So, That was North Dakota

Today I'm in Perham, Minnesota.

It's all over for North Dakota.

Just shy of 2,000 on the odometer

Milestones:  June 22nd, one month on the road
                     June 20th, first century ride, 116 miles (haven't had a tail wind since.)

THEM'S SOME BIG GUNS

On June 24 th I visited a decommissioned missile site in Coopersvile North Dakota.  Got to go down into the underground bunker.  I pushed a bunch of buttons when no one was looking but nothing (that I know of) happened.  This area is littered with these command centers, each controlling ten separate missiles, most of which are now decommissioned.  It really brings the cold war home when you visit them.  Sorry, no pictures.



MAINE AIN'T THE ONLY PLACE THAT'S GOT POT HOLES

The Northern part of North Dakota is known as the "pot hole lakes region".  Why?  Get this:  there are tons of little lakes that look like pot holes.

Well, it's a pot hole lake.

Someone told me that North Dakota is the eighth

wonder of the world, the only hole above ground.

It's a joke, sorry to anyone who's from North Dakota.

AH, SMALL TOWN AMERICA


I arrived in Wing, ND on June 21 st I arrived in Wing, ND just in time to have missed the Quilt raffle, but to early for the rodeo.  Bad luck.  My luck did change as I pulled into Tuttle ND just in time for Tuttle Day.  Yes, that's "day", not "days".  Just in time that is for the Tuttle Turtle race.  What you should understand about Tuttle is that it has a population of 82.  There were 64 turtles entered in the race.  Talk about everyone having a horse in the race.  I'm not sure if this is legal in North Dakota, but all are welcome to bet on a turtle.  We met a young man who was sure that he had the winning contestant so we placed our $10.00 on old number 34.  When it came time for him/her/it to shine-nothing.  While all the other turtles headed out, old number 34 just sat there.  Given that the whole town was out for the race and we were the only strangers in town I have to think that we were set up.  Imagine.  Yesterday,we visited "Jeff's Foods" in Lake Park.  We were relaxing in the town gazebo when a young man on a bike rode up and said "My dad wants to thank you for stopping by the store" and handed us a package that contained a big slice of water melon.  Now in Coopersvile they are serious about horseshoes.  Just how serious?  Well they filled the town swimming pool in to make a twelve pit, lit, horseshoe arena.  Now that's serious.

No, those aren't graves.  That's some serious horseshoe.

Her's the kid that fleeced us out of our $10.00.

He, no doubt, has a future in mortgages.

Things get pretty exciting around here come 

Tuttle Day!

That's a big hat on.  No, no, on the kid.

THEY MAKE'M BIG HERE

Where's the tallest man made structure in the world?  Well, actually, it's in Du bey, India.  But, the world's tallest man made structure used to be in Clifford, North Dakota.  It's the KVLY-TV tower, at 2,063 feet.  It's still there, just not the tallest any more.

Please turn your computer sideways at this time.

THE BLESSINGS OF THE ROAD

I have posted earlier about how blessed I have been to meet so many wonderful people on this trip, the people along the way and my fellow riders.

On June 19 th I pulled into Dickinson, ND and set up my tent at the town campground at a lake three miles outside of town.  As has become my custom, I then rode into town to get some food.  As I was walking into the grocery store a siren went of in town and the woman that was walking in beside me said "Ut-oh".  "What do you mean "ut-oh", I asked.  Her reply, "that's the tornado warning".  I jumped on my bike and high-tailed it back to the campground.  If there was going to be a tornado, I wanted to be safely in my tent!  I didn't find a tornado but what I did find was Joe and Rhonda Thompson.  Joe is riding across the country, west to east and Rhonda is following him with their camper.  They live in Decora Iowa.  Joe's the athletic director for Luther College there and Rhonda is recently retired from teaching.  Before the evening was over they had invited me, and three other bicyclists who arrived shortly after me to a delicious dinner (ok Paul, supper).  Do you know how, with some people, you meet you have an instant repore?  Well, that's how it was.  I have been riding with them ever since, visiting future in-laws and friends along the way (more on that later).  Eventually they will take a break and head home for a wedding before continuing and I'll continue on.  In the meantime, Rhonda carries my bags in the camper each day and has a cold beer at the ready each night when Joe and I pull in from our ride.  Can this experience possibly get any better? 

Joe, Rhonda, and Me.

That's Ronda in the middle.

Ramblings

FRIENDS

On Monday, the ninth, I met Martha in the park in Cut Bank where I stopped for lunch.  Martha and her husband Pete live on a little island in British Columbia, Canada called Gabrida Island.  Each spring they take off for the summer on an adventure to see part of the country/world.  Because of a knee injury, Pete is no longer able to ride his bike so he shadows Martha on his motorcycle, meeting her for lunch, the evening's stay and other prearranged stops.  Martha and Pete became my travel companions for the next six days and it was great getting to know them.  When we parted it felt as if I was saying goodbye to old friends.

                                                      Martha, Pete, and I in Wolf Point


On the morning of the seventeenth I was all by myself in Circle.  By noon I had met Tom and Kathy Norton, biking west on the Lewis and Clark Trail and then Jaun Marie, a retired airplane pilot from France also biking west on the Lewis and Clark Trail.  By noon we were enjoying each other's company over lunch.  Later that afternoon Grant Korting rolled into town.  Grant is riding the Lewis and Clark Trail west to east to raise money for a friend who has M S.  We all arranged to meet for pizza that evening.  At the restaurant we met to gentlemen (names I cant remember, my memory is worse than my spelling) traveling east on the Lewis and Clark Trail along with their wives who were following them in a car.  There we were, all nine of us, strangers until the last six hours eating together, laughing and sharing stories.  The next day I rode with Grant for 88 miles.  I quit but he kept on.

The group in Circle

Grant and I on the road

It is truly amazing and wonderful how fast friendships are made on the road.


THE EYES OF YOUTH

When camping in Harlem a young boy of about eight years old came up to me to ask if that was my bike he say by the pool.  When I told him yes he asked how far I had ridden.  I told him "about 1,000 miles".  He responded: "Wow, that's a long way to ride to come see our town."  I smiled with the acknowledgement that we all share some of his myopia.

Camping on the lawn of the town hall in Harlem

NEW CLEATS

My new cleats arrived in the mail in Wolf Point.  It's a pleasure to hear that snap as they engage the pedals.

Ah, new cleates

MY BRUSH WITH THE LAW IN CIRCLE

I made it to Circle, Montana on the sixteenth and stayed at the Travelers Inn.  Sever weather was predicted for the following day, heavy rain, strong wind, thunderstorms, and a tornado watch.  I thought it best to stay put.  The only problem was that the Travelers Inn was the only game in town and they didn't have a room for me for the next night.  I figured that I had better get busy finding another place to stay.  Then it dawned on me that I had the perfect line, "no room at the inn".  I'd call a local church and see if they would let me sleep on the floor.  How could they refuse with a line like that?  I decided on the Franciscan church and gave them a call.  A very suspicious priest agreed to talk to me if I would come by the church.  When I spoke with him he told me that I would have to go to the local Sheriff's Department.  I found my way there and explained my situation.  The Sheriff  told me that I could sleep in the jail if nothing else came up.  As it turned out a room did become available at the Inn and I lost my opportunity to call home and tell Bev that I was in Jail in Circle, Montana for the night.   

The Travelers Inn in Circle.  Just like home.

NORTH DAKOTA

 I finally made my way through Montana.  Seventeen days.  They say that North Dakota is so flat that you can watch your dog run away for three days. 

Trains, Plains and Autombiles (REVISED/UPDATED)

Revised 6-17-14.  If you have already read this post, read it again.  It's much more interesting now!
Hopefully pictures later this afternoon.

Tonight I'm in Harlem, Montana, about halfway across the state.  I've been on the road for three weeks.  The  bike odometer reads 1090, about one quarter through my trip.


TRAINS
Up, we got em.  Ok, so it seems that the way things happened in this part of the country is that the trains arrived first (we'll ignore the pesky truth about the Native Americans, that is).  The railroads then sold land on the cheap to develop towns along the line so that they would have some customers, thus the establishment of towns.  Finally, the towns were connected by road, Route Two that is, The road that I am riding.  As a result, the trains, and there are plenty of them, are never out of sight of the road and often just a road width or two from Route Two.  These trains seem to go on forever and the general setup seem to be two engines in front and one in back.  Why?  I don't know, do I look like an engineer?  I took a few pictures to try to get a sense as to how long these trains are but they may not translate well. [This is one of those additions I promised would be so interesting.  Look for the [ ] in the rest of this post for more cool added information.  I ended up speaking with a real engineer.  He was sidelined waiting for the track to clear in his direction.  So, just how long are those trains?  His was 6,400 feet long!  Up, that's more than a mile.  Why the two engiens in the front and one in the back?  Federal regulation requires it when the train is above a certain weight.  And, a bit of trivia:  Those three engiens put out 88,000 horsepower (what do you guys in the Camaros think of that?)  What's almost as good as being an engineer?  being the best friend of an engineer.

