1 | Texas to Wyoming

7.11.2014

For some time, I was feeling the need to ride to Colorado and concurrently was contacted by my friend Rob in Michigan. Rob informed me he was riding to Colorado to meet his friend Jimmy at the Horizons Unlimited event in a few days. I’d met Rob and Jimmy two years earlier on my first ride into Mexico. Horizons Unlimited was an online world motorcycle travelers community where information could be shared with other riders, and they had a large following worldwide. Once a year, or possibly more, they had a rally and this year it was in Grant, Colorado.

That fit my need for Colorado perfectly, and Rob also mentioned he was planning to go from the rally all the way to Banff before heading back to Minnesota to attend the national BMW Rally. I was invited to ride along, and though I hadn’t planned for that large a trip, I simply said yes.

I’d had a day’s delay in Dallas and left for the 600 mile stint to Raton, New Mexico on Friday, the first day of the Horizons Unlimited meeting and campout. I’d realized I’d only catch the tail end of the event, but it didn’t matter since I’m not a social butterfly anyway. Jimmy had been in Colorado working the Pikes Peak Rally, so he was nearby and interested in attending. Hitting Montana again had sounded great since it had been 7 years since I’d been. I told Rob I’d track with him until Montana for sure, though I wasn’t sure where I’d end up.

I got on the road as early as I could to try and miss the heat, however in July in Texas that’s about as pointless as anything. Still, 600 miles is a long day no matter the weather.

There’s little point in discussing the ride from DFW to Amarillo, as anyone who’s ever driven or ridden knows, but at least Amarillo signals a change is on the horizon…

Ahh, northwest Texas.

After a mind numbing day’s ride, Dalhart slipped past and the excitement of reaching the New Mexico border lifted my spirits.

The extinct volcano Capulin is always a welcome sight on the prairies of New Mexico and a signpost of the Rockies ahead.

I rolled into Raton, NM just about sunset and grabbed a cheap motel for the night.

7.12.2014

The next morning I was dragging from the previous 600 mile day, but the sunshine and cool air refreshed me for Raton Pass into Colorado and north for Grant, which lay in the vicinity of Denver.

Butt break

By the time I got near Grant it had begun to rain and I pulled into an almost empty campground, as most of the attendees were out on the organized rides for the day.

The campground had a beautiful stream running through the center and was covered with tents under the trees.

I set up camp across the stream running through the campground and wandered over to the cast of characters under the canopy to pay my dues - literally - and get the scoop on the day.

I was told the main speaker for the evening was Greg Frasier, an author and motorcyclist who’d ridden much of the world. Greg had driven in from Montana in his old Monte Carlo.

After sign in, I chilled out for the afternoon and grabbed a barbecue sandwich from the food vendor. The rains started and I watched the bikes pulling in from the days’ ride, dry and warm under the barbecue tent.

Rob and Jim rolled in in the pouring rain and pulled up near a white Ford van with an awning on the side. When the rain slowed a little, I ran over to find them sitting inside the van with a glass of red wine and cheesy smiles. We had a good time remembering our experiences in Mexico from a couple of years before.

Jimmy had volunteered for the recent Pikes Peak Rally and had trailered his motorcycle up behind his new Ford van, which was about to be converted to an adventure van. Sitting inside while the rain came down outside, the idea struck me as a good one!

The rally was ending the next day, Sunday, and Jimmy said he wouldn’t be continuing with us as he had to get to his business in Texas. Rob and I concocted a plan to head northwards to intersect with another of Rob’s friends who was riding from Michigan to meet him.

The rains eventually stopped and it dried out a little for the evening.

That evening, Gregory Frasier did a presentation on a recent ride through Vietnam. The rains started again, the small stream was now roaring and I began to question my decision to camp on the other side. I had memories of getting stuck on the wrong side of a river when an overnight storm flooded it on a backpacking trip. That night I fell asleep to the sound of rain and roaring water, fully expecting to be awakened by lapping water in my tent during the night.

7.13.2014

Morning came early with a wakeup call from a massive leg cramp that forced me out of the tent in agony.

The stream was swollen and muddy but still well within the banks, though in the darkness it sounded like it was a raging torrent. I slowly and quietly began packing up, seeing no other campers awake, then wandered down to the common area for some instant oatmeal and coffee.

After a while some shafts of sunlight began appearing as it crested the mountain top, so I grabbed my wet tent and carried it to a sunny spot to dry. I fired up the bike and rode it as quietly through the tents as possible, crossing the foot bridge to the main driveway.

The roaring stream had made a great soundscape for a night’s sleep.

Rob and I connected and prepared to ride out.

The plan for the day was to ride from Grant north to I-70, then west to Glenwood Springs, then back south to Paonia and Crested Butte. But you know how plans go… In Glenwood Springs, we stopped for lunch and to refresh a little at a Mexican restaurant. It was Sunday and happened to be the World Cup Finals, so the employees were absorbed in the soccer match on television. Rob, a native Hollander originally and Spanish linguist, was quickly ensconced in the game and our plan went out the window. The afternoon was spent enjoying the match and shouts of the Mexican workers.

Entering Guanella Pass from Grant.

That evening we met up with Rob’s friend Dennis, who’d ridden from Michigan to meet us. I’d had the pleasure of meeting Dennis when he rolled through the Texas hill country the year previous.

7.14.2014

The next day the plan was to head north through Walden, Colorado up to Riverside & Encampment, Wyoming then back west across northern Colorado and then north to the Flaming Gorge area in Wyoming to camp.

Interstate 70 from Glenwood Springs was a fantastic drive, as the highway is two levels and follows the river through canyons. It’s an engineering feat and a fun road to ride.

At Wolcott, we headed north for Kremmling by way of a gravel road and then continued north into the lush valley that Walden lies in before breaking the Wyoming border and grabbing lunch at the Bear Trap Cafe in the tiny town of Riverside adjacent to Encampment.

