies near the Canadian border.  Chad, a talented builder, built the house with his bare hands.  Marina moved to the United States from England and works in costume/warddrobe for the television industry.  She works on all the Jack in the Box commercials.  You know that guy in the snowman head?  Yep.  She that’s her work.  We talked showbiz for hours.

Glacier National Park

a little headstart

It was Father’s Day, so I woke up, called my two pops, and cried.  They realized their son was a girl and hung up on me.

I walked in the kitchen and wished Bill a happy Father’s Day.  He was busy cooking up some breakfast for me and Diane.  Man…when did this generosity end?  They also told me they’d drive me up to the campground so I could have a full day of hiking and cycling in the park.  I loved these guys.  Please be my second family, Diane and Bill.

Bill drove us up to Hungry Horse Dam.  Huge.

And we stopped to admire some rapids.  I secretly admired their love.

Finally, they dropped me off at Avalanche Campground.  I said goodbye to them.  Bill felt weird about just dropping me off.  I kept telling him I’d be OK and that I had everything I needed to live.  I didn’t tell him I needed love.  I wanted love.  That would have been awkward, so I kept up the machismo.

avalanche lake…hi…hello…how are you

Avalanche campground was situated right next to Avalanche Creek.  Hiking up along the creek, I’d be able to get to Avalanche Lake.  I heard it was gorgeous, so off I went.

There were a ton of hikers out on the trail.  It was very different from Yellowstone.  There, no one would get out of their cars.  Here, you had to get your ass out and hike to see anything cool.  This was both a good and bad thing.  Every time I passed someone, they said hello and asked how I was doing.  I probably said hello about 80 times on this 2.5 mile hike up to the lake.  I wanted to be European and just nod, but I couldn’t let myself do that.  I felt obligated to smile.  Most of them were probably wondering why the hell I was wearing cyclist clothing.

Most of the hike was in the woods.  I turned a corner and all this lush vegetation came out of nowhere.

I finally got to the lake.  It was spectacular.

There were tons of waterfalls to the southeast emptying into the lake.  I wasn’t satisfied with this view.  I wanted one without a treeline in the foreground.

I continued my hike until the trail ended.  Hmm.  I went along a worn trail obstructed with tons of fallen trees.  My goal was to get to a snowfield and get a good shot for Shannon’s Father’s Day message on the bike board.  After a little bit more hiking, I finally found the spot.

Bam.

I hiked back down in the rain.

unsatisfied and bored, no longer

It was 6:30 PM.  I wasn’t tired and had already eaten dinner.  I wanted more.  I went over to speak to one of the park employees.  Mid-conversation, I said, “Yeah, I wish Logan Pass was open to bikers because Id love to do it right now.”

“Huh?  It is open to hikers and bikers.  Just not cars,” he said.  WHAT!?  Why was I still standing there?  Being this far north, there was ambient light until 10:30-11 PM.  I had plenty of time.  I saddled up and took off.

My legs were pounding on the pedals once again.  I was riding unloaded and was going uphill at 16 mph.  It was like I had been training in 4x Earth gravity, and now I was cycling in 1x gravity.  Well.  I guess technically I was with as much weight as I’d been carrying.

The ride up was about 18 miles of uphill, but I was conquering it with ease.  Man, I wish I could ride like this all the time.  I could do 100 mile days every day easily.  Without the bags, I had a chance to take in the beauty of Going-to-the-sun Road.

I caught two other cyclists fully loaded going up the pass.  They were a little overweight and were gasping for breath.  I started talking their heads off.  I was riding on a huge high.  I could tell the wife was getting annoyed with me.  I was speaking to them without taking a breath, and here they were vomiting off the sides of their bikes.  They were trying to get over the pass and find a campground.  I took a hint and cycled off.

Wildlife comes out in hordes around sundown.  This mountain goat started walking towards me without fear.  He was probably 10 feet away from me.  I didn’t know if he was going to headbutt me off the side of the mountain.

Westward shot of the valley.  The sun was cresting on the mountains breaking through the clouds, creating a somewhat angelic effect on the landscape.

The road was littered with these beautiful falls going down the side of the mountain.

I couldn’t believe that this road was still there in one piece.  The masonry was very impressive.

And here’s the Weeping Wall.

I got a few more shots for Shannon close to the top of Logan Pass.  I was a little cocky with my handstand and probably shouldn’t have done it.  When you look over the wall, it’s straight down.  But I did it anyways.

I got to the top of Logan Pass.  A cloud covered the entire top of the mountain.  I felt great.  This had been the most beautiful 3 hours of cycling of the entire trip.  ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?

Yay.

I cycled back down the pass.  It was getting dark.  I had putzed around a while and ended up killing a lot of time.  It was hard not to.  Every view was incredible.  I saw the cyclists on the way down.  I was still full of energy, and they were dead tired and annoyed once again by me talking.  They did tell me there had been a black bear just 2 miles back.  Cycling down, I found out it was where I was taking pictures for Shannon.  Damnit!

I kept talking to people on the way down.  They told me they always see mountain lions on the side of the road at this time.  ‘Tons’ they said.  Shit.  I had like 12 miles to go, and it was pretty much dark.

I killed more time taking pictures of this buck walking right with me.  It was not scared by an ugly cyclist.  He was only 6 feet away.

I couldn’t believe I made it back to camp.  It was nearly pitch black.  On the remaining few miles of the ride down, I had shut my iPod off and was freaking out at nearly every animal sighting I had.  I did not want to run into a bear or lion in the dark.

rain, rain, and more rain

It had started raining pretty hard by the time I crawled into my tent.  I thought for sure by the time I woke up the rain would be gone.

It wasn’t.  Shit.  You can’t cycle certain sections of Glacier from 11-4 PM.  It was 8 AM.  Maybe in an hour or two it would stop.

It didn’t.  Shit.  Now I’m stuck at the campground from 11-4 PM.  It was pouring.  If it was a drizzle, I would have had no problem packing up.  I sat there staring at the top of the tent for a few hours.  I had nothing to read and was desperate for the rain to stop.  I read shitty stuff like the bear mace instructions and the tag on my sleeping bag.  God.  This sucked.  Did you know that bear mace was only good for 7.2 seconds before being completely gone?

I fell back asleep and woke up at 2 PM to the sound of thud, thud, thud on my tent roof.  Yep.  Still raining.  I cursed the weather, but then I felt bad about doing that because it would only punish me more.  Maybe this was Glacier’s way of punishing me for gloating at the top of Logan Pass.

I said ’screw it’ and got out of my tent.  I begrudgingly packed up.  Everything was wet.  There was a leak through the side stitching of my tent.  I was supposed to camp that night.  I thought about it for a while and decided to head out to Whitefish.  The rain was still going strong, and it had been nearly 18 hours since the rain started.  Total mind job.  I was frustrated but very grateful that the weather gave me a chance the previous night to cycle Logan Pass.

nathaan, my hero

I cycled about 16 miles down to Apgar Village along Lake McDonald.

