Today I left behind the Dakotas and entered my seventh state of this coast to coast ride. It has taken three weeks to reach Minnesota and I was reflecting today how the first two weeks were quite different every day and full of changing scenery and things to remember, while the last week since Helena has really been nothing but miles and miles of empty space and mostly very long, straight roads, in some form. It feels like it is now starting to change again, although it is a gradual process. The border between South Dakota and Minnesota was not at all a fancy affair and might easily have been missed if you were not expecting it. I crossed the small Minnesota River just as it flows out of the bottom of Big Stone Lake, through which runs the dotted line on the map. It was quite a pretty place. On the Minnesota side was the small, rather quaint town of Ortonville, which had a pleasant lake front park, where I sat and watched a group of twenty or so pelicans.
This was also the place where I said goodbye to Route 12, my companion since Washington state. We have spend many days together and it brought me hundreds of miles. This has been a cycling experience like no other for me so far, and route 12 has played a big part, for which I am grateful. But my way now took me along a different path, to Milan and Montevideo, where I am spending the night in a cheap motel.
Milbank, SD
The landscape hasn’t really altered greatly and the road, state route 7, while smaller and less busy than route 12 this morning, is still straight and mostly flat. But the towns today have been interesting on either side of the border. I liked Milbank, SD, where I had my best lunch in a long time. As well as its cheese factory, there is a real surviving windmill here: Hollands Grist Mill, built in 1884 (and completely reconstructed in 2009). It looks the part.
Watson, MN
Milan, MN was a small, sleepy rural place with a wide, empty Main Street. It is the self-proclaimed Norwegian capital of the USA and a sign says “Velkommen til Milan”. Today, however, around half of its residents are from Micronesia, 3,500 miles across the Pacific Ocean. More specifically from one island, Romanum, which is less than a square mile in size. The first immigrants arrived in 2000 and over time have offset the decline in the native born population. There can’t be many places like this in the world!
Spot the geese
Just down the road and past a large lake, even smaller Watson, MN, is the self-proclaimed Goose Capital of the USA. I did see evidence of this. It was that golden hour between 6pm and 7pm, the road was quiet and I was cycling fast and enjoying the conditions when, several times, large numbers of geese flew overhead in V-formation, honking as they went. It all added to the generally wonderful atmosphere in the summer evening calm of a beautiful day. I knew I was almost there, and sometimes being on a bike in a moment like this can be truly rewarding.
A shorter day but otherwise, honestly, not dissimilar to yesterday. Green fields, a flat landscape, straight road, and some kind of small town every hour or so, always lying in the shadow of a collection of grain silos, with the railway running in parallel. I passed blue lakes with ducks and grebes swimming among the reeds. There was enough wind to create small waves, mostly blowing from the south across me, although it seemed friendlier as the day passed.
Two of today’s small towns were big enough to have a branch of a recognised fast food chain, so I decided to make the most of it, since they were both symbols of small town America. The first, in Groton, was a Dairy Queen, which does a decent burger and fries; but is special to me for its Blizzard ice cream sundaes, which are, in essence, ice cream with your favourite chocolate bar all liquidized and frozen together. I went for a nostalgic Heath Bar Blizzard, which you will just have to try yourself one day. They tip it upside down before handing it to you, to prove it is properly frozen.
32 miles later I reached journey’s end for today in another small town, Webster, that is home to a branch of A&W. That name is synonymous to Americans with root beer, which, as you know, is my beverage of choice on these shores. This time, to complete my trip through nostalgic Americana, I went for a very large root beer float, not because I needed it; but because I could. When in Rome. For me this is a combination of two of life’s finer things (root beer poured over ice cream) and it makes both twice as good. Which is saying something. And all guilt-free because of the many miles of cycling I have accumulated. To be fair, you need to break up the monotony of this landscape any way you can. Today, this seemed the best thing on offer. I wasted very little time thinking it over.
I am staying tonight in the most unlikely and bizarre place. It is basically the end section of a large speedboat showroom, separated by an internal wall. Here there are a few rooms for people who are staying over to hunt, shoot and fish locally. I’m the only person here, so I get the big lounge and TV to myself. There are gaming tables and places to store what you have killed. I’m glad it’s just me or I think I would find the whole thing quite uncomfortable. It very much goes with the territory though. Different world to the one I know. I haven’t yet perused any of the copies of “South Dakota Hunting and Trapping Handbook”, or “Ducks Unlimited”, or “Fair Chase” that are on the table in front of me.
South Dakota – in large part – is an enormous, green, empty space filled with farmers’ fields and not much else. Such is my analysis after two full, long days of cycling across it. Today I followed the straightest of straight lines due east for 100 miles, with barely a deviation. You could generally see very far ahead. I would be lying if I said it was the most exciting of all of my days of cycling so far. The very long and straight nature of the route, which lacked in real variety, meant it was, in truth, verging on being a little boring and dull. Even the big skies went grey for a while, as if they agreed. I wouldn’t fancy cycling today’s route on a regular basis. That’s the Great Plains for you, I guess.
The holy trinity
That said, it was a mostly beautiful day again, and the road was broad and quiet, with a safe, wide shoulder should I need it. I had a slight headwind blowing in my face today, so that meant harder work. There were just about sufficient refreshment opportunities along the way: the small community of Selby after about 20 miles had the Dakota Maid diner for a late breakfast; then after another 35 miles was Ricky’s Restaurant and Lounge, for a late lunch, in tiny Roscoe. In the interest of time, I didn’t stop in between at the small town of Bowdle (home to South Dakota’s tallest water tower, or so it claimed); but I did take ten minutes to pop into a supermarket in Ipswich, an hour after Roscoe, to take on energy for the last 30 miles to Aberdeen. These mundane facts were actually some of the main highlights of an adventure that was turning into more of an Ag-venture!
Visible from outer space… probably
What all of these neat communities had in common was their enormous grain silos, visible from far, far away. I might see a sign saying, say, Bowdle 7 miles, and see far ahead along the dead straight road the glint of silver towers that looked about two miles away. No, that can’t be Bowdle, I thought, it’s too close. But it was, and seven straight miles and half an hour later, I would reach these hulking silver masses that provided the main interruptions to today’s distant horizon. This pattern repeated itself several times.
One other brief highlight was what appeared to be an aeronautical display in the early section of my ride. A small plane kept diving low behind the near horizon, caused by a low rise ahead of me, and then reappearing on the other side, twisting around and repeating the manoeuvre. It was only when I was almost underneath it that I realised the plane was spraying a field of crops every time it dived low down, coming back around for regular squirts on different parts of the same field. It looked a lot of fun.
When Aberdeen finally arrived, it turned out to be quite big, with a collection of important looking buildings in the main downtown area, including a domed courthouse and a huge YMCA. It is the third largest city in South Dakota, apparently, although there are fewer than 30,000 inhabitants. Two of these, however, are my very kind and welcoming hosts from the Warm Showers community, my third such overnight stop in someone’s home. Chuck has already cycled coast to coast in 2017 and we had fun comparing routes and looking at his map collection. They also provided a delicious home cooked meal of spaghetti bolognaise followed by ice cream. I was mighty impressed, and very grateful.
After more than 750 miles in the last week, I have given myself a relatively short day tomorrow. I think I have earned it.
Today was a great day for cycling. The temperature ranged between cool in the morning and mid 70sF in the afternoon, and the breeze was helpful. The roads were quiet and wide, and there were just enough refreshment stops to keep me going across the wide empty spaces of South Dakota, which I entered with the minimum of ceremony just a few miles after setting out. I cycled, fully loaded, for 125 miles like this, averaging almost 15mph, and arrived at the broad Missouri River before 6.30pm, Mountain Time. That quickly became 7.30pm Central time as I crossed the mile-long bridge into the small riverside town of Mobridge, easily the day’s biggest settlement. But what’s an hour between Dakotans? South Dakota straddles two different time zones, with the impressive Missouri River – which cuts the state in half up the middle – providing a sensible (and very physical) dividing line.
After a breakfast of Frosties, milk and a banana, bought the night before at the Kum & Go gas station and convenience store in Hettinger, I set out knowing that I had much work to do. It felt good from the start, and I knocked off the first 25 miles to the pleasant little town of Lemmon with minimum fuss. South Dakota has been green and verdant, with most of the land put to agricultural use. There were many combine harvesters at work today, and I also passed large fields of sunflowers. This means there was plenty of evidence of human settlement throughout the day; but still very long stretches without anything that offered a retail opportunity. So when one arrived, you took it. I therefore enjoyed a “scramble bowl” in the bakery in Lemmon before the next barren stretch, 29 miles, to the tiny town of Watauga (population 17). It may not sound much; but here is Brenda’s Tumbleweed Cafe, which turned out to be a Godsend.
The cafe is well named. I have never seen anywhere quite like it. It is small and simple, and the counter is piled high with huge numbers of old newspapers. Brenda is a character: locally born and bred and happy to be far away from the masses. There were a couple of farmers inside, taking a break from baling hay. Between the four of us, and the newspapers, we pretty much filled the available space. I chose from a rudimentary hand-scrawled menu and found that Brenda is not only quick to produce a meal; but does it generously and of a standard that outdoes her more basic decor. We chatted about various matters, not least the lack of any other cafe between here and Mobridge, still 70 miles distant. Brenda’s view is that no one wants to work any more. She described all of the settlements I would pass through and told me what to expect. The furthest away, and largest, was McLaughlin. “Don’t stop there, just keep moving. Enough said!“ she asserted. I thought I might not have a choice. “Well, be careful and watch yourself and your things, “ she warned. Hmm.
Brenda gave me a fridge magnet to remember her by. I intend to carry it home with me. But I had to press on. The next stop was a rare gas station in McIntosh. I bought root beer and ice cream and ate it while I chatted to the people in charge. They were pretty surprised by what I was doing. Some discussion took place about whether the hills before Mobridge would be a major obstacle. It was decided I would mostly benefit, and I think they were right. I had a quick look at the main drag in McIntosh. These are small places and there was no other remaining shop in town. These rural main streets can be quite depressing sights. But even in a place like this, it seems, there is always an open branch of a local bank and a US Post Office. How different things are compared to home!
I had about 60 miles still to go, and one more gas station half way. This came at a road junction in the town of McLaughlin, which I could see ahead of me for about five miles. It is utterly dominated by huge grain elevators from which the very long freight trains are loaded up, one wagon at a time. There was also a very tall water tower with the town’s name written on the side. When I finally arrived, it quickly became clear what Brenda was concerned about. I was in part of Standing Rock Reservation, and the local population in McLaughlin seemed to be majority Native American. They didn’t look very affluent; but everyone was friendly. An old man came up to ask me where I was going. He also wanted money for beer and I think he was quite drunk; but he wasn’t pushy. He performed a kind of blessing or prayer to the Indian Gods and told me that now I would travel safely. I was quite touched.
Another man at the gas station introduced himself as the local Indian Chief. He said he could offer me a cabin to stay in. Again, I was touched; but declined his offer on grounds of time. We shook hands. A woman from inside a waiting car wished me safe travels through the window. Despite the obvious hardship in this run down town, and the outward signs of poor health, I felt welcome.
The last part of my journey today was more scenic and more hilly. There was one descent in particular, off the higher plateau toward the Missouri valley, twenty miles from the end, that was exhilarating. This was proper “Dances With Wolves” undulating grassland. No farms or cows here. After a few more ups and downs, the full majesty of the Missouri River opened up before me, bridged by both the road and railway. It was a broad, blue expanse, perhaps a mile wide. Bridging points are around fifty miles apart, so you plan your route carefully. The Meccano-like bridge itself was narrow, with no shoulder, so it wasn’t a place for stopping and taking photos. But I got what I could from either end and enjoyed the moment as I pedalled across. Like everything else here, it is on an epic scale.
Going down…
I enjoyed an excellent Mexican dinner tonight. So nice to have a change. Tomorrow I head for the much larger city of Aberdeen, 100 miles away, on what appears to be a dead straight road. All the roads on the east side of the Missouri – unlike the west side – run in straight lines. And there are many more of them. This suggests a change of topography. Currently my plan runs out in Aberdeen, still 250 miles short of the Twin Cities, so I need to address that urgently. But after crossing two of the continental USA’s four time zones by bicycle with an evolving plan, I am confident my approach can get me there. Minneapolis is about half way across the country. I think I am about four days away.
I need to keep this brief for now because I have a big day tomorrow to reach and cross the Missouri River AND I just found out they steal another hour off you when you arrive on the eastern bank. It’s already going to be one of my longest days, so an early start is looking unavoidable. I haven’t been helped by a flat back tyre upon arrival here in the small town of Hettinger, although much better to be dealing with it in my motel than out on the road. But it all takes time. I will post some pictures for now and a few words. I’ll try to catch up ASAP.
Border crossing
In brief, another memorable day unlike the last few in several ways. First of all, I have finally left Montana! That took more than a week; but I shall remember it fondly. But instead I am now in North Dakota for a day. I’m just clipping the bottom corner. But it was one of only four states that I had never set foot in. Now the only ones left are Iowa, Vermont and Arkansas. So even after this trip, the full set will elude me.
Departed grandeur: Marmarth bank and auditorium
There were a few more places to see today. Every hour or two you arrived somewhere and the places were quite varied. First along the road from Baker was Marmarth, which once had over a thousand inhabitants; but now has under a hundred. It shows. There are some grand looking buildings over a century old, but they are mostly boarded up and derelict, either side of a huge main street to nowhere. Most businesses have closed and it’s not far away from being a ghost town. Apparently Theodore Roosevelt liked to visit. He probably came by train and the freight line still functions. But the big surprise here for me was the antique car museum and ice cream parlour. It was the ice cream that drew me in. The building was like a huge hanger and inside were literally hundreds of really old American cars, all collected by one man over his lifetime. He’s still at it at 86 and the full collection is twice as big as what I briefly saw today. It was astonishing. And from what I could gather, almost no one ever visits. I’m glad I did. Also, my root beer float was excellent.
Bowman, ND, was a larger, more modern place for a late lunch, a little more than half way to my destination. Today was an average length ride, so I allowed myself a late-ish start and was catching up all day after that.
Bowman – visible from several miles away
But I was cycling again through really quite green country, once the preserve of millions of bison. The last great hunts apparently occurred near Hettinger, the rather run down little town that is my home tonight. I experienced some amazing weather conditions with dark clouds, rainbows and bright blue skies vying for supremacy. I did get caught in a 5 minute shower but it was warm and I took shelter under a tree in a small town I was passing through. Then it was on alongside the train line for more straight miles. I was thrilled when a long, long train came towards me, whistle blaring, and even more so when the driver waved to me. I waved back. It was a special moment.
In the morning I will cross into South Dakota. That will be my sixth state. I’m certainly getting to do what I wanted, which was to ride empty roads right across the plains of North America. It shouldn’t be too hot tomorrow. The wind is not always behind me, which slows things down a bit; but hopefully won’t be against me either. These things make such a difference to the trans continental adventure cyclist.
Another big day today. I tried really hard to make an early start. I was up at 6.30am. I got a takeaway breakfast from the cafe next door. But somehow I didn’t convert that into early, cooler miles. Perhaps 3 days running was just asking too much of me. But still, I got a good morning’s ride in before the real heat kicked in. My target for lunch was the only proper place I would see along the way today, Miles City. And I arrived there by 11.30am, which is early for lunch. That was 45 miles out of a 125 mile day in the bag, so just the 80 or so left to get to my destination, Baker, for the afternoon. With nothing in between to stop for. Nada. Zilch. Really, there is nothing out there. I realise this is a recurring theme (and the next couple of days look marginally better); but it was once again the main feature of the day. And did I mention the heat? It was hot. A little more humid, too, so more sweating.
I was worried about having enough water with me for the afternoon. I think I had more than 5 litres on board leaving Miles City, and it’s heavy! But the idea of running out is not attractive. As it turned out, I was fine. But better that way round. You get used to your drinks being warm, and as long as they are wet, it’s not an issue.
Avoiding the main Interstate freeway…. For a while
The first 25 miles out of Forsyth were along what seems to be known as Frontage Roads, that is to say a road that runs parallel to the interstate Freeway; but at a safe distance from the fast moving traffic. I had the Frontage road to myself; but eventually it disappeared, forcing me onto the Interstate freeway itself, which felt wrong but is apparently fine out here. This particular stretch of I94 heads into North Dakota (Bismarck, the next biggish place was 303 miles away!) and it wasn’t actually very busy. Nevertheless I stuck carefully to the wide shoulder for 20 miles until the Miles City junction arrived. Job done.
I94: part of my route today
Miles City was actually quite big and important feeling, all things considered, and had an attractive historic central area with a few blocks of old, taller brick buildings around 100 years old. I saw my first traffic lights since Helena and found a pleasant little cafe for lunch in a craft shop. On their menu was a baked potato, and I jumped at the chance. I’m getting a little weary of burgers, pizza and sandwiches – all very meat heavy – and starting to crave vegetables, which are conspicuous by their absence in most of the dishes I have been served recently. It’s odd but most of the menus I have seen don’t even include a pasta dish. It’s wings and baskets and grilled meat and fries all the way. Maybe a meat heavy salad or two. I know I’m not in the most cosmopolitan part of America. It would just be nice to see something different.
Taking the plunge
Anyway, I set out on route 12 and found it a pleasant cycling experience. There was a little more traffic than yesterday; but I had the road mostly to myself. The countryside was more green and undulating than yesterday and you could see for miles ahead. There were a few long climbs, at a gentle gradient, and a few epic long descents that lasted several miles and felt like free miles.
Grassy
One by one, the miles ticked away. Each mile is marked by a green sign at the side of the road, so you can accurately gauge your progress. In the main, I have found this to be motivating. It leads to a lot of mental arithmetic, which passes the time. I had the wind behind me again today, so progress was decent. I have invented a game that also keeps me occupied. It involves guessing where the next mileage sign will appear in the long stretch of road ahead. I have got pretty good at judging how far a mile is.
Crossing the Powder River
Otherwise, the time just passes slowly by. I talk to myself most of the time. There is always a song in my head. Sometimes the landscape diverts my attention. Sometimes the traffic keeps me occupied, if there is any. I stop every few miles for a drink or a snack and maybe to take a photo. Usually I do that after I have climbed a big hill or feel I deserve a reward. Today, while I was taking in the view, someone slowed to a stop to ask if I was OK. That is a first. It was in the middle of nowhere, mind you. There aren’t too many cyclists out here. That said, weirdly, I saw three cyclists today and they were all on recumbent bikes!
Empty country
I was slightly inaccurate in suggesting there was absolutely nothing before l reached Baker. Twelve miles before is the very small community of Plevna, where the railway joins the road. There is no shop. The only thing to stop for was a decent sized bar, hard to identify from outside unless you knew it was there. I stopped and greedily consumed a root beer. And, here’s a nice surprise. In this generally quite expensive country, it cost me all of $1.50.
Baker finally came into view and by 6pm I was checking in to my motel, which – thrillingly- offered a spa pool. I didn’t need a second invitation. Somehow I averaged above 16mph for the whole 125 miles today, despite more than 4,000ft of ascent. Quite a surprise. But a nice one. There isn’t much to Baker. It has a cross roads and a stop light and the first gas station for 82 miles. The train line runs through town, so you see and hear the freight trains. There are grain silos. There’s a grocery store and a few bars and a medical centre. But after such a long journey to get here, it is a little underwhelming.
Tomorrow should be little less intensive. I have covered 355 largely empty miles of Montana over the last three days and I am ready for a new state. Bring on North Dakota! I’m nearly there.
Melstone, Montana – the only place in 100 miles of cycling on route 12
Another day, another huge empty space to cycle across. This is far from the end of this daily ritual; but today’s ride was particularly empty, even by recent standards. Knowing what lay ahead, I took the wise precaution of having three breakfasts. My first (fruit, yoghurt and muesli) was kindly provided by Sabrina, my host in Roundup, before she left for work at 6.30am, leaving me sitting on her back porch. Second breakfast (2 huge pancakes and maple syrup) came at the Backporch cafe in town, since it was open at 7am and I needed to be ready for the miles ahead. Then I used up some of those calories by riding the first third of the 102 miles facing me.
Local residents
It was actually great cycling because I had the wind at my back and an essentially traffic-free road through undulating prairie and low, rocky bluffs. As a couple of hours of cycling goes, this was a lot of fun. Eventually I reached the small “town” of Melstone, which was bigger than I was expecting, because I was expecting a gas station. It boasts a bar and a cafe, post office, mercantile (the local word for general store, it seems) and not a few houses. A rare sight in these parts. I was the only customer in the cafe and a jolly man with a walrus moustache asked me what he could con me for. I went for the ham omelette. OMG. I took a photo and will include it here so you can see the extent of the challenge I faced. It beat me; but only just. The walrus man told me they get a couple of cyclists a week at least, which he seemed to think was a lot.
