Deadman Creek Campsite, 31 miles, a big climbing day.

We ran into Robert that smoky day in Big Fork where we decided to go off-route to avoid the fires. It was his first day on the trail, simply rode from the Kalispel airport. He was tired and disoriented, going through and setting up his camp stuff for the first time.

Today, we run into Robert again and he tells us of his crazy ride through the fire area. He rode on the route through Seeley Lake with a rider from the Netherlands whom he’d met his first night. They stayed together and rode through smoke so thick you couldn’t see 100 yards ahead. New fires were started by lightning along the way all around them. People kept stopping them and asking if they knew there were fires. The forest ranger told them, “If the fires get worse I might come tell you. But I might not.” Yes, we think Robert’s crazy too.

But he’s super friendly and a great story teller, so we end up having lunch with him at the top of the Divide today after the most grueling and steep climb so far. He’s a roadie who decided a tour here in the U.S. seemed better than one he was thinking of doing in Europe, and he’s enjoying it so far.

We end up riding together off and on today and camp in the same location, sharing stories and chatting until well after dark. Though I felt too dead to set up camp when we arrived, I feel much better after dinner and chatting it up with a fellow rider.

Lincoln, 17 miles, an easy day.

We get up early to get to Lincoln in time for what we expect to be limited Saturday hours at the post office. We are eagerly anticipating a re-supply box, our first of six. We are on the road at the earliest hour yet, just after 8:00. We ride just 17 gravel and dirt miles from Reservoir Lake to get to town by ten, knowing that most the post offices open for only a couple hours on Saturday. We find the post office quickly, everything is on the one road through town. We get off our bikes, stash our helmets and gloves and go to the door. They are not open on Saturdays. That means we’ll have to wait until Monday morning to get our package. That will put us behind. I’m feeling terrible, as I have done the supply-box planning and should have noticed this very important detail. We feel sunk. We’re not wanting to spend an unplanned rest day in this quiet tourist town, we’d rather do that in the woods somewhere. Oh darn!

But wait! There’s a guy coming out of the office who says hi to us! We ask him if he could check for a package for us, we’re cyclists in need of our re-supply box. He’s happy to go back and check, and comes out with not only that box, but the other one sent to me by my aunt Judy with straps for my panniers. Goody! Yippee! We got lucky! That’s one of the great things about small towns.

We spend the afternoon enjoying a local lunch, a small art show, and hearing talk of the fires. We do a little grocery shopping. We stay in a beautiful (and cheap!) RV park where we get a quiet spot under a tree on the grass by a bubbling creek. We have been lucky to find great spots in the towns we’ve stayed.

We are finally back on the route! We ride half the distance in twice the time on washboard roads and truly enjoy it. The first two hours fly by for me in what seems like 45 minutes. After several flat and rolling miles we get to edge of the valley and the start of a six-mile, 2,000 foot climb. The air is clear, yet ahead we see three forest fire trucks and several men standing on the side of our road watching the mountains. We’d heard that the lightning last night started a fire on the mountain next to the pass we’ll be climbing. Small fire, they got right on it. Evidently they’re still monitoring it as there is a big white plane flying circles around the area to the northeast of our pass. We wave and ride on.

After a snack we get back on and start the climb. I mentally say goodbye to Dave, not expecting to see him until the top. My knees have been grumpy so I spin in an easy gear and ready my mind for a long climb. But after only a mile my knees are angry and I stop to stretch. A good long stretch and then I shake it out. I get back on. I pedal and breathe. It’s steep. I try not to look too far ahead, just get into a smooth rhythm of breathing.

The ground rolls under with a steady crunch while I count out a timing in my head. It turns into a song from the Buena Vista Social Club album and soon the minutes are ticking away and I don’t notice. A tenth of a mile, a quarter mile, another mile and another mile… It’s just as steep but feels less so. It’s magic like that sometimes. Now the wind is at my back and pushing me up. I’m smiling and now I notice the squirrels that zip across the road, the different kinds of trees, the constant drone of the fire plane going round and round and round.

I actually crest the hill before Dave, since he stopped to chat with some of the fire fighters who eventually made their way up our road. As we eat lunch at the top he tells me smoke jumpers dropped out of the plane to fight that fire they were watching. Somehow we missed it. Exciting times, these Montana summers.

A few miles down the other side we stop at Reservoir Lake. It’s small and pristine, a blue-green color and clear to the bottom. We decide to stay here and go about our evening routine: we swim or bathe in whatever water source we’re staying by, then wash clothes and hang them. I set up the tent and sleeping stuff while Dave makes dinner and tea.

As I was hanging clothes to dry and Dave was looking for a place to hang the food there’s the sound of a helicopter approaching. Then it gets louder and louder until it appears above the trees and dips down toward the lake. It has a bucket attached and it dips the bucket into the lake and when it’s full it labors its way up and off toward a fire somewhere. A minute later there’s another one. It does the same thing. As they fly off we wonder how they could have any water left to do anything on the fire because they lose so much on the way. Dave waits with his camera ready for a better picture (had the wrong lens on I guess), but they never came back. So we go about our routine.

That’s when we meet Roy.

At first he’s cute; he wiggles his way into camp and wags his tail. Then runs around and barks a little. We laugh, watch him, give him a couple pets. Then he’s drinking our cooking water, grabbing the feather Dave had found a couple days back and had stuck in his handlebar bag.

Then Dave notices his horrible breath. He’s snapping at things around camp and threatening our clean laundry. Some time around then his owner, a grizzled old guy with a beard and walking stick says howdy and walks into camp. “I see you’ve met Roy. He’s a good dog, very friendly. Maybe too friendly, but I just can’t see how you can scold a dog for being friendly.” And then he calls Roy to come back with him but Roy doesn’t react. It’s like he doesn’t even hear his name called. He’s oblivious to his owner and plops right down next to Dave.

Eventually the owner goes and gets a leash and hauls Roy off. He’s big for a 4 1/2 month old lab, doesn’t seem to know a thing about leashes. After a while we hear Roy barking and yapping, and soon we see him skid back into camp. This time he roots around somewhere in the woods behind the tent and comes back chewing on something. He’s really enjoying it. He drops it for a minute and I see it. It’s a big piece of poop. He’s gnawing on poop. He has licked Dave and drank out of our cook pot and he’s a poopeater.

That’s when I use my Stern voice and tell him, “OUT!” When he doesn’t listen I step towards him with body language to back it up and repeat myself. It takes some effort, as he seems confused at someone telling him what to do. But eventually he listens and cowers off.

This happens about three more times through dinner and tea.

While it may not have seemed like the wilderness experience we had hoped for, at least we weren’t bothered by bear or killer deer.

Today we ride hard and long to get back to the route at Ovando after our detour around the forest fires. We follow Highway 200 East along rolling hills and I tuck in close behind Dave’s wheel to draft and keep up. He’s fast and powerful, but when I stay in the draft I feel that way too. Hill after hill we climb hard and enjoy the downhill coast and breeze. It’s a hot day and I’m going through my water fast. At lunch we stop at a convenience store in the middle of nowhere farm country and I down nearly a liter of orange juice. Back on the road we make good time.

In the evening the sky is darkening quickly; a storm is building ahead of us and we see lightning flash again and again. We know that our destination, Ovando, is just up ahead. Another hill–we’re closer. Another hill–it’s gotta be soon. Another hill–oh, please let it be that next road!

And finally, it is.

Or is it? A gravel road off the highway to a town? Yes. We round a corner and see a hotel, a cafe, a volunteer fire station. A couple houses here and there. I ask Dave, “Should we ask about camping over at the hotel?” and he replies, “Let’s take a look at the town first.”

“This is it,” we hear a man on the hotel porch say. “There ain’t nothin’ else for you to see, you’ve made it.”

He’s the hotel owner, come out to watch the storm. They’ve been hot and dry for way too long, fires are raging in the state, and they’re anxious to feel a few drops. We get there just in time to step under the porch for those few drops to fall. That’s it, just a few. After the rain we set up a free camp in the yard by the museum and Dave gets started on dinner.

The lightning keeps on flashing for quite a while and soon we see the fire truck drive out to take a look. A long while later they come back and we hear the guys whooping it up in the station. Another adrenaline rush and something to talk about.

After dinner we start cleaning up and going about our routine. About that time someone emerges from the old wood house across the road. He waves and ambles across the gravel. He’s wearing a work shirt and hitched up jeans, a big straw cowboy hat with a couple feathers adorning each side. Big ones. He’s got that gum-mashing look of someone who lost his teeth some time back.

He asks us about our ride, then starts talking about the fires. We both realize he may not be working with a full deck as he mixes up some of the obvious facts and talks pretty slow. That’s OK, we’re enjoying his friendliness and the history of the town that he’s sharing with us. We get his history too. He’s lived there 17 years. He’s a handyman. Gets around by bike. Has lived through two house fires, one of which he mixes up in his head with the blast from Mount St. Helens (we think they must have happened on the same day).

He tells us there’s only been four bears to grace the town; none caused any problems and they were only passing through. We get the story of the tree that would have gone straight through the museum wall here if they hadn’t cut it down. No, that slice of old tree in the museum showcase is from down the road. He asks if we’re friends, married, or single. I reply that we’re close enough to ride 2,500 miles together. He replies, “Yup. Uh huh,” with a nod.

He doesn’t seem to notice that we’ve cleared the dishes, put everything away in our panniers (it’s threatening to rain, hard this time) and we’ve actually brushed and flossed our teeth right there in front of him. I tell him thanks for sharing the town history with us, we’re getting pretty tired from biking all day. Still he sits. Says a few more things about fires, town, now I can’t remember. By this time it’s dark and it’s actually starting to rain. We throw the last few things in the tent and thank him again, wish him a good night, jump in the tent.

We already know that he’ll be up another four or five hours, as he likes to stay up till three or four in the morning because he just doesn’t sleep at night.

We also know that he’s the mayor. When he told us, Dave asked if he was elected. “No,” he says, “I was appointed.”

We didn’t ask by who.

We received further confirmation from the ranger office in Bigfork that our planned bike route was heading for a closed area. The Montana highway 83 is closed, the Forest Service back-roads west of the Bob Marshall Wilderness area are closed, and Seeley Lake has been evacuated because of the Jocko Fire. Our only option is to ride around the closed areas on some major highways, and then regain our planned route near Lincoln Montana.

We began our new route by riding south along the east side of Flathead Lake on Highway 35. The lady at the Bigfork Ranger station did not recommend biking this road because there is no shoulder and lots of traffic. However, there really was no other option for us since we are going south. Our first mile on this road was not very encouraging as we passed two roadside memorial crosses, a freshly smashed fawn, and a funeral home on top of the hill. At least we had a nice view of Flathead Lake. The worst traffic came from the logging trucks with two trailers. The allowance for a bike along the side of the road was especially thin when two of these large rigs were passing each other. The best we could do was ride the white line along the edge of the road. This was especially difficult when the guard rail was just above the white line, which forced us to ride on the left side of the white line.

Thanks to roadside signs, we learned this highway was created in 1917 by Montana state convicts. Other than being paved and adding guard rails this road has not changed in 90 years. The convicts had a blatant disregard for the safety of future cyclists when laying out the plan for this road. Therefore, I believe our current convict George Bush and the entire Bush Administration should be placed in a chain gang, and they should build a pedestrian/bike path along this highway. This project could both save a cyclist, and our country from the rest of the world. I would be happy to supervise.  However, we eventually made it to the end of the highway just in time for 10 minutes of torrential hail and rain. I think the lightning probably started more fires than the rain put out. For now the rain has cleared the smoke and falling ash from the air. Highway 93 to Missoula was a much better road. We commando camped Wed. night hiding in the grass of a National Wildlife Refuge. The Refuge was complete with deer, geese, ducks, chiggers, and a weasel. Last night at the Missoula KOA Campground, we are treated to car alarms, screaming children, and people in yellow shirts driving golf carts. I miss the chiggers. After one more day of going east on highway 200, we should be able to rejoin our planned route along the Great Divide at Ovando. We both can’t wait to get back on the trail and be in a place a little less civilized.

I woke up this morning with slightly swollen knees and a head that feels like a pumpkin because of all the congestion from the smoke. We talk about it and decide it’s a good day for a rest day. There’s a big climb ahead of us and it wouldn’t be good to tackle it with knees that are already a bit unhappy. So, we decide to go for a swim and enjoy this beautiful spot for another day. There is ash falling on the tent and picnic table today and the ranger tells Dave there’s a fire that’s closed the route ahead of us near Seeley Lake. Not only is the forest closed, but the highway – which would be our first backup route – is also closed. We’re going to have to do some research to find out how to get around the Seeley Lake area without putting us too far behind schedule… Stay tuned! We have internet and cell phone coverage, which feels funny even after4 days in the woods so far, but it allows us to do some catching up. We’re also probably going to go swimming again because the lake is just so beautiful. Even in the midst of all this smoke.