I was walking around like an idiot with my phone in the air staring at my absence of signal bars.  A dark-haired guy came up to me and asked me about my trip.  His name was Nathaan.  I could immediately tell that he was a positive, energetic guy.  I enjoyed talking to him, but he had somewhere to go.  He walked off, and I continued trying to find a spot that had at least a bar of coverage.

I failed to find a solid spot for service.  Agh.  At that time, Nathaan came back up to me and offered me a ride to Whitefish, which was about 25-ish miles away.  Hell yes.  I wanted to hoist him up on my shoulders and celebrate, but that might have been a little awkward.  I smiled and a new positive energy overcame me.  On the ride to Whitefish, I found out Nathaan was a huge soccer player.  He had been on the reserves squad in the UK for a Premiere League team.  This guy had to be a high-caliber player.

We spent about 30 minutes talking at a coffee shop in Whitefish before he took off to soccer practice.  When he left, I went in for a man hug.  He had put his hand out, and my body crushed his goodbye gesture.  Shit.  I called myself on it and demanded a re-do.  I fucked it up again.  God I’m pathetic.  I think I’m just an awkward person when it comes to all of that.  He was smooth.  I was a bumbling idiot.  It was a good way to say goodbye I guess.

star trek and beer

Angela, my couchsurfing host for the night, was cool with me coming a day early, but she wasn’t home from work yet.  I met up with Ian, her boyfriend that lived with her.  I waited for him at the city beach that they lived near.  I felt like I was on an episode of Blind Date.  My back was to him, and he walked up.  “Ryan?” he said.

It could have been a gay episode of Blind Date. I got along really well with him.  He gave me some of his home-brewed beer, and I offered to buy us some Missoula-brewed beer.  We talked for a few hours, downing beer after beer.  I felt like a man again, until Angela got home and later made fun of how well we got along.  “Did you guys make out last night and have sex?” she asked me the next day.  Can’t two guys just intimately talk and drink beers together???  While being shirtless???

We spent the rest of the night watching Star Trek episodes.  They were actually really good.  Man.  What was I turning into?  Angela couldn’t take the nerdiness and went to bed.

Ronan, MT to Kalispell, MT

FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT

After eating some blueberry pancakes with Stacey, I hopped on the highway going north to Flathead Lake.  I was riding on a pretty big shoulder when a white van crossed over the rumble strip only a few feet away from me.  I gave him a “what the hell” gesture with my arm, and the passenger looked back at me through the rear window.  Were these guys messing with me?

I’ve learned that waving to people instead of reacting with the middle finger pisses people off even more.  Asshole drivers don’t like it when they realize you aren’t affected by their devious ways.  Needless to say, I waved to the white van.

SCREEEEECH.  They slammed on their brakes a hundred feet ahead of me, and the driver stormed out of the car.  He threw up his arms in wild gestures.  I had no clue why he was angry, but I was looking forward to hearing his explanation.  I continued to wave to him as I closed in on his position, but I think this fueled his anger.  Just before I got to him, he hopped in his car and took off.  For the rest of the day, I was fantasizing about this white van pulling up behind me and going after me offroad as I veered into a forest.  I wanted ET to be on my front pannier so I’d ride off a cliff and fly as the white van ran into a canyon, exploding violently upon impact.

That never happened.  But at one point in the day, a white van pulled up next to me, matching my speed.  Shit!  They followed me!  I looked over.  It was a big woman smiling at me.  It was a little awkward.  I nodded and smiled.  She continued to wave.  Um.

flathead lake

I decided to go off-route a little and take the scenic ride on the eastern side of Flathead Lake.  I was told by numerous people in Montana that this road had no shoulder.  Hmm.  The best way to get people to slow down was to make a solid, humorous bike board message.  So I decided to write what would be my sad, pathetic newspaper dating ad:

Every single person on that highway slowed down to read the board.  That sign probably saved my life because there was absolutely no shoulder on the road.  It was full of semitrailers hauling ass.

The rain had been coming down pretty hard all day, so I decided to stop by a burger joint and treat myself to lunch.

you been stoned?

This guy at the burger place took an interest in my bike and struck up a conversation.  We got to talking, and he started telling me that his family was in Canada.  “Oh?  Do you go up and see them often?” I asked.  He told me he can’t go into Canada for reasons that he didn’t want to get into.

He then proceeded to ask me if I’ve been stoned and if I wanted to come over to his house to smoke some bud.  After saying this, he uncontrollably laughed through his missing teeth.  Hmm.  This guy just told me he can’t get into Canada.  Maybe he had a male touring cyclist fetish.  I kindly declined his offer and cycled off to Kalispell.

sad, wet cyclist and paying it forward

I turned onto Highway 93 going towards Kalispell.  There was a driver that looked over at me and stared.  I gave him the ‘ugly face’ and did a horrible smile.  He laughed and waved.  That made me happy.

I was going along the bike path to town when I saw a cyclist walking his bike on the side of the highway.  I pulled up next to him and accidentally startled him.  His name was Logan.  He was a mentally handicapped guy who had gotten a flat tire.  He had been walking his bike in the rain for miles, and no one had stopped to ask him if he was OK.  I couldn’t leave him and do nothing.  The Ryan before this trip would have easily done that.  “Oh, someone else will pull over and help him.  I’m sure that guy knows what he’s doing,” the old Ryan would have said.  Being on this trip, I’ve been helped by so many people.  It would have been a shit thing to just keep going.

I asked him what size his tires were.  He didn’t know.  He was walking it to his house about 5 miles away.  That would have taken him two hours easily at the trudgingly slow pace he was going.  Plus it was raining.  I asked him if he’d ever hitchhiked.  He didn’t know what it was or how to do it.  I considered riding to town to pick up a tube, but that would have taken quite a while.

I wiped off my bike board message and replaced it with this:

I stood there for a while with the sign in my hands and my thumb out.  I was trying to target trucks but started going after cars.  Man.  These fucking people were not even looking at me and did everything to avoid eye contact.  They would look away as they drove by, pretending not to see me there.  I was getting pissed.  I was getting pissed for Logan.

A truck finally slows down, and a guy named Van tells me to throw the bike in the back.  I told Van the situation, and Logan was very grateful for the help.  When cycling through town, I tried to track Logan down by stopping at the bike shop.  I was going to try paying for his tube.  The bike shop employee was pretty cool and said if Logan stopped by, they’d hook him up.  Hopefully Logan will take his bike there.

I understand the implicit fear people have of strangers, but that only shuts you out from meeting great people and doing great things.  At least take a moment to ’size’ up a hitchhiker or someone who is stranded calling out for help.  To drive by and avoid eye contact was a heartbreaking thing for me.  There was no compassion. Eoin mentioned this type of thing to me before this trip as he lent a guy his cellphone, but I now fully understand what he meant.  A small gesture means so much to people, and it will go a long ways.

kalispell

I got to Diane and Bill’s house later that evening.  I spent time talking to their two sons, Zach and Marshall, before their parents got home.   We talked about video games, babes, and more babes.  Weird old guy on a bicycle talking to teenagers about babes.

Diane and Bill own a heating and air business in town and are really passionate about their company.  I soon learned that they were very energetic, positive people and a blast to be around.  Diane cooked up spaghetti that night, and we all spent a little time watching some Eddie Izzurd before I hopped in their hot tub.

The next day was spent updating the blog.  There was a gay pride march in town, and I begged Zack and Marshall to attend it with me.  We could have marched shirtless down the street.  Sadly, they declined.  Later that evening, Diane cooked up some elk burgers and cheese broccoli.  More calories to heal my broken muscles.

And then I sat the whole family down for a talk.  “Listen guys, there’s something I’ve been hiding,” I said in a hushed tone.  Then out came my secret weapon.  Yo Zack, Marshall, Diane, and Bill…You got BROWNED!

Missoula, MT to Ronan, MT

hitting it hard

I was sad to say goodbye to Liz.  She had been great to me.  As a final touch on an amazing stay, she gave me a University of Montana t-shirt.  Awesome.  I gave her a hug goodbye and rode off in solitude.

I had been antsy to hop on the bike for a few days.  For the first few hours of the ride, my legs were pounding on the pedals.  It felt really good.  I hadn’t had a challenging ride for over a week, and I was ready for one.  I made a pretty decent climb heading north out of Missoula.  I hit what seemed to be 15 miles of construction.  I went through huge sections of highway that were gravel with no shoulder.  It was also pouring rain too.  This rain seemed to be following me.  It liked me, but I didn’t like it.

After a few hours of cycling, I stopped at the National Bison Range to rest.  I was treated with this awesome view of the Swan Range.

I was happy to get a call from Eoin.  He was checking in on me.  Really good friend.  I needed someone to talk to after leaving Missoula.  I missed riding with him…I missed his company.  I offered to pay him back for his Skype call, but he refused.  He kindly accepted the $.02 a minute charge.  Good friend.  Great friend.

stacey forgot my name

That night I’d be pitching a tent in someone’s yard.  I had contacted Thomas, a touring cyclist, and he told me it was cool to camp in his yard.  He wouldn’t be there, but his wife Stacey would be.

I rolled up to their house early in the evening.  Their cabin was right next to the mountains.  Stacey welcomed me into the house and asked me what I wanted to eat.  I told her steak and potatoes.  And a lot of beer.  I also demanded chocolates.  And I wanted to watch Pay-per-view.

Actually, she offered to cook up some Mexican food, and she did offer me beer.  She also told me that I could roll out my sleeping bag on the screened-in porch due to all the rain.  Sweet.

Stacey, Thomas, and their son had done bicycle tours of Europe.  Their last trip was 10 months.  Pretty awesome.  Later, Stacey told me she’d give her friend in Washington a call to see if it was cool if I could stay with them when passing through.  She called them up, and I quickly found out that Stacey had forgotten my name.  Man.  I’m worthless.  She thought it was funny that she had forgotten her name.  She proceeded to call me Bob.  What?  You don’t know my name so you give me ridiculously common name.  Was that a guess or did you think my name was Bob?  She continued to laugh.  Thanks Kelly.

I crawled into my sleeping bag and fell asleep pretty quickly.

A week in Missoula, MT

Doherty, Doherty?

I woke up that morning with a renewed happiness.  I was going to see my girl after being months on the road without seeing a familiar face.  I was actually getting butterflies about seeing her, like a first date or something.

Liz was kind enough to drive to the airport and pick up Ashley with me.  Prior to this, I was going to pick Ashley up on bicycle.  I didn’t know how it was going to work, but it would have had to work.

I whipped out the bike board and wrote Doherty on it.  I wanted to make sure I had the right person and that she had the right person.  She might not recognize me with my facial hair and buzz cut.  And my huge legs and scrawny upper body.  And really brown arms.

I saw her a hundred feet away wandering around.  She turned around and started walking towards me.  She saw the sign and started laughing.  Butterflies were taking over my stomach.  The song from Pretty Woman started playing over the airport speakers, and Ashley literally slowed down her walk, her hair defying gravity as it whooshed back and forth.  She and everyone else at the airport were in slo-mo.  Was this happening?  No.  None of that happened, but I wish it did.

I was happy.  Very happy.  It’s hard to describe seeing someone close to you after being in unfamiliar places by yourself for such a long time.  You suddenly feel grounded.  But I had grown as a person, and the Ryan prior to March 17th was a different person from the Ryan that stood before her.  Would we get along?  How would the week turn out?  Would she have fun with the new Ryan?  I was anxious to find out.  A huge positive energy flowed all around me once she was in my presence.

a piece of my experience

I was really looking forward to showing Ashley what this trip meant to me.  I wanted her to experience the things I was experiencing.  For the week, that would mean:  exploring towns, cycling, camping, couchsurfing, and meeting new people.  Before she came out, we had disagreements on what to do.  I didn’t want to stay in a hotel and be cooped up from experiences.  Hotels usually result in vegetating and watching a stupid amount of TV in an over-air-conditioned room.  Screw that noise.

We came to an agreement, and she would be open to these experiences.  And I told her I’d make sure she’d have a great time.

UM Mountain

Liz told us that we should hike up to the ‘M’ that overlooks the University of Montana and the entire city.  Liz also kindly let Ashley use her cruiser bike.  Awesome!  I wouldn’t have to worry about getting us to a bike shop in town and finding her a bike.

We cycled down to UM Mountain, a 3 mile ride.  At first, I was really worried about Ashley being on a bike.  She hadn’t been on a bicycle since she was like 8.  I stayed behind her and to the left on the edge of the bike lane, forcing cars to slow down and pass us with ease.  Or they could have just hit me and not given a shit.  But all the drivers in Missoula are very kind and give lots of space.  There were a ton of cyclists in this city, and bikes lane were on nearly every street.

We made it down to the university without any problems.  I was proud of Ashley.  No complaints.  No bitching.  Now we had a big hike up to the M, which was incredibly steep.  Tons of people were out there hiking.

We took our time hiking up, chatting and laughing.  We finally got to the top and partied our asses off.  It was a pretty incredible view of the city.

Ashley sunbathed on the ‘M’.

And we celebrated by doing handstands.  I couldn’t have her come on this trip and not be a part of the handstand motif.

We hiked back down and hopped back on the bikes.  This would be a 3 mile ride uphill back to Liz’s house.  I was anxious to see how Ashley would take it.  She took it…and well.  She only stopped once.  I was the positive cheerleader behind her.  It probably got really annoying constantly hearing these phrases:

I’m proud of you!

You’re almost there.

You’re doing great.

You’re doing awesome.

Great job!

I just wanted her to stay positive and not get burned out on cycling the very first day.  She ended up doing great and making it back in one piece.  I cooked up some quesadillas and brownies.

Yo Liz and Ashley…you got BROWNED!

lolo hot springs

Ashley and I had been planning on visiting a place called Lolo Hot Springs before she came out.  I had looked on the map and questioned whether she’d be able to cycle that far.  It was 40 miles from Liz’s house, and all she had was a single-speed cruiser bike.  Ashley didn’t have padded shorts, but I gave her mine and they ‘kind of’ fit.  The plan was to cycle to Lolo, camp for two nights, and enjoy the hot springs and amenities there.  It really looked like a nice place.  The website bragged about their beautiful, secluded tent sites and wonderful, clean facilities.  The restaurant was great dining, and the hot springs were not to be rivaled.  Sounded great.  Off we went.

The ride out of town was downhill and flat.  I was worried about the ride up to the town of Lolo, which was 15 miles from Liz’s house.  Parts of the highway had guard rails and incredibly small shoulders…not the place for a new cyclist.  There were also parts of it that had a pretty decent grade of 5-6%.  Ashley conquered it, and I was proud of her.  To celebrate, we stopped at a McDonald’s to eat lunch.

ugly, mean, fat lady

I sat down at a table while Ashley ordered food.  Just next to my table sat a woman with two kids and her old parents.  I began crunching into my apple, and her son turned around and said, “Mom, he’s eating an apple.  Why?”  The kid was confused I was eating a piece of fruit?  He probably didn’t know what an apple was by the looks of the mother.  She probably fed them chicken nuggets and french fries every day.

I shrugged it off.  It’s just a kid.  The mom said under her breath but clearly audible to me, “I don’t understand why people bring food into McDonald’s.  It’s a restaurant.  That’s annoying.  Just get freaking food at the register and eat.”  She said a few more things that I could not hear.

What the hell?  You bitch.  I wanted to grab her head and throw it in the milkshake machine, dunking it later in a huge mound of ketchup.  We’re ordering food you asshole.  Last time I checked, there wasn’t an ‘Apple and Fries #5′ combo.  I guess I should have checked with her before bringing in the apple.  Clearly she was McDonald’s Security and fast-food ambassador.

I was grinding my teeth in anger.  Ashley sat back down at the table, and I asked, “Do you want a banana?  An apple?  A bagel with peanut butter?”  I wasn’t going to confront this lady and make it an awkward meal for the both of us.  I’d just piss her off by eating more food at McDonald’s.  Ashley didn’t know what was going on and continued to eat.

Here is this lady in all her ugly glory:

I wanted to take my revenge Chaucer-style by writing about her.  Yes, you got away with being a bitch.  But I have struck you down with my blog.

I happily ate a big burger.

rain and rain and rain and rain

Ashley and I had about 27 miles before we got to the hot springs.  Quite a ride.  The ride to Lolo had been pretty mild.  We’d be going uphill for the rest of the ride.  With full stomachs, we rode off in high spirits.

It didnt take long for the rain to dump on us.  I couldn’t believe it.  This huge storm system came out of nowhere and took a huge, watery crap on us.  Ashley persisted.

I was actually in a worse mood than she was.  She was manning up against the cold, wet rain better than I.  We stopped and threw on rain gear.

The last 10 miles were pretty hard on Ashley.  Our stops became more frequent, and Ashley was losing steam.  I kept telling her I was proud of her and she was doing great, but she told me to “shutup”.  Pretty funny, looking back.  Positive guy getting shut down.  There would be no cheerleading according to Ashley.

Turning the corner, Lolo Hot Springs came into view.  Ashley’s mood was instantly elevated, and she became a chatterbox.  I was happy she was happy.  We had overcome a struggle together, and I felt like our relationship had strengthened from that struggle.

lolo…no, no…

We pulled into the registration area.  I didn’t like the looks of this place, and it wasn’t what I saw on the website.  The website offered beautiful pictures.  This was not a beautiful picture.

The bear-proof dumpsters were overflowing with trash.  They weren’t very bear-proof when they’re like that, Lolo Hot Springs.  The tent site area was flooded and muddy.  Secluded?  My ass.  They were all out in an open grass field.  The rest of the place was jam-packed with RVs.  Really?  I couldn’t believe it.  I checked out the facilities.  Not well kept.  This was officially bullshit.  But we didn’t have much of an option.

We walked in to pay for a tent site.  There went $20.  I wanted a tipi site due to the rain, but the owner let me know that they weren’t doing tipis this year.  Uh, that’s not what your website said.  I wanted to scream, “LIAR LIAR PANTS ON FIRE!”  This was the remains of a tipi site.

The owner was kind enough to let us know that they have a water contamination notice.  He wouldn’t have told me if I didn’t ask about the water condition.  The state evidently had slammed them with a warning about their water.  It was polluted and contaminated with God knows what.  He reassured me its fine to drink.  Ashley looked in their car.  They had bottled water.  Man, fuck this guy.  I was really pissed off about our situation.  I was mostly disappointed because I wanted Ashley to have a good time.

I set up camp, and we walked over to the restaurant.

$9 microwave dinners

We walked up the steps of the restaurant and saw this.  Great.  A pair of dirty BVD’s.  I bet this place has great food.  Really clean and scrumptious.  What the hell were a pair of dirty men’s underwear doing there?  More importantly, why hadn’t anyone picked them up?

We asked for a menu.  Cool.  Really shitty food for $9.  They couldn’t cook meals because of the water situation.  How about a notice on your website, you liars?  Your website was total bullshit.  I hope that people google this place and find this post.  To those people that do, do not go to this place.  It sucks hard.  A few people stopped by the restaurant to see what was up.  They walked in and had a “what the hell” look on their faces after seeing the menu.  Pretty funny.

Surrendering to the shittiness of the menu, I ordered a chicken sandwich and fries.  Ashley ordered a microwaveable cheese pizza.  We got canned cokes too.  That was the best part of the meal, actually.

nudie nite

We walked over to the hot springs after eating our wonderful meal.  We were informed that it was nudie nite at the hot springs.  We shrugged it off.  This might be interesting.  It was.

We saddled up in our bathing suits for an interesting night.  We went outside to the pool to mentally prepare.  There were a ton of naked old people in the indoors hot springs.  Oh man.  I kept telling myself to keep my eyes focused on the walls and to go to a happy place.  Be cool, Ryan.  Don’t freak out.  We were as prepared as we could possibly get.

We walked into the hot springs.  BAM.  A flood of small, unkept weeners engaged my eyes in a vicious stare down.  The weeners won.  There were old women nude in there too, but it was the weeners that beat me down.  I wanted to laugh hysterically but not in the humorous fashion.  This night had turned into some huge mind fuck.  Was I was in a romantic comedy?  Should I talk with an English accent like Hugh Grant for now on?

We made our way down into the hot springs.  I was mentally out of it.  Stupid me slipped on the last step and plunged into the hot water.  This brought all the attention to me.  No!  Pretend I’m not here.  I wanted to go underwater and hide.  Then I thought about it.  All of this water was flowing against the uncovered balls and weeners of these old men.  A patch of water caught some light, and what I saw almost made me projectile vomit into the old people’s faces.  Huge amounts of dead skin were floating by my chest, probably getting caught in my chest hair.  Great.  I’d go to bed in my sleeping bag knowing I was covered in ball skin.  Ashley laughed about it.

We sat in the water.  I looked into Ashley’s eyes and tried not to look away.  We were surrounded, like wildebeests surrounded by a pack of lions.  There was nowhere to sit on the edges of the hot springs without being next to someone.  Here we were, the only clothed people in the hot springs in the very center.  I could feel the eyes burning holes into me.  These people wanted to see my peepee.

creepy hairy guy

Throughout the nite, there was this one other fat hairy guy in a bathing suit at the hot springs staring at people.  He stared at me, and he stared at Ashley.  You know those eye contact wars you sometimes have with people?  This guy would not go down.  He was not human.  He would just stare a hole right through you.  It was bad.  If this guy had a theme song, it was Cropwell’s “Somebody’s Watching Me”.

I couldn’t take it.  I had to escape this guy.  We went out to the pool for a while, but it was pouring rain and very cold.  I wasn’t looking forward to the tent.  We had laid out our clothes on a table, and I’m sure the sleeping bag was wet too.  We came back in after a while, hoping he was gone.  He was still there but staring at other people.  “Quick, get in the water before he burns a hole into my pelvis region with his eyes!” I thought.

It was getting close to closing time, and all the old folks made their exit.  We stayed behind for a while.  Suddenly, the lights flicked on and off.  The lady at the desk was trying to pressure us to leave.  We had 45 minutes left.  We prepared to leave anyways.  Ashley overheard the lady talking on the phone.  She was getting booty-called and wanted to get the hell out of dodge.  This lady was huge too.  I didn’t want to think about it.

cold with no pillow

Sleeping in a one-man tent with two people was going to be a challenge.  I let Ashley use the sleeping bag and my pillow.  All my clothes were wet, so I had nothing to cover my body.  It was also going to dip down into the lower 40s.  I wanted Ashley to get a full nite’s rest because it was a huge day for her.  I figured I’d just suffer through it.

The nite was a long one for me.  I was sleeping on a mat with nothing on my body and nothing under my head.  I often woke up shivering my ass off.  I could feel the water seeping through the tent.  It continued to pour, and pour hard it did.

hangover morning

After a long nite, I woke up to a terrible headache and bloodshot eyes.  All the blood went into my head because of the slope of the ground and having no pillow.  I felt like shit run over.  I stumbled to the bathroom with poor vision.  Everything was blurry.  What was wrong with me?  Was I drugged by the hot springs?  Did I accidentally drink the contaminated water?

Ashley slowly got up, but she seemed well-rested and good to go.  I begrudgingly packed up.  We ate plain bagels and fruit.  Ashley never complained about the food and happily ate it.  She understood my hunger now.  She commented that she was hungry all day yesterday and that she couldn’t stop eating.

It started to pour.  Shit.  No.  I had sent Liz an email the prior nite asking if it was OK to come back to her place.  I didn’t want to give anymore money to this place.  I had dropped $60 in one day here.  That was enough for me.  Ashley offered to buy us food at the restaurant.  I didn’t want her giving them any money too.  I was ready to get back to Missoula.  40 miles stared us back in the face.  In the rain.

We cycled about 7 miles before pulling over to the side of the road, seemingly defeated by the weather.  Ashley wanted to hitchhike.  She wanted to hitchhike so bad, in fact, that she asked me if we could hitchhike with a semi-trailer going the opposite way.  I laughed and stuck out my thumb at the first pickup truck that passed us.  I doubted we’d get a ride having two bikes and all.

The truck hit their brakes and turned around.  “Shit!  Come on!” I yelled to Ashley.  We cycled down to meet them.  They were a cyclist couple from Bozeman, MT.  Mary and Kent were their names.  Ashley was pumped.  I was pumped.  They said they’d be able to drop us off in Missoula too, and they didn’t mind driving to Liz’s neighborhood.

Ashley had questioned hitchhiking prior to this trip, but an hour of cycling in the rain quickly changed her mind.  She realized that hitchhiking was not the fear-laden shit you see all the time in scary movies.  I hear this quite a lot, and people need to get out of their bubbles.  That mentality shuts you out from meeting great people.  Hitching leads to great stories too.  Yes, there are freakshows out there.  There are sharks in the water too, but you still see people swimming in the ocean.  Mary and Kent were great people, and we had great conversation with them.

the coolest rancher ever

We came back to Liz’s house to find her husband Warren there.  He’s runs their family ranch of 40,000 acres in Chinook, MT.  I immediately felt comfortable around him.  He had a really warm and fun personality, always laughing and joking.  Upon hearing our horror story, Liz and Warren offered to make us some late afternoon lunch.  We were showered with their hospitality upon arrival.

They told us they were going to see the movie Hangover later that night and wanted us to come along.  Absolutely.  I really enjoyed their company.  After the movie, they even bought us dinner at a local diner.  Man, I was really taken aback by the day’s turn of events.  We were showered in hospitality.

being happy little tourists

The next day, Ashley told me she still wanted to see more of the town.  Warren said we could use his truck, but Ashley opted to cycle around town.  Whoah.  Ashley was awesome.  I was super happy she was welcoming the experience with an open mind.

We hopped back on the bikes and made our way into town.

A couple happy and in love with their college shirts.  Annoying, matching shirt couple.

We spent much of the day walking around town.  Afterward, we grabbed some ice cream.

I was not looking forward to seeing her leave my company the next day.  I really had a good time.  Maybe some of the best times of the trip.  She held me in her arms.

It made me happier, so I gave her a ride on my back in the air.

Later that evening, we got back to the house and ate dinner with the whole crew:  Warren, Liz, Jordon, Genise, and Maura.  We stayed up late again talking about Michael Jackson, Jon and Kate, and library science.

Hamilton, MT to Missoula, MT

good morning

I had a good night’s sleep and was feeling pretty good.  I ended up being lazy and took my time leaving.  I played with Tim and Cassie’s dog Sophie for a while.