The train cars here don't have nearly the grafitie that they do in the east.  I think it's because they dont sit still long enough.]  

Anyway, here they are.

                                                             And it goes on and on

 

Where did this come from?

I don't know but I can't get rid of it.

Did I tell you I rode through Idaho?

The towns are spread out about five to ten miles from each other with nothing but plains in between.  You can always tell when you are coming up on the next town by the grain silos in the distance.

Here's the silos in the town of Kremlin

When you come from a small town you find whatever you can to brag about

PLAINS
On Tuesday I met Dave who is biking from Michigan to Seattle.  His first comment to me was: "Trees.  I need to see trees.  How far to the trees?"

Wind.  Let me tell you about the wind.  Seems that it's windy every day on the plains.  Maybe it's windy every day everywhere but here on the plains there's no hiding it!  So, it's not whether the wind is blowing but rather which way and how hard.  And boy does it make a difference!  My first day on the plains I had a tail wind and I was Superman.  I was passing the cars (well not really, but it felt like I could).  The next three days I have had some variant of a head wind and I'm no longer Superman; I'm Underdog.  Today it was mostly head on at about 12 miles per hour.  It's like riding in cement.  It's no fun riding on the flat, down on the drops of my handlebar, in my middle chainring, lowest gear on my cassette struggling to make 6 miles per hour.  It's no fun.  [Ok, here comes another set of new information:  On a bike loaded with four panniers, a handlebar bag, and equipment on the rear rack there's plenty of area to catch the wind.  This is a real problem when riding into the wind but it's also a problem when the wind is coming from the side.  It pushes the bike sideways, leading me to conclude that the only good wind is a tail wind!  The wind was predicted to be out of the west the day I left Harlem.  It wasn't.  The have a saying in Montana "anyone who tries to predict the weather is a dam fool or new to these parts."]

                                         Yup, she'll straighten back out once the wind stops

AUTOMOBILES
Well, motorists here are quite respectful of bicyclists.  Problem is, there's not enough road.  Often there is only a foot of shoulder or no shoulder at all.  Often when there is a shoulder there's a rumble strip cut right down the middle of it.  There's a lot of truck traffic on Route Two and when two of them pass each other where you are riding a bicycle, well, there's not a lot of extra room.  Today as I was riding, a semi was headed my way in the oncoming lane when I heard a blast of a horn from behind me.  I headed for the ditch!  turns out it was the horn of a train right beside me, track only a road width away from the road, false alarm.  Oh, and when the sign says wide load ahead in this part of the country it means wide load.  Some of this farming equipment that they haul around is as wide as both sides of the road.


SOME OTHER STUFF
A milestone: I hit the 1,000 mile mark.

I broke a shoe cleate two days out from the nearest bike shop.  I called ahead and they told me they had them in stock and would hold a pair for me.  When I got to the shop I found out that they didn't have the right cleate.  The next bike shop is over 400 miles away.  Thanks to Scott at Pat's Bike shop and Paul for getting a pair in the mail to me.  [I picked up the new cleates in Wolf Point two days ago.  It's nice to hear that satisfying "click" as the cleate enters the body of the pedal.]

Saw my first antelope today.

 

Give Me a Home Where the Buffalo Roam . . 

Ok, another one I can't get rid of.

Here's Alan and Karen bop'en down the road

(Sorry Alan and Karen about the "can't get rid of"

comment) 

I'm over the hill

THE ROCKIES

The Rockies run through Montana in an area called Glacier.  I had intended to cross  the Continental Divide at Logan Pass on the Going To The Sun Road but was not able to do so because it was not clear of snow (as mentioned in my last post).  Instead, I camped in Glacier National Park in Apgar.  From there I unloaded my gear and biked up Going To The Sun Road.  It was open for 14 miles and from there open to bicyclists and hikers up to the point where they had cleared snow.  The following photos were taken there.  I'm sure that they do not adequately convey the splendor but here they are anyway.  You may be able to click on a photo to make it larger.