Pictures will be up soon from both Dave’s and my cameras!

44 miles, 4 hours on the bike, 5.5 with breaks

This morning we talk to the ranger about all the smoke – he says there are fires to the west, east and south. We may be in the smoke for several more days. Ash has settled on our tent overnight.

Today’s ride is another easy day with mostly pavement and the only climbs were rolling hills. They feel like doing intervals, you work hard but only for a short time and then you get to recover. That’s the best kind of workout to get in shape quickly, so I’m taking this as a good day for building my strength!

We stopped near the end of today and split a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and a 32 oz. Coke. Then rode a few more miles to find a beautiful state campground, again on the lake. They reserve two spots right down on the water and away from everyone for people who arrive by their own power or wind power (walking, biking, sailing). We had a swim on our own private beach! Then I turned on my computer to discover free wireless internet, probably from the huge houses nearby since we’re at the edge of the park. So, here you have an update thanks to our rich neighbors. I better get off the computer and let Dave work on his pictures.

33 miles, 3 hours on the bike, 4.5 with breaks

This was an easy and beautiful day: mostly downhill and paved. Yeehaw! We were sailing, and I had a blast. I don’t feel so weak! My load isn’t that heavy! At least not until we encounter another big climb.

We ended in Whitefish and had a wonderful deepdish veggie pizza for dinner. Found a cheap site at the state campground by the lake. Took a swim and a shower – a 75 cent shower! Then we settled in for a nice rest… with earplugs. Yes, all these miles from Flagstaff and we had a train several meters from our heads. I slept like a rock, but Dave evidently needs better earplugs.

30 miles, 4 hours on the bike, 5 hrs 20 mins. with breaks

Another day of climbing but shorter in length, though the last bit was so steep and without a break that I had to stop a couple times to catch my breath. My bike weighs a million pounds. In a month I’ll feel so much stronger!

I’m sitting here by the lake and the fish are jumping, we just saw a moose across the lake, and we nearly have the place to ourselves. It feels like we’re days from any town. Mostly dirt today, rough roads that we hardly ever see anyone driving on. We’re getting into a bit of smoke from the fires around this part of the state, but not too bad.

Edited to add: There was a wall of smoke upon cresting the Whitefish divide, and the second half of the day was like riding through a smoky campground. We know there are several big fires, but don’t know which are the closest and where this smoke is coming from. Fires are on the front page of every newspaper we can see…

42 miles, 5 hrs riding, 7 hours with breaks.

Today started out on pavement so it was a nice warmup with the loaded bikes on easy roads. It turned out to be a fairly hot day as we got a late start, but the rolling hills gave us a nice breeze now and then. As the day went on we moved on to dirt and gravel roads, with nearly 3,000 feet of climbing through the mountains. I wasn’t feeling ready for the climb in that heat, and actually laid down to cool off at the top of the pass near the end of the day. Dave was patient over and over, waiting for me and giving encouragement. He said he felt it too, though he was obviously stronger than I. We had a quiet spot at the nearly empty campground, though in the evening other cyclists on the route came to say hi. They started in Canada and would be finishing the next day or two.

That night I was nervous about bears because the book said the area is so remote that they often relocate unruly bears there from other parts of the state. We hung our food and settled in for the night with the bear spray in the tent at the ready.

Some time near 2 am we heard some rustling nearby. Dave got out to check it out but didn’t see anything. I went back to sleep but I guess Dave couldn’t knowing something was messing around the campsite. At about 3 am there was more rustling, a sort of digging sound and some thumping. Again, Dave gets the spray and his headlamp and looks around. At 3:30 he heard it again and said, “Hey bear!” to announce his presence. Again he looked, again he could see nothing. Then at nearly 5 am he heard it again, and as he popped out of the tent, ready with the pepper spray he paused. “What is it?” I said. “It’s a deer,” he said, and I had to have a look. Yep, it was a dang deer giving us a fright all night. It wasn’t afraid of us, and later that morning I had to throw a couple rocks at it because it kept coming nearer and seemed aggressive or something. Menacing deer! Argh!

Photos by Rich Snowberg. Click to see full size.