July 4, 2007
Dillon, Wyoming to Stevensville, Montana
It had been a long ride from Cody to Dillon and with the exhaustion had come good, spider-free sleep at a Super 8 Motel. The night before I'd spent a while talking to the manager and her husband, an ex Army Ranger, before heading out for a pretty good steak at a restaurant I'd seen.
Morning coffee
The morning air was brisk beneath a cloudless sky when I headed south on Interstate 15 to catch 287 west towards Bannack and then Wisdom.
The endless crystal blue allowed me to really appreciate the "Big Sky" of Montana. It's been interesting as I’ve traveled by motorcycle to sense how regions and states have a "feel" that is their own.
287 towards Bannack flowed over rolling hills with sweeping vistas and long, long stretches without seeing another person or vehicle. It's amazing to be able to ride long spells and see no sign of humanity. It also triggers those little fears of breaking down in the midst of nowhere.
Don't miss Bannack if you're near. It was the frontier capitol of Montana and a ghost town not to be missed. The state maintains it as a park, with what looks like a great place to camp also. You can walk through the buildings and read the stories of gunfights and wild west adventures. I'd like to return and camp there, then spend a day exploring rather than just the hour I had.
While in Bannack, I met 2 riders from Canada who’d stayed at the same Super 8 as I - I'd seen their bikes there the night before.
The ghost town was really an interesting place and worth a visit.
In my brief time in Montana, I’ve felt like I’ve stepped back in time a couple of decades. It’s hard to explain. You see people driving 30 year old cars and there are old buildings and structures strewn here and there. Not only that, the people are friendly and I feel tinges of the feelings I had as a child in the 60's - remnants of an America that I miss.
I continued on to Wisdom, taking a tush timeout for a quick lunch, before tossing on a jacket liner in the nippy air. There was a great trading post and old-fashioned hardware store that carried everything one might need. The usual Harleys were parked in rows, beneath the watchful eye of the sheriff in his car waiting for a speeder to come through.
From Wisdom I headed on 43 west and swung into the Big Hole National Battlefield. This was where Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce had fought a battle with the US Cavalry as he had moved his nation east towards Yellowstone and Cody. There is nothing like old battlefields for sensing the power of history. Once again, a place I'd love to return to with more time.
I'd learned that "Hole" means a big valley, as in "Jackson Hole" means the valley the town of Jackson sits in. Having heard "Jackson Hole, Wyoming", I'd always just assumed it was the name of the town itself. Same with "Big Hole Battlefield"...
Getting back on 43 west, I headed up Chief Joseph Pass, a beautiful road with nice sweepers and of course, great mountain views. Hwy 43 exits Montana for a brief time and enters the tip of Idaho, before re-entering Montana and connecting with Hwy 93.
Coming down the pass, the winds kept the switchbacks "interesting" and I almost overshot a couple of corners. I still would forget the extra weight on the bike at times.
Finally reaching the last leg of my trek, Hwy 93 north into the Bitterroot towards Missoula, I hung a right and went north. I must say I loved riding in Montana, not only for the scenery but for the ability to have roads and highways alone as if no one else exists. Being able to commune with the moment, free of tailgaters or other distractions makes the wonderful scenery even better and truly enjoyable.
The Bitterroot turned out to be a beautiful valley lying between eastern and western mountain ranges. It was a joy to ride, as I was both excited to be approaching my goal, yet unexpectedly felt a tinge of sadness. Sadness because I’d gotten so addicted to each day being a whole new experience and a whole new world, and just the fact I’d be stationary for a week or so in one place made me realize how being free had affected me. It sounds silly, but true.
The Bitterroot had the feel of a place in the infancy of becoming another Jackson, Wyoming. The population was growing and wealthy folks are moving there from California. Actually it's sad to me and I feel for the locals who will slowly be pushed out by the wealth of outsiders. Nonetheless it is a beautiful valley.
I continued on to Stevensville, where I would be staying for a few days and exploring the area. There were lots of folks on the river for the 4th. After arriving, greeting the family and dropping my gear, my friend and I headed out for a barbecue bash and fireworks frenzy at one of the family's houses.
Several folks had gathered on the back deck and I plopped down next to a couple from California. In the chitchat it came out that I had ridden from Texas to Montana, having arrived just this day. The couple, Kelly and Kay, asked what kind of motorcycle I rode and I said "Well, have you ever heard of a BMW GS?" Big smiles erupted and they burst into laughter. Kelly informed me that they had just ridden in from California on BMW GS's - he on his R1200 GSA and Kay on her F650GS. What a hoot! In the middle of Montana at a family BBQ I bump into a couple of GS riders.
We ate fantastic bbq ribs, had some good wine and played Red Neck Horseshoes with washers until the darkness came. Which is when the party began... I'd never seen such a stockpile of fireworks in my life. These guys were serious.
The neighborhood consisted of 10 acre plots of fields, with fireworks erupting all over the valley. Our hosts had prepared for the event with large launching tables, buckets of water all about the place and a field of tall grass prepped with mown firebreaks and prepositioned water hoses.
The kids were launching rockets to the cheers of the household, when sure enough, the field got a hot rocket. Fire blazed up and we raced around throwing buckets of water to no avail. The designated "fire marshall" finally got a hose to it and doused the blaze. Neighbors across the way cheered loudly and toasted us so we did a victory dance.
Needless to say this pattern continued until late. We'd start an accidental field fire and then the neighbors would start accidentally start a fire. Each was successfully doused, but it was always a rush.
We finally won the contest, starting 5 field fires to the neighbor's paltry 3.
I have vivid memories of this 4th of July... the cool evening air, silhouettes of the mountains with shimmering stars in a clear sky and a valley filled with thousands of fireworks from homes all through it. America the beautiful lives on in hidden places...
What a way to celebrate my 2,761 mile ride.
The route: