Big
Ride Updates...
9. Thompson Falls to Missoula, MT 6/26 Miles 102.1 Total 595.0
Phil
Detmer is the "old man" of the tour. He's 79. He rode is first ever century
last week, but don't think that he is an inexperienced rider. This is his
second cross-country bike trip. He took his first with his wife when they
were 63 and unlike this one, it was not supported. They carried all their
own gear. Phil is back for his second ride, "just to see what's left. I
want to know what kind of reserves I have in the last part of my life."
"Hey Phil", from all of the rest of us on the ride, the answer is "quite
a lot". Phil also is a survivor of lung disease. As a teenager, his parents
were told that he would "not make it" when Staphylococci overwhelmed his
lungs and "broke through into the pleura". He spent months in the hospital
and had "several drains in my side". He lost a year in school and was severely
emaciated when he was sent home for recovery. Phil laughs now at the thought
knowing that he is one of the few people who can say that he is stronger
at 79 than he was as a teenager.
We
continued our climb along the course of the Clark Fork River cutting through
the Cabinet and Mission mountains north of the Bitterroots. (photo: Nathan
on the climb) Our valley has been 500 yards to a half mile wide. In some
places the hills rise up out of the valley in a dark green wall of fir.
In others the barren rock face has been cut away leaving a shear wall
of geologic history. The rock is very old. It was formed from sedimentary
deposits about a billion years ago, but was pushed up into mountains "just"
70 million years ago. The lines of the sedimentary deposits are at multiple
angles: some angled up to the left others to the right, some relatively
horizont
al.
The multiple angles were by fracturing: colliding plates tipping, rising
and crumbling like a line of saltine crackers pushed together. Farms filled
the lowland valleys and the gentler hills provide pasture. During the
course of the day, the land became more arid, especially on the hillsides
and greens turned to pale browns and tan. Our ride continued to climb,
rising and falling over rocky intrusions into the valley, but always rising.
At 50 miles, with the rode strething before us we had our first good view
of the snow on the peaks yet to come.
Our stops
have become more frequent. We are learning to use the whole day for the
ride. There is no reason to hurry. We can read the historical markers
and take time out for a milkshake, (or any other snack) (photo: Nathan
grabs more calories) or a shady stop to stare at the scenery. After a
week on the road, we are better travelers (slower also).
10 and 11. Missoula, MT
Lewis and Clark camped near here on their way west in September 1805. The Corps of D
iscovery
was searching for a path over the Bitterroot Mountains, and winter was already
gathering on the heights. They left the Missouri in August but had not been
able to find a path through the multiple ranges of mountains. They described
the rugged ranges south and west of here as some of their worst days on
the journey. Nearly 400 miles of circuitous wanderings brought them back
north just about 120 miles west from where they had crossed the Great Divide.
Our way is much clearer and we will be over the top in the next 2 days instead
of the 40 it took their band.
What
does one do rest days other than the obvious? Sleep in (until 6:00) is
a good beginning. Then a long hot shower is nice before a big, and slow
breakfast sharing the morning with other riders. I toured the University
bookstore and picked up a few postcards. I got a haircut, a low maintenance
"buzz" that feels a lot like high school graduation length. Shortly after
that Nathan gave me a gift, a bicycle hat, the kind with the little bill
that professional riders always seem to have turned up. Maybe he thinks
a haircut like mine should not appear in public. The walk to the post
office after lunch will be a big part of the day. And of course there
is laundry to finish and a bike to clean and lubricate as soon as I can
get it back from the bike shop. I took it in right away after arriving
in town on a long downhill run that brought my speed up to 41 miles and
hour and generated a "shimmy" that rattled my teeth. I don't want any
more of that on the other side of the Continental Divide. There is a free
concert in town at lunch today down in the park by the river and near
the historic carousel. (photo: me at lunch with exposed "buzz" and beginnings
of a great tan line on my leg). I have postcards to write and pictures
to sort through with other riders. I've been told that I 
should
climb the "M" on the hill behind campus. It's a steep climb up a thousand
foot, sun-exposed, sage and dry grass, seven switch-back hike that I think
won't fit into my schedule. I'll search for an ice cream treat instead
and pack my gear for tomorrow when I climb "back in the saddle again".