The next day I crossed the Divide at Marias Pass, a lower pass but because of the up and down nature, probably just as much total climbing.

Don't believe that I crossed the Continental

Divide?  Well how do you suppose my bike

got there?

Met this guy on the way up.

Reflections

Today I am in the town of Whitefish, Montana, another beautiful northwestern town in the foothills of the Rockies.  I'll spend the night here (in the comfort of a hotel) for some R&R and head out over the Rockies tomorrow. 

I've been on the road for two weeks.

The odometer on my bike reads 732 miles.

Last May I had the opportunity to spend eight days at a Jesuit retreat house called Eastern Point, in Gloucester Massachusetts, for a silent retreat.  During the retreat God gave me the words "Begin each day with gratitude.  Spend each day in humility.  For now, that is enough."  This ride has been a practice of that lesson.


THE CASCADES:

Wow.

266 miles, 19,064 feet of ascent.  Indescribable beauty.

After a time I realized that I needed to stop taking pictures or I would never complete the ride. My last post contains some of those photos.  The climb up Washington Pass was the most challenging ride of my life.  That day I rode 34 miles up hill and a total of 57 miles.  I climbed 5,569 feet.  With me I carried 90 pounds of bike and gear.

                                          A view climbing Sherman Pass.

                                          Here I am at Sherman Pass, the highest pass in the
                                          the Cascades, but not the most difficult. (Notice
                                          the rain gear.  It rained at the top of every pass.)


Each valley held a wonderful little mountain town providing a great place to stay.

                                          This is a picture taken in front of the hotel in
                                          Republic, Washington with my now to dear friends
                                          Karen and Alan Crossley (more on that later).
                                          Republic is located between Wauconda Pass and
                                          Sherman Pass.  There is a bakery in Republic that
                                          has the best cinnamon rolls and has a breakfast
                                          special of eggs, sausage, coffee and two huge
                                          buttermilk pancakes for $4.75.

The camping has been great at public campgrounds.  Most of the campgrounds have bear boxes to store food so that one doesn't get visited in the night by an un-welcome guest.

                                          A bear box.

                                          Here's a view out my tent door at Bull Brook
                                          campground.



             
THE PEOPLE:

A trip like this is so affirming of human nature, the basic goodness of people.

Bill and Barb Bochner, whom I met in Anacortes, caught up with in Mazama and now seem to be keeping a day ahead of me.  Wonderful folks from California who are riding to raise awareness for Canine Companions, a dog training program for the disabled.

                                          Barb and I in Mazama

Tracy, who has worked at Boeing Aircraft for 30 years, loves to spend every moment he can with his wife in the Cascades fishing at Colonial Creek Campground, awaiting retirement to allow them even more time.

Jessie, the young man who grew up in Republic and is committed to staying there and making a difference in his community rather than moving away.  

Eian, who, one minute after meeting us in Sandpoint, Washington was on the phone to find us a place to stay.

Sharon,  who offered us the use of her backyard in Sandpoint free to camp.

The gentleman, name unknown who pulled up beside us and offered us to stay at his RV park for free and stopped by to check on us and chat the next morning (ok he told me his name, but I forgot it before I could write it down.)

The couple, names unknown, who pulled up beside us in a car to let us know of a free place to stay for the night.

And then there is the Crossleys.  On May 27th the Crossleys introduced themselves to me at Pedro's, a Mexican food wagon, apparently of some renown, in Tonasket, Washington.  I asked if I might ride with them for a while and we have ridden together until today when we said our tearful goodbyes.  They are headed south from here and will reconnect with the Northern Tier Route further east.  Karen and Alan are, well to say it simply, wonderful people, interesting, engaging, thoughtful, funny, caring.  They have been ideal traveling companions and I will miss their company greatly.  We have promised to meet again in Maine.

                                          Alan, Karen and I enjoy lunch at the Brick and
                                          Barley in Sandpoint.


And all the other folks with kind words and good wishes.


FROM HERE:

As mentioned, I head out over the Rockies tomorrow.  I had planned on a route that took me over Logan Pass, what would have been the highest point of my trip at 6,664 feet, but the road is not expected to be clear of snow until  June 20th.  Instead, I'll take an alternative route over Marias Pass at 5,236 and the Continental Divide.  From there I head out over the high plains of Montana and North Dakota.

In the meantime, I have a loving family and wonderful friends back east awaiting my arrival.  I am truly blessed, grateful and humbled by my experience.