Third and final breakfast
And then there was nothing but a long, mostly very straight road for the next 66 miles. There were a couple of dots on the map; but nothing to stop for. Two of the dots seemed to consist of a US Post Office in the middle of nowhere, perhaps with a few nearby ranches. The third, Vananda, is a ghost town. There was once a railway that followed this route (between 1847 and 1980 when it was abandoned, although there is not much left to see) and this would once have been a water stop. The old schoolhouse still stands hauntingly against the arid landscape, with just a couple of other buildings for company. Good thing I wasn’t banking on a refreshment stop here.
Vananda
My destination today, Forsyth, is a proper place, however, with lots of active rail lines and a junction on the Interstate highway, which I will be cycling alongside tomorrow for a while. You can do that here, I was surprised to learn, although I will be keeping it to a minimum. Forsyth’s Main Street is a great example of old America. Many of the large brick hotels, including the one I am staying in, still appear to function and retain their original turn of the century signs. There is even an active movie theatre here. It has managed to retain a touch of its former style, and I like it, despite the temperature reaching 99F late this afternoon. I cooled off with a root beer float (ice cream with root beer poured over it in a glass) and that made everything OK!
Yum
Another big day tomorrow – bigger than today – and hopefully my last in Montana before I reach the next state. There’s nothing much to hang around for, so I’m pushing ahead while the wind is at my back. It certainly helped me today. Somehow I rode 102 miles at average speed of 16.5 mph. More of that would be welcome.
Today was long – 128 miles long – but I got through it successfully despite a very mixed bag of weather. The morning was grey and drizzly again. It was only light enough to set out about 6.30am and it was a case of wearing all my waterproof clothes, putting my head down, and getting the miles behind me. It was pretty empty in every sense. This first part was the hilliest; but after a couple of hours and 750 feet of ascent, I peaked at 5,752 feet and began a long, gradual descent that basically continued all day, on and off, ending 128 miles later at about 3,200 feet. Which certainly helped. Somehow I managed an average speed over all that distance on a loaded bike of 13.7 mph. That’s not too shabby.
I left the grey mountains behind and set out across a more prairie-like landscape, with very few trees and low, grassy bluffs either side. This carried on for 59 miles until, eventually, I reached the small town of Harlowton, which promised much and delivered little. It seemed a bit stuck in the past, trying to cling onto a way of life that’s no longer sustainable. It had a historic Main Street but many of the buildings stood empty, or had even fallen down. It was a sad sight and must once have looked very different. I struggled to find anywhere to get brunch, even after all this distance, and settled in the end for a pizza and a hot chocolate in a gas station / casino on the edge of town. The people I saw mostly looked pretty downtrodden. Harlowton did have a nice open air swimming pool, which had people swimming in it despite the rain. And an impressive school football field in a natural bowl. But those were about the only rays of sunshine I noticed.
Bluffy
Speaking of which, around noon it became dry and – a couple of hours later – even a bit sunny. I peeled off my waterproof trousers, gloves and jacket as soon as they were dry and enjoyed the rest of the day in relative warmth and, at times, genuine sunshine. It was another thirty miles to the next small settlement of note, Ryegate. It was so small, I almost missed it. But here there was a cafe! A handwritten sign in the window said it would be closing at 2pm. It was currently 1.45pm and the place was empty. Yikes! Inside, however, I found that all was well. A 3-part meal then unfolded with soup and a sandwich, followed by the most delicious huckleberry smoothie. And that made the prospect of the final 37 miles to Roundup, along more long, very straight roads, seem alright.
Ryegate cafe
I was expected there by my second Warm Showers host around 6pm. I thought I would beat that by half an hour, even allowing time for a root beer stop at the lonely gas station on the corner of a road junction another 17 miles away. Out here, you don’t miss out on any such opportunity. The man inside was busy swatting flies. He said they have been bad this year because it has been unusually damp, a sentiment as heard from several different people today.