Lunch in Riverside, WY

Continental Divide Trail thru hikers taking a break and getting replenished

From Encampment and Riverside, we headed back west on Wyoming Hwy 70, winding up in the mountains and really had a great ride with no traffic. An excellent road which eventually dropped back down to plains on the western side.

By the time we neared Baggs, WY the terrain was flat and featureless. A little south of the border back into Colorado, we caught CO 4 across the northwest corner of the state into Wyoming.

CO 4 turned into a well maintained dirt road far from anyone or anything, save for a few oil wells and herds of wild horses.

Wild horses

Colorado 4 ended into Hwy 430 and by the time we were running north for Rock Springs, a storm blowing in from the east filled the sky with dust and high winds, keeping the eyes watering and the bikes leaning into the hard gusts.

We gave up on heading into Flaming Gorge to camp due to the weather and ended up in a KOA in Rock Springs that thankfully had wooden fences to block the winds for tenters.

Rob and Dennis making their evil plan for world domination. Or maybe just the next day’s route to Cody.

The winds continued deep into the night and I awoke with dust on everything inside the tent.

Traveling Techno-ho. 2 cameras, laptop, cell phone, helmet communicator and spare batteries…

2 | Montana

7.16.2014

From Rock Springs, we winged it northeast across the endless landscape of Wyoming, heading for Lander and Riverton, before turning north for Cody. It was hot and lonely, with a few of the inevitable road repair delays. I’d learned in my first trip to Montana a few years before that in northern states there are only two seasons, winter and road repair season.

Endless road repairs

From Riverton north the road led through beautiful canyons and was a welcome change from the flat landscapes earlier in the day.

We arrived in Cody in a rain storm with high winds and a bit of hail thrown in for fun. It was chilly and my combination of Teknic Freeway jacket and Olympia Ranger pants had both leaked like a sieve, a first. In addition, my right side pannier leaked and had half an inch of water standing in it. The bright spot is that Cody has a Sierra Trading Post Outlet and I found a Mountain Hardwear Lightwedge 3 tent plus a few other goodies all for about 1/3 the typical retail cost. New toys made the cold, wet ride okay. My dearly beloved North Face tent was getting old and needed replacing.

Roadside suit up for the storm. Did I mention storms in Wyoming are off the charts due to the flat landscapes?

The next morning was a bit overcast for the ride Chief Joseph Scenic Byway. Rob had to show his Dutch colors in the parking lot - Orange moto and the lion (borrowed from the hotel room) being symbols of his native country.

Chief Joseph Highway was covered with cloudy skies, but was still a spectacular road. I’d done it a few years before, but the dull skies made the road no less amazing.

Leaving Cody

Rob and Dennis motored on ahead as I stopped here and there for pics.

I stopped at one river overlook and when returning to my bike saw a teenage boy in a cowboy hat looking it over. He stepped back when I walked up, but I introduced myself and his family came over to join the conversation. He asked if I’d really ridden from Texas, to which I responded yes and mentioned I lived in Southwest Texas. At this point, his mother asked if I lived near “Medina”? I burst out laughing as my house was about 10 miles from the tiny town.

They were friends with the owners of “the apple store and coffee house” in Medina and the owners had just been visiting with them in North Dakota. By this time, the father had walked over and joined the conversation. I told them I rode to Medina just for the apple pies and next time would tell the owners I had met their friends. The family were ranchers from North Dakota and vacationing in Wyoming. Small world huh?

Meet the Rath family from North Dakota

I caught up with Dennis and Rob at the base of Beartooth Pass, in my opinion the best motorcycling road in North America. The skies had cleared, the air was crisp and full of the smell of flowers and grass.

Beartooth Pass climbs well above the tree line to a level of 10,947 feet and then crosses into Montana before descending to the little town of Red Lodge. Due to the elevation, the pass is often still closed with snow until mid summer. It is a road not to be missed and it’s worth a trip just to see Chief Joseph Highway and Beartooth Pass, even if you choose to forego nearby Yellowstone National Park…

It was a cold and windy place at the top, my previous experience having been on a sunny day.

I spotted a large garden gnome who’d been blown over in the wind

As mentioned, one crosses into Montana at the top of the mountain then begins a slow descent.

After many stops for photos, we rolled into Red Lodge, Montana for a late lunch. The barbecue we’d had the previous night left Rob and I both a bit queasy so we ate begrudgingly and decided to hit a motel rather than camp for the evening.

7.17.2014

The next day dawned with an orange haze, the smoke from distant forest fires in Washington filling the skies.

The morning routine - download GPS tracks, upload blog updates and fuel for the ride

Dennis and Rob were headed for southern Montana and the Bannack area, but I was splitting off northward for Missoula. They planned to ride to Missoula the next day, then go through Glacier National Park and into Idaho, then up to Banff, from which they would loop back down and cut across North Dakota and on to the rally in Minnesota.

I had realized I didn’t have the time to make it to Minnesota, and had decided to maximize my time in the Glacier area. As it turned out, our schedules didn’t match up for a final meet up as we’d hoped, but it was great getting to ride with both of them for as long as I did. They were heading the same direction for an hour or so.

Along the way to Missoula I stopped for gas and noticed a van pull up next to me with two Buddhist monks inside. I went in to get some water and saw one of them jump out of the van and run over to quickly look at my bike, then take a pic of the Texas license plate. He saw me coming out and ran back to the van, jumping in the passenger seat. I walked over and asked him if I could take a pic of him. At first he tried to ignore me, probably thinking I was upset, however he got back out, trying to coax the other monk away from washing the windshield. The other guy had refused to acknowledge my presence, probably afraid I’d be upset as well. He eventually caved and they came over to the motorcycle.

I indicated to them that they could climb on the bike, and the younger guy got excited, putting his foot on the peg, but then stopped. He had realized that if he tried to climb over, his robe/toga was not the right garment. He looked at me in such a way as to acknowledge his potential shame and I could see the disappointment on his face.

After the pic I asked him where they were going. In broken English he said in a high-pitched voice "we go Yellowstone then Rushmore, and then the motorcycle city." I said "You mean Sturgis?" and he smiled very big.

They both bowed and wished me safe travels - I wasn't sure what the proper etiquette for returning a bow in motorcycle gear was and momentarily considered a curtsy but didn't since I wasn't wearing a kilt. Anyway, we shook hands and they got back in the rental van and drove off with big waves and smiles

As I rode down the highway, I kept thinking about how interesting it would be to see their journey. I don’t know if they were planning to go to the big Harley Rally in Sturgis which was still a couple of weeks away, but I’d love to have seen them there amongst the bikers if they did.

I made Missoula for the night, almost 400 miles from where I began the day and was excited to make Glacier National Park the next day.

3 | Canada!

7.18.2014

A few years earlier I had ridden to Montana, but for a combination of reasons had not made it into Glacier National Park. I was looking forward to getting into the park this time!

There were major forest fires in the state of Washington, the smoke of which was now covering the skies of Montana. My first pass into Glacier on the bike was great, climbing slowly up the Highway to the Sun, the road cut into the side of the mountains that crests the range. The scenery was truly spectacular. Even though the smoke was heavy, it couldn’t overwhelm the effect of lush forests and rivers. With a watchful eye, I noticed that each campground had “Full” signs as I rode through, to be expected at any national park with a reputation like Glacier.

Cresting the top of Logan Pass, there were several bighorn sheep and mountain goats casually wandering the area.

Largest mountain goat of all…

At the top, I rode into a dreamy dark world of peaks barely visible in the brown-orange veil of smoke. Even so it was an incredible sight and one I will always remember.

I camped on the St. Marys side that night in a private campground outside of Babb. The owner kept the kitchen open late for me and I got settled in late that night.

The next day brought very high winds and the ride into the Many Glaciers area was a challenge with the big gusts. I kept imagining what it must be like in Logan Pass at the high point of the park.

Taking a break at the lodge in Many Glaciers, reports were that the winds were up to 85 mph at Logan Pass. Since I was heading back through the park, I hoped the winds would die down a bit before I had to crest the pass. One positive of the intense winds is that they had cleared some of the smoke from the skies.

Da bears

By late afternoon, after a couple of hikes, the winds had lessened and only one major gust moved me into the opposing lane as I passed over Logan, but it wasn’t too bad.

The smoke was still thick despite the earlier winds and I felt soreness in the back of my throat from the acrid smoke.

All the campgrounds were full as expected, however I stopped in at a small campground to ask the hosts if there were any other campgrounds I’d missed. The hosts saw I was on a motorcycle and told me I could camp in the hiker/biker area with the bicyclists for $5 a night. I was surprised and happy though I suspected it was probably not “normal” since the host told me to park the BMW next to their truck and trailer. My companion campers were a young couple from Germany, both architects, who had taken a year off from work and were traveling North and South America. We had some interesting conversations over the campfires.

Sunrise at the camp site

After a couple of days in the park, I felt it was time to head north for Banff. I was so close to the border, I decided to take advantage and get into Canada.

Packed and ready for Canada… eh?

I headed back through the park from the west side and exited at St. Marys, gassing up at Thronson's General Store in Babb before cutting back across the far northeastern corner of the park for the Chief Mountain Border Crossing.

The crossing was small and quiet save for a couple of Harleys in line. By the time I rolled up to the window I was a bit bored. The Canadian officer grilled with the usual questions and when it came to weapons I told him I had bear spray, expecting a hassle. None occurred and he waved me through.

It was exciting finally getting into Canada. The temperature had dropped and was a bit chilly after some hot days in Wyoming and Montana.

The skies stayed dark and loaded with moisture, a bit threatening which dampened my enthusiasm a little, but not much. I felt the rush of excitement for being in a new place with new experiences ahead.

The beautiful terrain of Glacier continued on the Canadian side in Waterton Park.

After passing the official entrance into Waterton Park, the highway slowly veered away from the mountains into the grassy plains of Alberta.

In the town of Pincher, I pulled into the lot of Kootenai Brown Pioneer Village which had a tourism center where I hoped to score some travel maps. I had assumed any camping or hotels near Banff would be full, and the tourism officials said I was right in my assumption.

I knew I’d not make Banff and my goal for the day was to get near Calgary taking Hwy 22 which paralleled the mountains to my left and the grasslands to my right. I hoped to find a hotel in a small town on the way, but had no luck.

I’d lost contact with Rob and Dennis since the park and region had no cell service, so I had no idea where they were. It was later in Calgary that we finally connected by text - they were in a time crunch to get to Minnesota and we’d passed each other going opposite directions on different highways. My ride to Banff would be solo.

Cochrane, a small town northwest of Calgary, was where I landed very late in the day, ending up in the old downtown tourist section where I pulled up in front of the Rockyview Hotel and Texas Gate Bar. I slowly climbed off the bike and took off my helmet to hear “Well welcome to Alberta” in a rough cigarette laden voice. “I suggest you park your bike around the corner because it gets a bit rough outside the bar here at night.” I thanked the guy both for the welcome and warning and talked a bit before moving the bike.

He and a couple of other patrons from the Texas Gate Bar had come out to see the bike and the guy riding it. He wiped my rear plate off, which had been covered in mud and was surprised to see Texas plates. I was warned that Cochrane was the training ground for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and I’d be hassled for any possible reason, thus the plate cleaning being a gesture of friendship.

The Rockyview was a 100 year old hotel on the tourist strip in Cochrane, and the only lodging I could find. The room was tiny and up 3 flights of stairs and dragging my gear up took the last bit of energy I had after 12 days of riding and camping.

