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.

Helicopter getting water from Reservoir Lake

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.