Almost all of the traffic, which seemed to have increased since Harlowton, turned off route 12 at this point, which was lucky because the broad shoulder I had been using out of an abundance of caution, also disappeared. I was enjoying the empty highway when suddenly, and for no apparent reason, my back tyre went flat. It was my first puncture in over a thousand miles of cycling in the USA, and I had no choice but to pull over onto the grass verge to fix it. This proved quite an exercise because, after removing my bags and the back wheel, I found it close to impossible to remove the tyre from the wheel rims. The tyres were newly fitted by the kind people at Alpkit before my bike was shipped over to America; but were the same kind that came with the bike. I wondered if this was something to with pressure from flying in the aircraft hold. Who knows. Anyway, with a lot of patience, strength and a little ingenuity, I got the job done and was able to resume my journey. And barely a car passed me the whole time.
One-eleven
All of which meant that I was on time, rather than early, for my Warm Showers appointment. Sabrina, my host, outdid herself and cooked dinner for us both, which I was not expecting. And now as I sit on her back porch at 9pm, the weather is putting on quite a show. There is a beautiful, bright, thin crescent moon away to the west, where the sky is not quite dark. To my right are large, heavy clouds and we just had the most enormous clap of thunder very near by. It is raining gently. I hope by tomorrow that will be gone.
Sabrina (an ex-marine with a past working in disaster zones) seems now to have one paid and several other voluntary jobs. She typically rises at 4am and leaves the house for work by 6.30am latest. I have promised to be ready to leave the house, too. I suppose it’s a good thing, given that I have another 101 miles of empty space to cross. But my internal clock has other thoughts.
Drizzle. That would be the quickest way to summarise today. It had to happen sooner or later. I have experienced nothing but sunshine, almost continuously, since I arrived in North America on 11th June. So a grey, cool, cloudy day this morning in Helena was not an unwelcome sight. The precipitation held off all morning while I explored this modest and really quite pleasant capital city. There was even time for breakfast at an hour and in an establishment where I actually felt like eating, which I cannot say about every day so far.
Helena mural
The main business street through downtown – Last Chance Gulch – exists because of a lucky find by gold prospectors, who are immortalised in the street art. The street itself has been restyled so it meanders like a river, with flower beds creating the curves. It really works. Here I found a trendy little open cafe offering an eclectic breakfast menu. It was a pleasant change from the plates of eggs, sausage patties and piles of hash browns or pancakes that usually seem to be the best thing on offer. I had proper leaf tea in a tea pot and everything, although even in this cool cafe they had no actual milk to offer me – only half and half! I know that I am the problem; but of the things (rather than the people) I have always missed most while travelling abroad, a really good cup of tea, especially in the morning, is top of my list.
Prospects looking up
The other weird thing is that everywhere I went today wanted only cash. Luckily I found a handy drive-in ATM that suited my bike very well. So I got away with it. But those things apart I had a lovely morning in Helena, set off with a quick visit to the State Capitol Building, which stands far apart from downtown on a high bluff overlooking Montana, as I suppose it should. It was open and there was no one around so I enjoyed the grand staircase, very well appointed men’s room, and stunning view up into the dome, all alone
A capital view
Outside I met Sachin, who was trying out a new, nomadic working life in Montana, after years on Wall Street and then the pressure of running his own business in Southern California. He said he didn’t want to die in the same place he was born. Hopefully that will be far into the future, and in the meantime it seemed as if Montana was certainly offering a new kind of living.
Then it was time to cycle. The main route east was a busy road – route 12 again – and for 33 miles I had to stay firmly in the wide shoulder as traffic whizzed past me. The drizzle soon set in. It was occasional-wipe setting weather for your windscreen wipers; but over time the road and I both got damp. An unexpected chance to stop for lunch came after 20 miles and I happily took it. I chose a hot dog with fries. The picture will show you what that turned out to be!
Fries with that?
Like many places in these parts of America, the decor consisted principally of dead, stuffed animals. I was next to a large bear wearing a baseball cap. It was close to the door to the Ladies’ and several times young girls almost jumped out of their skins as they emerged unprepared for this grizzly encounter. The woman at the table next to me sat right underneath a mouse’s head and neck, with full antlers. It dwarfed her and it must have been a rather strange dining experience. Personally, I prefer my wildlife alive.