4 | Banff & Radium

After a decent night’s sleep in the antique hotel, I woke up early, schlepping the gear to the bike from the third floor down the narrow stairs and headed around the block for coffee and wifi. So far this trip has been a bit thin on connectivity, as the parks and campgrounds have been in areas with no cell coverage and when I’ve moteled it, for some reason internet has been poor to nonexistent.

After coffee, a muffin and a bit of email I fired up the bike to find a gas station. By the time I was gassed and geared up again, I’d had three conversations with other patrons about the bike, where I’d ridden from and suggestions for places to see. So far the Canadians have been friendly, and except for the lack of a southern drawl and the use of “eh”, I’d almost think I was back in Texas.

From Cochrane I took Highway 1A, which I guessed was the old original highway and looked a bit more interesting on the map, until it eventually connected back into Highway 1. The temp was cool and the skies overcast and threatening, but on the horizon I could see blue skies over the Rockies.

The road was a nice ride with plenty of curves and increasingly beautiful scenery, until the merge into the main highway.

It wasn’t long before the mountains and valleys were eliciting “Holy Crap!” and other juvenile remarks of wonder from me. The peaks were stunning and valleys filled with evergreens and pale green rivers were absolutely beautiful. For those who haven’t been, the “Park” is basically a very well maintained multi-lane highway with the mountains distant on either side. There are relatively few pullouts for photos or vistas and it’s not like Glacier or other parks where one is close to the scenery.

The scale of the Canadian rockies were much grander than the Colorado rockies - so much so I called the Canadian rockies the Mother of All Rockies. Seriously impressive!

After I bought my park pass, it wasn’t much longer before the exit for the town of Banff came up, and I tooled into the posh ski resort town for a few pictures and to say I’d been. It is much like Aspen or any other resort, with pricey shops and milling tourists but with a more international flair,

The day was spectacular and clear with blue skies, sun and few clouds. I found a coffee shop and wifi, only to find the internet not working of course. I was beginning to question the North American status of better technology, which was proving difficult and poor on this trip. I had far more access and reliability in Mexico!

My internet uploading plan now in ruins, I walked the town a little and enjoyed the sunshine.

My travel plans had been a bit vague, needing to be back in Kalispell, Montana by Thursday afternoon to meet my friend who was flying in. I had planned on heading on to Golden and then turning south, but began to realize I would be riding long days to make the deadline. After being on the road for nearly two weeks, I decided to make it an easier ride.

I rode north to Lake Louise and though bombed by tourists, the lake was truly stunning. I did a few selfies and snaps of the lake, then turned back south for 93 and the road through Kootenay Park to Radium Hot Springs to shave a couple hours off of the next day’s ride.

Highway 93 was certainly no slouch for scenery and after a while I got a headache from looking up and around so much. I stopped at several spots for pics and to walk a bit.

At the “Welcome to British Columbia” sign, I pulled off to find a husband and wife on a Harley taking selfies. They’d ridden from Minnesota and were heading down to the east side of Glacier NP. Wishing them well, I headed on for Radium.

Several times deer crossed the road and at one point there was a herd of mountain goats on the roadside. They didn’t seem to be afraid and I was able to get a few pics from fairly close range.

It was late in the day by the time I rolled into Radium, finding a good motel and then hitting the hot springs for a soak.

The Banff/Kootenay Parks are indeed as stunning as I’ve heard and I regret not having time to make it to Yoho and even further north to Jasper. A good excuse to come back… wink wink nudge nudge.

The last 2 days have been slabbing it - albeit through some of the most beautiful scenery on earth. Tomorrow I head south for Kalispell

Manana Amigos!

5 | Whitefish

A recurring neck spasm messed up my night’s rest, likely from camping and getting tweaked the day before at so much scenery. After two weeks on the road, I’m noticing that my departure times keep slipping later and my riding times are getting shorter :D.

After some coffee and repacking, I started loading the bike in a chilly wind with threatening skies. A big Dodge diesel pickup rumbled up next to me and a guy jumped out and came over to the bike. He looked it over and then said “Oh, you’re on a BMW! That means the police won’t hassle you downtown.”

I asked what was going on and he replied that the Mounties had been pulling over Harleys and making them empty all their cases for inspection. He pointed down the street to a white pickup and said “There’s a Mountie right there to catch anyone trying to get by.” A few minutes later a group of Harley riders rumbled past, riding slowly and idling out of the town. The white RCMP truck drove away after they passed.

I found out at breakfast that a group of Harleys had rolled into Radium and in classic a-hole fashion were revving their engines and creating as much noise as possible with their pipes. The police were having no part of it and pulled the entire group over, along with anyone else riding a Harley, making them empty their cases and questioning them for a long time, just to rain on their parade. I’m happy for anyone to ride, however the Harley crowd so often is obnoxious and hurts the sport in their constant need for attention.

The guy in the pickup also owned this bad mamma-jamma

I fired up and rolled downtown, to a sight of zero Harleys and zero RCMP. When I turned onto Main Street I came slap dab onto the rear end of a Bighorn sheep who was strolling leisurely down the street. I tried to drop back just in case he was in a mood to start a butting contest. He eventually wandered off the roadway and I got past him to find a gas station.

At the pump, I met a guy on a BMW R1200GSA loaded to the gills. Dennis was from New Joisey and he was heading north for Alaska. We chatted a bit and he headed off into a dark and threatening rain cloud sweeping down off the mountains. My path led south and away from the worst of the rain, but it was still cold and spitting moisture.

The beautiful scenery rolled past, somewhat dulled by the blue and dark overcast skies, and the chill reminded me of a Texas winter day. Hard to imagine the 100º sweltering heat I’d ridden out of from Texas.

A dreary day...