Their cat was acting like it had cycled 80 miles.

I was pretty excited about the day’s ride.  It was going to be a relatively flat ride and the sun was out.  I was mostly excited because Ashley would be flying into Missoula the next day.  That’s all I could think about.  I had also decided that I would purchase a laptop to be able to keep up with the blog.  I weight the purchase in my head for a while.  I was on a budget.  But I’ve grown tired of stressing about finding a library to sit at for a few hours to update the blog.  I was questioning how frequent the updates should be, and whether it’s worth it.  Then again, I don’t want to do a disservice to my experiences by not typing them up.

I wanted to make a pretty solid bike message because I’d be on a highway with a TON of traffic and high speed limit.  The shoulder was also very, very small in many stretches of the highway.  I ended up with this message:

People slowed down to read it.  That was my goal.  Success.  People also thought it was funny.  After about 4 hours, I rolled into Missoula with plenty of time to kill.  Liz, my couchsurfing host in Missoula, would be flying in late that night, but she told me that her son Jordon would meet me at the house.  He didn’t get off work until 7 PM, so I rode to Best Buy to purchase my laptop.  Riding into town was a good experience for me.  There were bike paths everywhere, and people didn’t hesitate to speak to me.  One girl led me on a bicycle to show her favorite bicycle.  Another guy was willing to lead me to a bicycle shop on his bike.  A girl leaned out of her car to tell me I wasn’t ugly.  A great first impression of the town.

When purchasing the laptop, I was surprised to find out that there’s no sales tax in Montana.  Good for me, but bad for property owners.  Property tax was where the state made its money.  Pretty shitty for ranchers actually.  The salesman tried selling me ‘accidental insurance’ for half of the laptop’s cost.  Uh, yeah no.

dewey decimal system

I also bought some food at Walmart.  In the end, I was probably teetering around 120 pounds, and my day had turned into a 70+ mile day.  I cycled up a long incline to Liz’s house where I unloaded my crap.  Jordon showed up later that evening with his girlfriend Genise and friend Maura.  We stayed up until 3 AM talking about Michael Jackson’s age and the Dewey Decimal System.  Genise, a student of library science, was a big proponent of the system.  Her eyes lit up when speaking about the subject.  Jordon and I preferred a color coded system at the library.  “Actually, I’d prefer alphabetical order,” he told Genise.  Genise’s support for Dewey and his incredible Decimal System was bruised but not shattered.

Liz got home battered from a long ride from the airport.  Her daughter’s bachelorette party had been that weekend in Vegas.  Her daughter danced on a glass table and stepped on a salt shaker, getting glass all up in her foot.  Liz spent a lot of time at the emergency room.  The only naked guys she saw were probably old men getting sponge baths.  Poor Liz.  Poor old men.

Wisdom, MT to Hamilton, MT

wisdom was cold

My coat and sleeping bag had pretty much covered my face the entire night.  I woke up to the early light around 6 AM and started packing up.  I ate a banana and bagel and wanted more calories, so I headed over to the two restaurants in town.  Neither of them were open yet.  Off I went towards Big Hole National Battlefield.

The ride up to Big Hole was nice, although uphill.  There were a ton of birds out, which I usually don’t see because I had not been riding this early.  I turned off the iPod for a while and enjoyed the dozens of different songs.  I also saw a few pronghorn (often improperly called antelope) which have the ability to run up to 60 mph.  What?  There were no cheetahs here.  Why do they need to run that fast?  Evidently they’re resultant prey from ~12,000 years ago, and they had to outrun predators such as North American cheetahs and lions.

big hole national battlefield

I was excited visit this place because Kurt had given me a very solid synopsis of the history.  I’ll try to do it justice off the top of my head:

The Nez Perce had their territory decreased by roughly 90% throughout a series of treaties in a short amount time.  There were two groups of Nez Perce.  Group A wanted to abide by the US government’s wishes, and Group B wanted nothing to do with it.

When on the reservation, a young brave was insulted by a white woman.  The whitey told the young brave that he was a coward for not avenging his father’s death.  To be teased in the Indian community was a big thing, so to preserve his honor, he wrangled up a few of his brave buddies and avenged his father’s death on roughly 10 male whiteys.  This pissed off the white locals and the US government, so they sent in a small force to squash this conflict.  Before the standoff, no one had fired a shot.  Suddenly, an inexperienced US volunteer prematurely shot a young brave, and this set the conflict in motion.

A few of the Nez Perce Group B warriors had served with the US army and knew US military tactics.  They went after officers and the soldiers that sounded the bugles, effectively cutting off communication.  They tore up the US army in a series of battles, and this really pissed off army HQ.  They started to send more and more troops after them, but they couldn’t quite catch them.

Fast forward to Big Hole.  The Nez Perce had set up camp in a place known for its hunting.  They decided not to post up watchmen.  They did this because they looked at Montana as another ‘territory/tribe’, acting independently of the other states.  Their conflict was with those in Idaho.  Gibbons, leading a small troop, found their camp in the middle of the night and ambushed the defenseless Nez Perce camp in the morning.  It was an incredibly violent ambush, but the Nez Perce were able to rally and fight back the US soldiers while the Nez Perce families escaped.  In the end, nearly 90 Nez Perce men, women, and children were killed.  It was the most costly battle for the Nez Perce.

After a series of battles, a part of the remaining Nez Perce had to submit to the US at the Battle of Bear Paw.  They had simply lost too many, and Chief Joseph handed over his rifle.  That was actually the only time Chief Joseph had handled a gun.  A smaller portion of Nez Perce left early that morning and made a break to Canada.  Since then, there has been bad blood between the original Group A Nez Perce and Group B Nez Perce.

This was the piece of artillery that was used at Big Hole.  It was fire twice by the US before being overtaken by the Nez Perce braves.  Pretty incredible rally.

chief joseph pass

I left Big Hole in anticipation of riding up Chief Joseph Pass.  It was a good, steady incline that turned into a stand-off-your-seat incline.  After conquering the pass, I stopped a mile down the decline to take a picture of the Bitterroot Valley.  The message of the day was brought to you by Pat Devine and was dedicated to Matt McElroy potty-cam systems.  Don’t ask.

I looked behind me and saw that I was only a few hundred feet from the Idaho border.  What the hell.  I’ll cycle on over just to say I was in Idaho.  I can also add a new blog category to make it look like I’ve been to even more places.

the lone rock miner

On the way back down, I stopped to talk to a lone rock miner on the side of the road playing with an electronic poker game device.  This guy makes leather satchels for cigarette lighters and sells them for about $15.  He also sells crystals that he digs up in a forest not far from Chief Joseph Pass.

