Not much here but dry grass, cattle and rattlesnakes
I awakened at about 5:00 with a terrible headache, took some
medication and went back to sleep. I woke up again around 7:30, took more
medication and went back to sleep again. The headache persisted. I ate breakfast
at the hotel (2 orders of french toast), took a third pain pill and worked
on the web page for a while, rather than try to pedal off. Checkout time
was 11:00. I didn't get out until about 12:30, still plagued by a headache.
It was a nice day--sunny and warm (77 degrees (f)), but with less tailwind
than yesterday. Because of my headache, I decided to take it easy. The map
said it was 70 miles to Malta, so that was my destination for the day.
It actually turned out that Malta was 67 miles. I averaged 16.8 mph getting
there. There were no real highlights of the ride today. The days of spectacular
scenery are apparently gone. The terrain around here reminds me of one of
those Mel Gibson movies where the earth has been annihilated by nuclear
bombs.
I passed an abandoned (boarded up) church, that I'll bet saw
a lot of interesting history, but there was no historical marker.
Like most small town folks, the people in Montana seem pretty
friendly. The Indian fellow who served me lunch at a Subway-like place in
Harlem, for example, seemed real nice. He later drove up beside me, rolled
down his car window, and said "you have a nice trip, sir!"
The Adventure Cycling map deviated off US-2 for several miles at Harlem.
I wasn't watching the maps and missed the turn, but most of the traffic
cut south on US 191, leaving very little traffic for me to contend with
for several miles.This area is part of the Belknap Indian Reservation. I
stopped at a historical marker on the segment that I would have missed.
The marker was dedicated to "vision quest," the Indian practice
of going to mountaintops and tabletop buttes, like Snake Butte near here,
to seek supernatural power or medicine following "sweat lodge purification",
fasting and praying. I'd love to have the luxury of extra time to learn
more about the local Indians, but I've been on the road for a long time
and want to get home.
Whoever writes the Montana historical markers is excellent. Many of them
are insightful, witty and fascinating. I try not to miss them.
Riding is tough in Montana. Pickup truck drivers
I call "buffalo heads" (they don't show much more intelligence
than a buffalo) seem to refuse to yield even an inch of the roadway to a
bicyclist.
I saw another cyclist today: Donald Jacobs from Orlando, Florida, who is
riding from Portland, Maine to San Diego, to complete a circle around the
perimeter of the US by bicycle. He was struggling against the winds that
were pushing me along. Where I got 128 miles yesterday, he got 40 (I paid
my price many times in Alberta). Don was riding a Cannondale too (a 1985
model--before Cannondale used model numbers).
I wasn't impressed with Don's Voyager panniers. His bike blew over in the
wind and they all fell off. My Cannondale panniers wouldn't have done that.
He also had his load secured with bungees. They were loose and the load
shifted easily. Straps work better.
I shouldn't have taken Don's picture into the sun. Sorry.
I rode along the rail corridor for the day and saw quite a number of the
48 trains per day I was told about yesterday.
All along US-2 in Montana, there are markers showing where folks died in traffic accidents. There is one cross for each person killed. I'd bet there is almost one such cross per mile. There is at least one (sometimes many) at every hill or turn. A whole lot of folks must not heed the no passing signs. It is all quite disconcerting as I ride along 100% vulnerable on my bicycle.
Years ago, driving from a funeral in southern Illinois, I was
forced off a two-lane road when a car passed directly at me on a hill just
as I was reaching the crest. The free to pass sign (in my lane) went through
my windshield, through the passenger compartment and out the rear window.
Luckily, my wife was sleeping with her head in my lap and my sister-in-law
was asleep with her head in my brother's lap directly behind me; otherwise
they would have been decapitated. The logic behind passing on a hill escapes
me.
I checked into a motel in Malta where I sit now programming this page.
The motel has a pool and at the adjoining campground they have a laundromat, so I put on my shorts, took ALL my clothes to the laundromat, waited through the wash cycle, put everything in the dryer, took a swim in the pool and then retrieved all my dry clothes from the dryer. It was great to feel clean.
67 miles.
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© Ed Noonan 1996, 1997