As I rolled on south, I passed Skookumchuk and was enamored with the name, repeating it to myself and chuckling - something I needed since this trip has had its issues. My old tent had delaminated and leaked and I’d had to buy another, my Olympia Ranger pants and Teknic jacket both began leaking, my side case leaked and filled with water, camping in a dust storm had gotten dust into my cameras, and to top it off my phone was stolen out of my cart in the REI store in Missoula. Snivel.

I came up on the town of Fort Steele and wheeled into the parking lot of the old Fort. It was windy and cold and I needed a stretch so I wandered over to the steam train about the time it fired up. From there I wandered into the entry building and looked around a bit. The fort grounds looked interesting, but I didn’t want to pay the fees and wander through, plus I had to get back to the US to set up camp in Glacier again. It would be an interesting stop when one has the time.

From Fort Steele I continued on south for the split where Hwy 93 separated from Hwy 3 to the border of the U.S., playing tag with a couple of groups of Harleys and dodging lumber trucks, as well as eyeing deer on the roadside.

I approached the crossing for the U.S. at Roosville, with some minor trepidation simply due to the knowledge that customs officers often target solo riders, especially ones with ponytails. Traffic was heavier at the crossing than when I’d entered Canada at the small Chief Mountain Border Crossing. There were about 30 cars in front of me going into the U.S. and a line of about 100 on the U.S. side heading for Canada.

Passing through the barrage of cameras and sensors when it was my turn, I rolled to a stop and the agent started with the routine questions asking “where did y’all come from?”, watching his monitors for who knows what information is supplied. He paused for a moment, likely looking at the 3D X-ray scan of what was in my colon, then saying “Y’all have a safe trip back to Texas.” I’m not sure what the “Y’all” was about… maybe he thought it appropriate for someone from Texas, or maybe he saw something in my colon.

Back in the U.S., “we” rolled through the little town of Eureka and continued on south.

I remembered that my new phone had been off while I was in Canada. I'd also had to get a new carrier, since my old mobile carrier wasn’t available in Montana after my phone had been snatched and I’d forgotten to add roaming. I pulled off to turn it on and heard the resounding dings indicating 3 days worth of texts, calls and emails. Blech.

The skies cleared ahead of me and the blue sky was a nice sight to see, bested only by the warmth of the sun after a chilly day’s ride. I landed in Whitefish, getting a room for the night and a coffee downtown.

6 | Glacier: Part Deux!

A good breakfast of huckleberry pancakes is a great way to start the day anywhere :D

From Whitefish I rode back into Glacier and set up camp, then reversed back to Kalispell to pick up a friend for a few days of camping and hiking in the park. So far I’ve had good luck camping as a "Hiker/Biker” in the full campgrounds. The park hosts have been good about letting me park the bike in some other spot in the campground and just paying the $5 nightly fee.

After getting the tent up and gear stashed, I exited the park and rode back to Kalispell where I had the late afternoon to kill until the evening flight arrived at the International Airport.

The next day, Glacier was on the agenda again. The first ride through the park a few days earlier had been during the heavy smoke and haze from the Washington forest fires, which created a mysterious feel to the park since the mountains were dark silhouettes, but this weekend the air was clearer, cold and sunny.

We camped next to Markus and Brita, a young German couple - both architects - who were taking a year off from work and traveling extensively. They had flown to NYC, then rode a bus to Chicago and taken the train to Glacier National Park. They were disappointed to find the backcountry hiking permits were no longer allowed for foreigners, since the 9/11 incident, but were having a good time anyway.

Hiking the high line trail from Logan Pass was fantastic and about the closest scenery to the Alps of Switzerland I’ve yet seen. The green was incredibly intense, from the additional chlorophyll in the plants due to the short growing season I was told, the temps were perfect and flowers were in bloom.

Our hiking plans were curtailed the last afternoon because an area of the park had been closed due to a bear attack on a hiker. The grizzly bear had not been fazed by the hiker’s bear spray, and had then been shot by the hiker with a handgun. The bear had run away and was assumed wounded, so the rangers had shut down an entire area of hiking trails until the threat could be dealt with.

Glacier National Park’s scenery was stunning and the park is a very special place.

7 | Polebridge & Bear Claws

It was my last day in the Glacier area so I headed up the North Fork of the Flathead River. The road is mainly gravel and parallels the western edge of the park, with great views of the mountain range off to the right. My goal was to hit Polebridge and the little store famous for its baked goodies and then to go on up to Kiltna Lake to check out the campground.

The gravel road was very dusty and well traveled, but the views were great. I stopped several times to look at the river and stunning mountain range behind, ever-present bear spray at my side.

Speaking of bear spray... locals have differing opinions of how effective it actually is and most say it’s really just to make the park visitors feel more secure - sort of a placebo. In the case of the hiker incident a couple of days earlier, the bear spray did nothing and the hiker had to shoot. Though it’s illegal to carry a gun in the park, I’m pretty sure the hiker was happy he brought it!

Eventually, I hit the turn off into Polebridge and noticed another adventure bike emerge from my cloud of white dust and turn in behind me. When I pulled up in front of the store, a red BMW F800GS Adventure pulled in beside me. As we both took helmets off, I said hello and the rider answered with a big smile and a heavy accent.

My new compadre was “Nico” and we shook hands. Nicolas, was from Mendoza, Argentina, and had sold all his possessions and flown to Alaska, where the BMW dealer set him up with a well tricked-out 800. Nico had spent a month in Alaska riding back roads and then worked his way down through Canada to Montana. He still had a month left before arriving at the Burning Man event in Nevada, where he was to meet his brother. From there he planned to ride south all the way back to Argentina and Tierra del Fuego.

The Polebridge Mercantile seemed to be the "Terlingua of the North" to me... a bunch of folks who are living in a separate world and enjoying the hell out of it. Word was the best huckleberry bearclaw pastries in the world were made there and indeed there was a line of folks waiting for them. I treated Nico to one and we both agreed they were fantastic.

