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, Im 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.