We spoke about this forest and crystals for about 15 minutes.  I ended up learning more about crystals than I needed to.  The state has to tell these people to stop digging because the forest becomes littered with holes.  He told me it was dangerous for me to even walk around.  Digging up rocks is a dangerous living, evidently.

He was looking for a ride to town, and after a few minutes of talking to him, a white van stopped to pick him up.  He had also won big on his electronic poker game, so I guess I was his lucky charm.  He was a pretty bad hitchhiker.  He didn’t even stand up to stick his thumb out, but I guess given his beard and the fact he was sitting on a box on the side of the highway was enough of a hint to people.  Before departing, he gave me a small crystal.  I don’t think he liked me grabbing a picture of him.  I pretended like I was taking one of the landscape…but with an ugly white van plopped in the middle of it.  Be cool, Ryan.  Be cool.

ride to Hamilton

The ride to Hamilton was very pretty, but damn was it difficult.  I was expecting 35 mph at least going down.  I ended up struggling to keep a pace of 13 mph.  The wind in the summer comes from the north down the Bitterroot Valley and blows right in your face.  Bummer.  I hate a headwind on the downhill.

After a few hours of riding nonstop, I made it into Hamilton.  I was staying with a touring couple named Tim and Cassie.  When I got there, Cassie was headed on a 2-3 hour mountain bike ride with a few of her friends…right after work.  I remember coming home from work and wanted to vegetate.  Pretty awesome.  I went to the store and got soda, brownies, and an oven pizza.  Tonight, I feast.

Tim got home from work.  He’s a nurse at the local hospital and was a blast to talk to.  Cassie eventually got home with her friends, and I was finally able to pull out my weapon of choice.

Yo Cassie and Tim, you got BROWNED!

We stayed up for a few hours talking about cycling and Jon and Kate, minus the Jon and Kate part.

Dillon, MT to Wisdom, MT

badger pass and big hole

I was sad to say goodbye to Eve and Kurt.  I had immediately felt comfortable hanging out with them, as they were very kind and gracious.  As with many of the good people I’ve met on this trip, I missed them just after leaving the area.

The day consisted of two passes, both of which would be considered big hills in Colorado.  I didn’t have much of a problem with them, but my stomach was killing me.  The 12 pack of cream soda I had consumed in 1.5 days was coming back to haunt me at the top of Badger Pass.  I had to sit down on the side of the road in the fetal position to pressurize my stomach.  It felt like I had ulcers on top of ulcers.

On the way down from Badger Pass, I ran into Tyler, an older touring cyclist who was living large in hotels and such.  He suggested I stay at the Nez Perce hotel in Wisdom and avoid the flooded campground.  I nodded and thanked him for the information.  I didn’t tell him I was on a peanut butter budget.  He also told me that there was a cyclist just 20 minutes ahead of me that was headed to Alaska.  Off I rode after this cyclist.

new friends at big hole pass

I pushed hard to the top of Big Hole Pass.  I thought for sure the cyclist headed to Alaska would be at the top of the pass resting.  After 30 minutes of cycling to the top, there was no life form to talk to me.  Dissappointed, I walked over to a national forest entrance that happened to be open range for cattle.   I sat down and enjoyed an apple.  It was a melancholy afternoon snack.  Minutes later, I had a few friends right behind me.

I wanted to celebrate the moment with a nice quote.  Chester Copperpot was a really good guy, and I wanted to celebrate him so that he didn’t die in vain.  I celebrated him with the cows.

I said goodbye to my friends and headed towards Wisdom.  Just 35 more miles.  Moo.

free campground

I rode up to the west end of Wisdom to find a nice little campground that happened to be free.  Awesome.  It wasn’t flooded as Tyler told me, but I guess it could have been the prior day.  I rode down to check it out and suddenly I became swarmed by mosquitoes.  I wheeled my bike into the screened picnic shelter and decided to just roll out my sleeping bag in there for the night.

My mood was elevated by this great camping spot, so I decided to celebrate and cook up a can of baked beans.  What most people would think of as a lonely dinner was actually a canned food party.  I had two brownies left over from Dillon, so I decided to celebrate big and eat them both.

An hour or so later four guys roll up with a bunch of fishing gear and mountain bikes.  Like a little school girl crushing on News Kids on the Block, I walked up to the and started talking their ears off.  They were pretty interesting guys.  They camped in the national forests and mountain biked the Pioneer Mountains with their dogs.  They kindly shared their beer, and I kindly drank their beer.  One of the guys, Nate, worked in Walden for the Forest Service.  He told me that Wisdom has some of the lowest temperatures in the Lower 48.  30 minutes later, I believed him.  It became incredibly cold as soon as the sun started to set.  The sunset was incredible though.

Later that night, it dipped down into the lower 30s.   I was grateful I had Dylan’s coat.  He was my hero.

Yellowstone to Dillon, MT

what the hell is this?

I woke up and poked my head out of the tent.

What the hell.  Shit.  I’m tired of this weather taking a huge daily shit on me.  This time it came in the form of snow, which had accumulated on the ground and roads.  I was not amused.  Dylan was excited to take pictures.  “Beautiful,” he said.  I held my fist up to the sky and cursed Frosty the Snowman and his cold weather ways.

I wasn’t exactly prepared for this.  My hands had practically fallen off last night, and Dylan had lent me his coat for the night.  It probably dipped down into the upper 20s.  The employees took pity on me and lent me some more gear:  pink-colored hat, huge blue rain pants, old leather gloves, and men’s underwear to go over my legs.  Fortunately, the underwear had pink and blue designs on them, so I didn’t look too feminine.

I was actually very grateful for the gear and floored by the hospitality of the employees.  One employee stepped out and told me there would be 11 more inches of snow.  I think he got amusement out of my suffering.  Crazy guy.  Dylan then told me that I could have his coat.  Whoah…Dylan rocked my world.  Maybe I would steal him away from Clementine, eat lots of chocolate, and work as a Zurich banker with him forever.  I actually just thanked him a lot.  I tried to make up for it by buying them an extra night of camping and giving them the rest of my food.  They were going to be in Yellowstone for a few more days, and who knows what convenience stores they’d end up having access to.

I said goodbye to both of them and slowly made my way out of Madison campground.  I was pretty sad to say goodbye to them.  We had an adventure and overcame struggle the previous night, and that tends to bring people together.  I was grateful for my experience with the two of them.

entering Montana.  yay.

I cycled on down to West Yellowstone where I’d make my exit out of the park.  I went down along the Madison River and hoped to spot a bald eagle sitting on a lodge pole pine.  I didn’t.

I entered Montana.  I was thrilled.

Upon entering West Yellowstone, it started to rain.  Does the atmosphere hate me in this region?  I stopped by a grocery store to pick up some more supplies.  I browsed the food and found that they were gouging people by an at least 30% increase.  This worsened my mood.  I bought a jar of peanut butter and half a loaf of bread.