If you go to Glacier, take a nice drive up to Polebridge and snag a couple!

We talked for awhile and I made some suggestions for the Wyoming area where he was headed, and then asked if he wanted to ride with me up over the range on dirt roads. He was game and we took off north before finding the forest road I’d mapped out.

He led and I trailed in the talcum powder dust trail for about 50 miles. The road was great and it felt fantastic to be on the pegs and off the pavement.

We stopped a few times for pics, eventually ending up in Whitefish where we wished each safe travels - he heading back to ride through Glacier and me for Missoula.

After the afternoon ride, I was dusty and happy as a pig in mud!

By the time I reached Missoula, the worst of the dust had blown away, but enough remained to keep the other Super 8 Motel guests at a distance…

8 | South to Idaho Falls

It was time to say goodbye to the area I love - northern Montana - and begin working south. I briefly dropped in to Big Sky BMW in Missoula and fondled a few things to make me feel better, then headed for Idaho on the trusty, dusty one…

It was a clear day and a bit on the cool side despite the stinging sunshine, but I decided to get ahead of the heat game and just wear a long sleeve nylon shirt for the ride south. Less than 20 minutes later I was on the shoulder zipping up in my jacket.

As I passed from town to town, I started looking for gas and passed a station with a big black ‘59 Cadillac at the pump, a long haired dude dressed in black with a black cowboy hat and sunglasses pumping gas. My speed had caused me to miss the entrance, and there was no way I’d pass a sight like that so I made a U-turn and pulled into the station to the vacant pump adjacent.

I peeled out of my gear and walked over to the big dude, who was digging in the trunk of the car. He had long hair, silver sunglasses, a black leather vest, complete with matching bulges betraying a couple of handguns concealed beneath it, black t-shirt, black jeans and an air of serious badass about him. Each hand was adorned with multiple skull rings and a mixture of silver and turquoise jewelry. The ‘59 caddy was in great shape and had been painted matte black, with half moon wheels.

He looked at me silently and I asked if he minded a picture of his car. He said that was fine, and we started talking cars. He’d found the ‘59 behind a neighbor’s barn, having driven past it daily for 30 years and never knowing it was there. He restored it up to a point, leaving it mostly original to use for a daily driver.

I shot a couple of pictures of him and the car and we talked a bit more before he said “Hey, come by my office and I’ll give you a t-shirt. It’s like a museum and you might get a kick out of it.” I asked what he did and he said he was a bounty hunter and bail bondsman.

He made quite the scene cruising through town in the black caddy with me trailing close behind.

We pulled into his business and went inside. It was indeed like a museum, festooned with trophy mounts, flags, posters, guns and high tech toys. He told me to look around while he moved a few motorcycles and parked the caddy in the garage. I spotted the rebel flag, a “Don’t Tread On Me” flag, a U.S. flag, movie posters of Clint Eastwood and John Wayne and more than I can remember.

While he was out, one of his “clients” came in and proceeded to share with me his current situation and story while we waited for the guy to return. When he did, I was privy to the client’s situation and knew far more than I’d wanted to know...

Around the room and within arms reach of most anywhere, multiple loaded guns lay at hand. He picked up an older Mossberg pump shotgun by his desk and said “I call this one Beulah. Beulah has saved my life two times and I love her dearly.” In the corner was a leather ZZ Top “Mexicali Tour” vest and we started talking music. He said ZZ Top was coming to Missoula and Jeff Beck as well. At this point I realized I had finally met my evil twin, or he had met his.

He said “Let me get you a t-shirt” and then returned from the back room with two. The first, he said, was his regular and showed it to me, then he said “I’m going to give you this one as well, and it’s rare. I only have a couple left but I want you to have it.”

On the back it said “Does Not Play Well With Others.” He said “There’s a special story about this shirt” and proceeded to share. He said a man he knew only by sight, had suffered a stroke and was paralyzed on one side of his body. This man walked down the alley in front of his business every day, struggling along in difficulty, which the man did as therapy to try to rehabilitate himself. One day when the bounty hunter wasn’t there, three teenage boys accosted the stroke victim in the alley and began imitating his distorted face and voice, calling him “Retard!” and finally threatening him. The leader said they were going to make his face look the same on both sides and began trying to beat him. The man threw his back up against a telephone pole for support, then proceeded to knock two of the teens out cold with his one good arm, the third running away. When the bounty hunter heard the story, he had the t-shirt made up especially for the guy and they ended up becoming close friends.

The t-shirt and the story gave me chills, as a memory from an event 7 years before came flooding back to me. I shared with him that in 2007, I had taken my first motorcycle trip to Montana and just about 10 miles down the road from this place, I had pulled into a bar/restaurant to get something to eat. It was getting dusk and I went in looking for food. As I walked in the door, a man who appeared seriously drunk staggered past me and out the door.

While waiting by a pool table, I looked out the front window and saw the man lying on the concrete sidewalk. I went outside and helped get him off the concrete and onto a bench under the window awning. It was then I realized he wasn’t just drunk, but had had a stroke in the past and was unable to walk well or speak. I told him to sit there while I went back in and tried to find out if anyone knew him. When I turned around, the man had attempted to walk away and had fallen again. I ran back out and picked him up, a passerby staying with him this time. The bartender said he saw the man frequently and thought he lived a block or two away. I half carried him in the rain the direction the bartender had pointed. A block away I saw a duplex and got him over to it, helping him sit on the swing before knocking on the adjacent front door. A young guy came out wearing no shirt, tattoos and cut off jeans, surprised by my knock. Then he saw the man in the swing and I asked if he knew him and he said yes, that the man was his neighbor. He helped me get him inside his house and we dried him off with towels, setting him in a recliner and covering him with a blanket.