Toilets this way…
Back outside the drizzle continued. I crossed the Missouri River, still quite a small channel heading north away from Wyoming at this point. I think we will be seeing each other again in a week or so. The only town of the day, Townsend, finally appeared. I stopped to buy food ahead, since tomorrow will be a very long day with an early start and many empty miles. The Full Belli-Deli obliged and I set off again, turning left along Townsend’s Main Street, with its beautiful murals, while apparently just about everyone else went straight on towards the Interstate. Which suited me well, since I had 42 more miles ahead of me on an almost empty road.
Townsend mural
For an hour, it was dry and the cloud began to lift. I enjoyed that part. Then the drizzle returned and as I climbed higher it became heavier to the point that, frankly, you would call it rain. I reached a high plateau in the gloom and it went on for miles. It felt like I was crossing the wilds of Northumberland on a wet day. But after I crossed the highest point the road became long and arrow straight. For about 18 miles I barely left top gear and stayed above 20mph almost all the way to White Sulphur Springs. Amazing and just what I needed.
Before the rain returned
When I arrived, it was much smaller than I expected. I have made myself at home in a cosy Airbnb chalet; but I must be riding at 6am to reach my next night’s accommodation, 127 miles away. That could be a tough one. Lunch will be after 59 miles. There’s not much else to stop for. It could be damp again first thing; but hopefully sunny in the afternoon. At least I get to use more of the clothes I have been carrying all these miles!
A funny thing happened today: I put on a second layer. I haven’t done that in weeks, or even thought about it. But today, at the top of the MacDonald Pass, 6,325 feet above sea level, it seemed sensible to put on a thin gilet, and I’m glad I did. What followed was 15 miles of continuous descent at speed, in windy conditions, under threatening clouds. According to Strava I was above 30 mph for 5 miles and I touched 39mph. The road was wide, the views were long and it was quite exhilarating. After that, I found my motel in downtown Helena, Montana’s small state capital, just as the heavens opened and the sky rang with thunder. I haven’t seen rain for weeks either.
These were the highlights of a day that began slowly with a long breakfast in the Straybullet Cafe in Ovando. That was followed by 43 miles of sunny but much cooler cycling through wide open grassland, with mountains never too far away, until I reached the next diminutive settlement, Avon, at the junction with my old friend route 12, as well as some railway tracks. It was all enjoyable, but also about 3.5 hours of not much new to mention.
I did encounter another cyclist who crossed over to chat. He was pulling a trailer in which sat a dog, Mona, wearing ski goggles. They are riding the Continental Divide bike route that, apparently, also passes through Ovando, which explains the bike sculpture outside the cafe. I was told that Mona has to walk up the hills and is usually quicker.
Mona the dog cyclist
I also paused for refreshment by the side of a reservoir at one point and was surprised to see large numbers of cormorants and pelicans. We are a long way inland. But it broke the pleasant monotony of big skies, ranches, trees and hills.
Avon provided a family run cafe, and I knew better than to ride past. This was lunch, albeit a little late. I had Hobo soup. Even the waiter didn’t know what was in it; but we agreed that it contained pork and I enjoyed it. Better still was the blueberry pie and ice cream that followed. It was an odd clientele. One man at an adjacent table offered to tow me up MacDonald Pass. He also said I was going over “the easy way” and now I know what he meant. My whole day started and finished at about the same altitude: roughly 4,000 feet, but I built up to the pass over most of the day heading east, and then went all the way back down again in 15 miles. It was still a slog getting up to the top though.
MacDonald Pass, but the way, has nothing to do with fast food restaurants. Indeed the summit was bare. Alexander “Red” MacDonald was hired to manage the toll road in 1870 and the pass took his name. Also near here, in 1911, Cromwell Dixon, the “Bird Boy”, won a prize of $10,000 for becoming the first American aviator to fly over the Continental Divide. Sadly he never enjoyed it. He died two days later when his bi-plane crashed at the Inland Empire Fair in Spokane!
When the rain stopped I ventured out into downtown Helena. It seems like an interesting little city with a few nice bars and cafes and a pedestrian friendly centre. I’ll see a bit more of it in the morning when I find some breakfast before I head on across the empty spaces of this vast state.
