And so our journey across the wasteland continued (no offense intended towards anyone from Montana). We reached the city of Great Falls (finally - a place with things!! Like electrical outlets!!) and took stock of our current standing. The plan was to take a day off there, get some work done on the bike (our front chain was exceptionally loose), and then make a sharp turn North and start making our way to Glacier. Now, this wouldn't have been our trip if the wind wasn't blasting us in the face at high speed, so we struggled along to try and make it towards our destination of Choteau. It was a really hard day, with a series of staggered climbs with no descents for the first two-thirds of the 70 mile trek.
When Life Gives You Lemons, Just Try Not To Cry
There was a metaphorical cloud hanging low over our heads this day, as we had received some rather troubling news about 10 miles out. A friendly traveler had stopped to chat with us, inquiring about our trip and destinations. When we mentioned riding through Glacier National Park, he said "Oh, well hopefully they get those fires out by the time you get there" (or something along those lines). Cue the concerned pause and subsequent "...what fires?" Because, of course, we weren't really keeping up to date on news happenings for the last couple of weeks. So this is how we learned that the major highlight of our trip was currently an ongoing wildfire - standing in a gas station parking lot, eating cheap pretzels a day and half's ride from the burn.
(Foothills of the Rockies, taunting us)
We pressed on, holding out hope that maybe it wasn't really that bad. We passed some other cyclists going the opposite direction, and stopped on a really steep hill to record some owl roadkill (maybe not the best decision here, considering the traffic and incline). More pedaling eventually brought us to Fairfield, which is apparently the Malting Barely Capital of the World. We broke for lunch here, and signed their tiny little guestbook before heading onward.
(What the heck is this?)
(I later lost that glove in Missoula...)
(Oh. Guess that explains that...)
Once we reached Choteau, I gave Glacier National Park a call, asking about whether we could ride our bike through the park. I spoke with a number of people, ultimately coming to the conclusion that we could either ride along the border of the park on US Highway 2 (which we had spent almost all of our time in the UP in Michigan on)....or turn around and find a different way through the Rockies.
Well Isn't This Egg-celent...
After spending the night deliberating over some beers (and listening to a drunk refuse to get into his friend's car because he was "SO ANGRY, UGH!"), we decided that the potential for smoke and increased traffic along US 2 wasn't worth being on the outskirts of the park. So we once more looked at the (now falling apart) highway map, and determined we could make our way back to MT 200 and cross the Rockies at Rogers Pass, which appeared to be along an alternate route for the Lewis and Clark Trail. Come morning, we made our way out of town, now climbing up this incredible incline that we had ridden down the prior day (and I think one of us even made the comment of "HAH sure am glad we don't have to ride back up THAT" when we rode 6 miles downhill without once pedaling).
Erin still maintains that this climb was the hardest we had all trip - tough winds, hot sun, and a seemingly endless incline without any type of break. I think the first mountain of the Adirondacks in New York was still worse, but I won't argue that this climb wasn't absolutely miserable. However, it turns out this was the same place that the Maiasaura was first discovered.
Montana. Go figure.
(It's hard to see but this one hill started way down in the middle of that valley)
(EGG MOUNTAIN GUYS)
(also that's a dead seagull next to the sign at the bottom left)
(why in the world is there a seagull here, there is seriously no water)
We made it to a small town called Augusta, and things were looking up. Call us privledged city folk, but it was awfully comforting to see alternatives to cow milk stocked in the little market there. Our next day was "the big one" - our scheduled summit of the Rockies. We had gotten a local tip about a low traffic, well compacted dirt road that would avoid major inclines, so we headed off in the morning with hope in our hearts. We also had a backup campsite in case something went foul, so we could split up the 60+ mile day into two parts if we didn't feel up to crossing the mountain pass all in one go.
Well, they day went foul. The heat was tremendous and the road a lot less ridable than advertised (this was the last time we took a local's advice). After almost getting hit by an SUV, we crawled over a hill to see...a freshly dead cow. Extremely off-putting...it was at that point we decided we would check out the upcoming backup campground, which was a Montana state fishing area. Well, when we rolled down that last dusty side-road, we were greeted with....this:
(Not our photo, but essentially how it looked)
This, folks, is Bean Lake. A dusty, shadeless, disgustingly scummy cesspool. We had heard Montana had to cut support for a lot of their camping and fishing sites, and we're guessing this was one of those. So we had the choice of setting up camp here, with no potable water or lavatories, or try to keep going over the mountains...also with no water. Because here's the thing - we were almost out. We had made it thus far on the trip without facing the limited water issue (although had had some close calls), but our luck had finally run out.
There were just about 2 full bottles of clean water, plus our platypus reserve (which we only ever used when we absolutely needed it). But we had probably 30 more miles of waterless climbing ahead of us, culminating in Rogers Pass. So after some deliberation, we (well, Erin) filled our bottles with the putrid liquid of Bean Lake and set off. Better to hope for some resources along the way than settle for nothing here. There was just no way we'd last the night and the subsequent day if we had stopped.
Now, I was being stupid and refraining from drinking as much as I could, for fear of using the clean water and hoping to leave enough for Erin. And of course, she too was holding back as much as possible. But right where it was getting to the point of no return (please God no, don't make us drink this stinky, dead-animal water) we rounded a bend and suddenly the harsh yellow of the last few weeks began to yield to green trees. Luckily for us, we had come upon the Dearborn River, and boy was that water looking crisp and clear.
(Talk about just in time!)
(You can see the mix of yellow and green over there)
(Looking down at the river)
We almost kept going without dumping the trash water, but once across the bridge we looked back and decided it was absolutely the right call to make our way down to the river and fill up our bottles.
(It was so crisp and clean down there I wanted to just lay in it)
Thankfully, we had packed a blacklight sterilizer, which we ended up using on this water. And it didn't get us sick or anything, which was amazing. It tasted pretty good, in fact!
So onward and upward we trekked, hitting some really rolling terrain. We had picked up some speed going down a hill, feeling much more jolly as the foliage continued to display speckling of greenery, and we hooted and hollered at the cows that stared at us impassively from the fields. And then we came upon some cows that had actually snuck themselves past the barbed-wire fencing, right on the side of the road! We gave them such a fright, they bolted back towards the fence faster than you'd think cows could move. One jumped up, one scuttled under, and in a flash (plus some screeching of wood and metal) they were back in the field running for their lives. Guess that explains the earlier roadkilled cow.
After what felt like far more than the 20 something miles from Bean Lake, we finally reconnected with MT 200, which was of course busy with traffic. But this was our final leg of the day, taking the highway through Helena National Forest and over Rogers Pass. As we began winding our way through the mountain peaks, the sun was starting to cast its long shadows signaling the day's end. And of course, when you're in a bunch of mountains, it gets dark faster. So we pedaled as hard as we could, already quite exhausted, slowly making our way upwards towards the summit. We took a break probably 5 miles from the top, finally busting open a bag of snack mix we had been holding on to for this very moment. The incline wasn't too bad, especially compared to most of what we encountered in the NY, NH, VT, and ME, but at this point we were really on our last legs.
I want to be able to say we rode across the pass triumphantly, and we certainly tried to, but I had reached my breaking point. We had probably 2 more miles of switchbacks left, and to our credit, we didn't go down without a fight, but eventually I just told Erin I couldn't keep pedaling enough to maintain our balance. So we pushed the bike, watching truck after truck rumble past us on the shoulder. But you know what? We still sumitted the Rocky Mountains under our own power, and there is absolutely no shame in that.
(At the top)
(Preparing to descend. If you notice, I put on another shirt. Sun setting = cold)
Believe it or not, we were running out of water again, too. There was probably only about 2 cups worth of water left across all 6 of our containers, and neither of us was drinking more than a tiny sip. Each time we did, we'd try to force what little was left on the other, insisting that "you need to drink this, you haven't had enough." I guess we're both just stupid stubborn.
The way back down was a cold ride, as it was rapidly getting darker (although once we had made it over the pass, there was a bit more sunlight, thank goodness). The campsite we were looking for was deceptively far away (or our odometer was a little off). Eventually we made it to a sad little campground that had many of its trees cleared due to disease, and we started setting up the tent and making food. Of course, that's when it began sprinkling. And then there was lightning. So we rushed to get all the metal under some sort of shelter that wasn't directly next to our little tent. But the storm passed without too much trouble, and we eventually climbed into bed - cold, tired, but a little giddy that we had finally made it to the other side. Especially since the terrain would now have at least SOME downhill grade, unlike almost everything leading up to the Rockies. That's what you get starting the trip from the East, but it doesn't mean we couldn't celebrate the relief.
NEXT POST - we aint out of the woods yet, and we race against fire and lightning some more!