The young guy and I went outside and I asked him who took care of the man and who we needed to call. He said that he checked on him daily, as well as a visiting nurse and meals on wheels. He then told me the man had no family because when he had the stroke, his wife left him and his kids did as well. They left no numbers or anything and had completely abandoned him. The man couldn’t speak and could barely walk, going to the bar every day to drink - I can imagine to dull the pain. It was heart wrenching to hear, and I went back inside to check on him. I said a prayer over him and made sure he was covered up and warm enough. From there I walked back to the bar to find that food was no longer being served. The waitress apologized but thanked me for helping him. I found it so odd, to be given a t-shirt 7 years later, after hearing it was made for a man who'd had a stroke, just a few miles down the road from where I'd helped another man who'd had a stroke.

The bounty hunter shook my hand and grinned and time was slipping away, so I shot a few pics of him and got ready to leave. He told me to come back sometime and we’d ride together around the area.

I thanked him for the time spent and the t-shirt and headed south again through the Bitterroot Valley towards the corner of Idaho and Wyoming.

The narrow, tree lined canyons of northern Montana slowly slipped into lower, redder rock canyons as the terrain changed. It was still beautiful, a differing beauty as the road curved and twisted along.

I rounded a bend to see several bighorn sheep in the road - or maybe they were Rocky Mountain sheep - and I slowed to watch. Several wandered onto the roadway, and before long I noticed movement on the hillside next to me, looking up to see maybe 30 others eating less than 40 feet away.

I watched for a while then headed east and into Wyoming and the Big Hole Valley, passing the Big Hole Battlefield National Monument - the final battle of the Nez Perce Indians. This terrain was familiar from my trip to Montana years before, and I enjoyed seeing it again.

I enjoyed the immense valley and open spaces, the beauty in a much more subtle way. If Glacier was a symphony, it would be Wagnerian, and the subtle colors and shades of the Big Hole Valley would be a piece by Claude DeBussy.

The first town after Big Hole was Wisdom, a place I’d stopped previously for lunch and a tour of the old hardware store downtown. I was a little disappointed to see its bright colors now painted a respectable and drab tan, as well as being a bit more chic than when I’d been a few years earlier.

After Wisdom, I continued south for Jackson and planned to stop in at Bannack State Park again, the most excellent ghost town that had been abandoned as the state capitol, however having been through it before and pressed for time as the day slipped away, I passed it and continued south on the dirt road to bypass the town of Dillon.

It had become clear and sunny when I connected with Interstate 15 for Idaho Falls, however the temps were a bit cooler than expected as I blasted on south, my goal still a couple of hours away.

All in all, a good day.

9 | Wyoming Skies

Wyoming skies are a beautiful thing. And that’s good cause I saw a lot of them today.

I woke up feeling great and planned to make miles today, my goal being Walden, Colorado from Idaho Falls. Unfortunately the free breakfast at Super 8 made me sick and queazy for much of the day and dulled my desire to either ride or shoot.

From Idaho Falls, I detoured back up north to Jackson, Wyoming, to extend my time in the mountains a bit longer, despite needing to get back to Texas. I was also hoping to postpone the heat I expected to find in Rock Springs and the lower portion of Wyoming in general.

Luckily the air was cool in the morning and stayed that way all day, but the road up to Teton Pass was a bit chilly, and certainly a nice twisty ride.

I pulled into Jackson, somewhat dreading it since I knew it would be packed with tourists. Still, I wanted to ride through and while there stopped into a bagel shop for a plain bagel to see if it would quell my queasy stomach.

After a bit, I was done with the tourist congestion and returned south on Hwy 191 for Rock Springs.

The rivers seemed to be running high and there were innumerable fisherman and float boats on the twists and turns of the rolling green waters.

The road south was quite enjoyable and a pretty ride, with the mountainous terrain slowly turned to rolling landscapes and sagebrush as I motored on. As the expanses increased, so did the sky and I spent much of the hours watching clouds up high and scanning for pronghorn down low. The smells of sagebrush and dust were my companions.

One thing I truly enjoy about motorcycle travel is the variety of terrain one sees in just a single day. From early morning chill on the plains and rolling grasslands, to cold shadows in forested canyons up high in the mountains, to massive rolling hills and endless skies, to red desert rocks and canyons, it’s a great way to see the world.

Though Wyoming has some of the best mountain terrain in the U.S., much of it is rolling or flat landscape from horizon to horizon. Aside from the deer and pronghorn, a random badger and endless ground squirrels and chipmunks, I saw several herds of wild horses and a bald eagle plus numerous hawks as I rode.

From the highway I spotted a large herd of wild horses and took a long dirt road to get closer to them to watch. They eventually wandered over a hill and I just spent some time looking at the amazing skies above and savored the moment of solitude. Alone and far from anyone, just me, the wind and the sky.

By the time the sun was setting, I had rumbled south through Saratoga and into the tiny community of Riverside for a cabin. I didn’t have the extra hour or two left in me to make Walden, Colorado, which had been my goal.

Across the road and on the porch of the Bear Creek Cafe, I tried to find wifi and cell signal, as well as an outlet for charging my dying phone. Instead I found a seat, no signal and no outlet, but a conversation with a young girl who came out with a whiskey and coke in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

She proceeded to tell me her life story and how she had come to Riverside to work horses and learn to ranch. She was a bit upset that her parents wanted her to get a "real" job. I reminded her that parents love their children and only want the best for them… but I also reminded her that you have to follow your heart to be happy, and that's what youth is for...

10 | Rainy to Raton

The day dawned crisp and clear and with watering eyes from the cold I waved goodbye to my cabin, The Mangy Moose Bar and The Bear Trap Cafe in Riverside and rode south for the Summit area of Colorado.

I grabbed breakfast in Walden, the “Moose Viewing Capitol” and enjoyed the sunny day as I motored on.

I have two things against Colorado by the way…

First, there are no shoulders on the roads so I miss a lot of great photos because I can’t pull off the edge.