12. Missoula to Avon, MT 6/29 Miles 99 Total 694.0 "Happy Birthday LoAnn"
"Hills"
out here in the west are different than "hills" in Virginia. The ones out
here have a way of going on for miles, two, three, four or more miles. This
morning we rode a hill climbing up and out of the Blackfoot River basin.
Following the side of the valley it curved often so that we rarely had a
view of more than 50 to a 100 yards. Ponderosa, lodge pole and white pine
and Douglas fir crowded the highway. At one point the road straightened,
still going up. In the distance perspective narrowed the road, the white
lines on the sides of road joining the center yellow just at the point where
the conifers made a 
green
wall and the rode disappeared. We could not see any mountains even though
we have been surrounded by them. Mountain bluebirds and Clarks nutcrackers
cheered us on from perches on fence posts and treetops. We reached the top
and coasted down into a broad flat valley with high hills on the west side
and snow-streaked mountains in the far distance to the East.
About
halfway through the day, the terrain changed again. Hills rolled close
to the road so that we rarely saw the coming mountains. Silvery, fragrant
sagebrush covered the swells of land up to their conifer covered tops.
(photo: rest stop) And then it changed again, to broad rolling hills brown
and pale with a road running through it.
Everyone has been riding in anticipation of the coming climb up to the Great Divide. I can remember some of the same kind of excitement when I was going "West" with my parents and brothers. Somehow the Continental Divide held a special magic for me. I didn't really understand the concept, but I was fascinated by the idea of two raindrops falling close together on some hilltop, one ending up in the Pacific Ocean and the other in the Gulf of Mexico. To me the "divide" was symbolic of the west and all the exotic features that made it so different from home, including deserts, cactus, rushing cold mountain streams, horses and because it was vacation time, the nearly constant attention and companionship of my parents, and even my brothers.
I
have been thinking about how many people on this trip seem to be at a
point of change in their lives and have taken on this adventure as part
of the change, or in preparation for the change. Others are talking about
using this time to consider change, a new direction in life. It's as if
I am traveling with 200 people who are experiencing or are planning a
great divide of their own.
13. Avon to Townsend, MT 6/30 Miles 60.8 Total 754.8
It was not what we expected. 
We
awoke to a chill 40 degrees and dressed accordingly knowing that the temperature
could be quite low at the top of the pass. The first six miles were flat
and we pedaled easily. The road curved left and began to climb. The line
of riders snaking up the hill ahead of Nathan and I began to separate.
Nathan quickly pulled ahead of me and I made no effort to catch him. He
is a much stronger rider. The clicks of downshifting and zippers on shirts
and jackets were the only sounds on the hillside other the puffing of
the riders. Then the "snake" began to loose its skin. Riders stopped to
shed jackets, windbreakers, long sleeved jerseys, legwarmers and other
"cold-weather" gear. I settled into a comfortable cadence of 80-85 revolutions/minute
and a gear that I could sustain. It was my lowest. The road was smooth.
Traffic was light and had two lanes. We had a wide shoulder. The trees
and meadow slipped past. I looked up and there was Nathan at the side
of the road taking my picture. The top, a broad flat area at 6325 ft marked
by lots of happy riders, their cameras and their cellphones. The celebratory
m
ood
was invigorating and most riders headed up a side road, climbing another
200 feet to a higher point on the ridgeline for a panoramic view of mountains
east and west before a "screaming" 8 mile descent into Helena.
It was not what we expected. The climb was easier than anticipated and the mountain not as dramatic, but we were glad to be on our way, along with any drops of water on this side, to the east.
And then the day changed. The heat that had not been forecast grew oppressive.
Construction gave us gravel surfaces for miles, dust and congested traffic.
The heat kept rising and then the wind picked up. Strong and gusting it
hit us from the front and side sapping our energy and blowing us off line.
The road became narrow with wide "rumble strips" on the side leaving us
no place to
ride except the white line at the edge of the lane. We struggled through
a broad valley heading south between the Elkhorn and Big Belt Mountains.
The fields were generally brown and pale and at the bottom of the valley
except the few irrigated patches of green. At the base of the valley,
was the first of the eastern flowing rivers, the Missouri. We rode in
silence, battling the wind, and the road, and the wind, and the heat,
and the wind, and the wind. Our day of celebration turned into a brutal
endurance test. It was the worst afternoon of cycling that I can remember.
It was not what we had expected.
"It was the best of times: it was the worst of times."
--- Paul Fairman, Big Rider #2152.
< pfairman@earthlink.net>