I sat down on a bench outside.  I was cold, smelly, wet, and hungry.  I grabbed my bike board and wrote ‘Need a Ride’.  I couldn’t take it.  I wanted to get to Dillon where Eve and Kurt were expecting me.  That was 150 miles away.  Yep.  No way in hell I’d make it.

ice balls

I wasn’t expecting someone to pull over due to my sign.  It is not proper hitchhiking etiquette to point your back at cars.  I learned this from a few old hitchhikers along the way.  Plus I wasn’t even doing the thumb gesture.

The rain turned to huge, painful pellets of ice.  Really?  Really?  Really.  I looked pathetic cycling in this.  There wasn’t even a car that slowed down to read the sign.  They didn’t care.  I went about 12 miles before I approached a car on the side of the road.  I figured someone had a flat or it was abandoned.

ryguy

I pulled up to the back of this Suburu and out popped a young guy by the name of Ryan.  He was heading back from a kayak trip in the Jackson, WY area to a town north of Bozeman, MT.  Agh…that was not the direction I was headed.  He then offered to go a little off-route to help a pathetic cyclist.  Damn!  Ryan just saved the day.  I quickly offered to buy him lunch…a shitty sandwich for going way off-route.  It was something I guess.

Ryan worked for the US Forest Service as a firefighter.  I’ve had a lot of good experiences with government employees.  For some reason, they’re always willing to help out.  Ryan and I grabbed some lunch at Subway, and he dropped me off at a gas station in Ennis.  That wiped out 60 miles, but I had another 70 to go.  It was 4 PM, and I hit the road hard.

the three amigos from vegas and bisexual adventures

I started on a pretty big climb right outside of Ennis.  I saw a bike tourer on his way down the hill.  His name was Le-ang and was from Austin.  He had ridden from Dillon that day and spent most of the day fighting the pass that I would hit soon.  I told him my goal before sundown.  He laughed and said, “Good luck.”  I chatted with him for a few more minutes before taking off.  Shit…was I going to make it?  Probably not.  I started pedaling into a headwind and my pace decreased to 7 mph.  I did the math.  This wasn’t going to work.

I pulled out the bike board and wrote “Need a Ride” on it again.  This highway had nearly zero traffic on it.  I had gotten to a point where I’d stop before a car got to me, face them, and stick out my thumb.  No one stopped.

As I stood up on my pedals doubting I’d get to Dillon, a Ford 250 pulled over on the side of the road ahead of me.  Two young brothers, Z and Mike, and a girl named Stephanie told me to hop in.  They were cruising the highway checking out places to rock climb and ride their ATVs.  The three of them had worked in Vegas and decided to move to Ennis.  Weird spot to move to, I thought.  Stephanie asked, “You must look good naked, huh?”  Um, I guess?  I didn’t know how to respond.

They started telling me some pretty weird stuff about Ennis.  Evidently there were a lot of bisexuals in the town.  They “swarmed” the village like a gaggle of vampires at night.  The three of them had gone to a house party, and there were tons of dudes making out with guys and girls.  What?  Was I in an episode of The Twilight Zone?  They told me a lot of Montana was like this and warned me of any bisexual sneak attacks at night.  They were serious too.

Z, Mike, and Stephanie dropped me off at Twin Bridges, 30 miles from Dillon.  OK.  I could definitely do this ride before sundown.  It was 6 PM, so I had about 3.5 hours to do 30 miles.  No problem.  Before I left, I entertained the three of them with a story about a boy and his bicycle.

eve and kurt

I rode along the Beaverhead river all the way into Dillon.  The ride was pretty flat but very pretty.  Rolling hills and mountains were on both sides of me.  I felt like Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall but much uglier.

I rolled into Dillon around 9:30 PM.  Kurt and Eve came outside to greet me.  I was stoked to be there, but I was a little out of it.  I had just done 30 miles without stopping for a break.  Although I had hitchhiked, I still did about 60 miles.  I was burned out on cycling due to the weather and was looking forward to a shower and a bed.

I stayed up for a while speaking to Eve and Kurt.  Eve worked for the Natural Resource Convservation Service and was well-educated in the realm of geology.  She would go out on an ATV in the surrounding mountains and analyze the geography and soil composition.  She also did guided tours with her husband Kurt, who was a full-time free-lance guide.  He lead tours for companies like National Geographic.  Kurt also did a 1976 cross-country bike trip and shared a lot of his stories with me.  He told me a pretty cool story about a lady who made cookies for passing cyclists.  Evidently, the ‘cookie lady’ became a huge personality within the touring community.  I wanted to meet the cookie lady and eat her cookies.

day off in dillon

I took a day off in Dillon to catch up on the blog and calories.  Kurt helped me out with that by: 1) making some great pancakes and 2) making a fantastic dinner.  I tried to contribute by baking up two batches of brownies.

Yo Eve and Kurt, you got BROWNED!

As you can see, I am wearing a Montana Western shirt.  I begged and pleaded a second-hand clothes shopkeeper to trade me some of my ugly bike clothes for this sweet college shirt.  Montana, I want to fit in!!!!

bannack, ghost town and montana’s first territorial capital

During dinner, Kurt had entertained me with the tale of the Nez Perce and the battle of Big Hole, which I would visit in two days on my way out of Wisdom, MT.  Kurt was an amazing storyteller.  He wove in his encyclopedia of history facts into his stories with ease.  Obviously this was why he was a successful tour guide.

Little did I know that I was in for a real treat after dinner.  Eve and Kurt decided to drive me out to Bannack State Park.  On the drive out, a rainbow appeared just behind us.  It was probably because of Eve and Kurt’s love.  It definitely wasn’t because of me.  Look at these two.  Happy couple in the company of a pathetic cyclist.

I wasn’t sure what to expect at Bannack State Park.  I’ve been to some pretty lame state parks, and I hoped this wasn’t one of them.  Well, the park was far from it.  The state had done a fantastic job at preserving this once vibrant gold-mining town.  Montana’s vigilante movement was also born here.  The first elected sheriff, Henry Plummer, was elected because he had ‘law experience’ in California.  Evidently, the people thought being in jail was enough law experience.  His vigilante gang, called The Innocents, killed more than 100 people, and Plummer eventually helped some criminal friends rob the Bannack bank.  Good choice for sheriff.

We got schooled in Bannack.

And saw a Masonic lodge.  Ohhhh…conspiracy theories.

Hotel Meade, which had also been a bank, can be seen in the background.

Children were locked in this vault when the townspeople thought the Nez Perce were riding through.

Old mining equipment.

Kurt also recanted a few ghost stories while we walked around.  I was incredibly grateful that they had driven me out here and shown me a piece of Montana history.  Eve and Kurt were fantastic people, and they really made my stay in Dillon amazing.