Second, is that every car has a roof rack which at distance looks just like a cop car :D

I’d lived in Steamboat Springs for a while and the terrain from Walden south was familiar territory, bringing back memories and feelings of missing the area. I could see the “Rabbit Ears” high atop a hill, signaling Rabbit Ears Pass over and into Steamboat to my right.

The fields were thick with fresh cut hay with rolled bales everywhere, stored up for the long winter ahead.

As I continued south for Granby, I could see threatening skies and rain ahead

Further south nearing the Summit area, the dark clouds that were ahead finally engulfed me in rain and chilly temps. I stopped briefly in a sporting goods outlet for a set of waterproof gloves, as mine had been lost somewhere along the way. I ended up with some "Jamaica Mon” snowboard gloves which felt pretty darn good. The clerks were engrossed in the concept of my riding the bike from Texas to Canada solo and the fact the rain and temps - 40’s at the time - didn’t stop me. I neglected to tell them it was hot as hell in Montana and returning through cold rainy weather, it wasn’t like I had a choice, continuing to let them stroke my ego.

From Silverthorne, the rains continued as I headed for Leadville to see a friend from college who was working at the mining museum there for the summer.

I arrived just in time for a 3 day festival apparently and while having coffee with my friend was warned in a loudspeaker announcement by the local police that any cars on the street would be towed. I tossed the coffee and went outside to see my bike, one of the last vehicles on the street. We walked up the street, said goodbyes with hugs then I geared up and headed out just as the rain hit again.

From Leadville south, the rain continued, the dark boiling clouds covering the entire sky. I noticed as I rode in the heavy rain, that I got flashed a couple of times by other drivers. My headlights were on, or so I thought, until I stopped briefly to find out only the parking lamp was on. I’d been riding in heavy rain with no lights for oncoming traffic to see.

I messed with the switch and found out the lights were not coming on until finally I got the brights to light up, so I left the switch on high-beams for the remainder of the ride. At Westcliffe, I stopped for gas and suddenly the tornado sirens came on. Behind me it was black and dark and I was very glad I’d come through it.

It was chilly and wet and of the 7 hours I’d ridden, 5 had been in rain. Water had leaked into my crotch and puddled in my sleeves from my riding gear having failed on this trip.

By the time I made I-25 at Walsenburg, I was glad there was only an hour ride left to get to Raton, New Mexico, my goal for the night. Unfortunately, the rain intensified and by the time I hit Raton Pass it was the worst of the day. As the elevation rose it became much worse and I hit a cloud bank at the top. My visor was covered in rain and the interior fogged so badly I could barely see. The last 15 miles were the longest I think I’ve ever ridden and in the blinding rain I prayed not to hit puddles and hydroplane.

Luckily the last 5 miles the rain diminished to sprinkles and by the time I found a room, I was beat physically and mentally. One of my side cases leaked and I ended up having to drag everything off the bike and litter the room with wet gear and clothes. I spent much time wiping water off gear and tools that evening.

What a day.

11 | Texas

Morning at America’s Best Value And Worst Inn met me with rain and 50 degree temps. Looking around the room at all my possessions strewn about after a night of drying out with the heater, I was less than inspired to pack it all up and head off in a full rain for Texas.

I finally got enough gumption to get dressed, layered up and eventually got all the gear back on the bike before seeking gas. I had a bit of consternation because the previous night, my Bags Connection tank bag, which attaches by quick mount ring over the gas cap, had become a total bee-otch and wouldn’t detach for anything. After a long day of cold rain I was not in the mood to mess with it and almost took my boot to it to knock it off. I had finally gotten it loose with the sheer force of my curse words, which must have made a small sonic boom and freed the mechanism.

Anyway the bag seemed to work fine at the gas station and I motored on for Texas through the dreaded “safety zone” on NM 87. After years of 50 miles per hour limits, I was pleasantly surprised to find they’d raised it a bit.

In the rain and side winds, I had plenty of time to think about and rehearse the trip in my mind. As the Texas border inched closer, I began seeing a patch of blue in the clouds ahead. By the time I hit the border, the sun was fully out and the skies were blue with high clouds. After a couple of days of chill and rain, it was a bright spot to ease the sadness of getting back to Texas after such amazing scenery and experiences.

The heat began in earnest by the time I crossed back into the Lone Star State and made Dalhart. At the local McDonald’s I stripped off the rain gear and a few layers of UnderArmor and Nike Combat. Then headed inside for a quick lunch.

When my order came I went to the condiment station for a bit of ketchup for my fries. At the counter, there were two little girls from a Mennonite (or similar) family trying to get ketchup at the condiment station. Both were wearing full length dresses and one was about 4 years old and the other probably 3 or so. The 4 year old was barely able to reach the ketchup spigot and was filling her little paper cup standing on tiptoes. Her little sister was much smaller and could barely get her hand on top of the counter while searching for a paper cup for ketchup. I slid the stack of cups over to her hand where she grabbed one and then attempted to reach the spigot to no avail. I looked down at the 4 year old girl who was still running the ketchup out and all over the side of her cup and hand. She looked up at me with the most serious expression, staring me directly in the eyes and said slowly and sincerely, "Isn't McDonald's great?"

I almost burst out laughing but kept a serious look and said to her "Yes, it sure is." She continued to stare as if making sure I was being honest, then went back to running the ketchup all over her hand.

I had been dreading the final day back to the Dallas area, but was thankful the heat was not in the 100’s as my original 600 mile day out of Texas had been.

The miles rolled by slowly as the terrain stayed the same - flat and endless, broken only by the occasional gully or canyon unseen across the flat scape.

"Toto, we're not in Montana anymore"

By the time I hit Wichita Falls for gas, I was beginning to feel the exhaustion of the 6000 mile trip. Checking my phone, as luck would have it, a friend and some family were at the Fort Worth Stockyards that afternoon, so I detoured there to see them and spend some time to celebrate my adventure.