Today was supposed to be the day to check the mighty Madison river off of my "greatest rivers to fish" list.  Not going to happen.  Thirty-nine degrees and a steady rain set in for the whole day, on top of a blown out (very high and very muddy) Madison River either relegated John and I to watching the World Cup at the bar next door or pushing on to Missoula. 

There on the other side of the mountains, the weather is breaking and the rivers, although still pretty high, are clearing up a bit.

Putting on all of my clothes, the heavy winter gloves, a newly purchased silk scarf wrapped around my neck and lower face (note to self- don't stop at the bank), and loading some of the heavier bags into Johns car, we headed north with our two vehicle parade.

 

The downpour continued with small pockets of sun peeking through the ominous clouds around the high altitude pass but turned to wet, dark and cold as we crossed.  The heated grips again on HIGH but not high enough and with the cold seeping in through the space between the gloves and my jacket- come on Missoula.

 

As we crossed over the Bonner pass (not Donner, that's CA) the clouds began to part and the world switched to high definition.  Pages ripped from vacation magazines unfolded before me.  The familiar Bitterroot mountains to the south and rolling green hills to the north appeared soon after.  This is the Montana I love. 

 

John and I checked into the Mountain Valley Inn just after noon and proceeded to unload his car and my bike.  I had much more stuff.  Make-up and all you know.  John, Clay, Brendan, Blake, and I had stayed here five years ago when we did a eight day whirlwind fishing tour of the Bitterroot, Big Blackfoot, Rock Creek, and Clark Fork rivers.

 

I had mailed a fresh set of tires to the motel over a week ago and was pleased to see them sitting behind the counter when we plowed into the motel office. 

 

A quick call to Kurt's Polaris and Victory down the road on Broadway resulted in a personable Lucas with the invitation to "bring it on down". 

John and I hit a local sporting goods store that was in the same place we found it half a decade previous.  We knew just where the discount flies, fresh tippet, racks of clearance winter stuff, and knowledgable fishing consultants were stationed.

 

A small but valuable paper bag of fly fishing necessaries under our arm we rushed to the BBQ restaurant we noticed across the street.  Into my third rib and fourth hushpuppy, Lucas at Kurts Polaris and Victory called and said all is ready. 

 

John dropped me off and I did about ten minutes of tight figure eights in the abandoned parking lot out back to scrub the snot slick coating that motorcycle tire manufacturers apply for no other reason than to provide entertainment to the shops that mount them.  Many are the brethern that exit the parking lot quickly to beat the light, turn left and find themselves inspecting the pavement from just inches away while polishing the side of their bike with any number of pavement grit grades. 

 

Tomorrow FISH!

 

Night offspring, Love you wifey.

 

  

Woke early again and had a hot diet Mountain Dew with a squishy Power Bar that had been lurking in the bottom of my tank bag. 

 

I picked a road out of town that somewhat paralelled I90 north but not so close that you could see or hear it.  This road was the original link to Montana years back and had been the path of least resistance from Sheridan Wyoming to points north before roads.  This might have been the route that Major Reno from his fort in Sheridan to confront the pesky Sioux and Cheyenne up the road (figure of speach) at Little Big Horn.  The route to his rout you could say :-). 

This two-lane ran about thirty five miles along a creek and railroad track.  At one time a coal train was paceing me and we exchanged a wave. 

 

I saw a school bus ahead and backed off the throttle to find the bus getting smaller before me.  I sped up to find the bus doing the posted 65 mph speed limit on this little two lane road.  The driver stopped one time in twelve miles to pick up a child before turning off on a long ranch road.  The dust cloud soon obscured the diminishing yellow bus as I wondered how long the drivers route was before filling her bus and making it to the school.  Where was the school?  This is really big country with miles between homes and light years between civilizations.  Even then the small town signs quote populations of double digits.

 

The Little Big Horn battlefield is another must visit if you are anywhere near south eastern Montana.  I slowed on my walk up to the point of final battle when I over heard a native american park ranger beginning her micro history lesson- some in native Crowe language (yes there were Crowe there too) and became mesmerized by the cadance and color of her voice and found myself still there standing in the sun thirty minutes later.  She teaches the native language and is clearly passionate about the young people of her tribe learning it.

 

I walked all of the paths and read all of the markers where both US calvary and indians fell.  The battlefield is unchanged sans the info center, the miles of car and walking paths, and damage done from a fire storm a few years ago.  It is a captivating but somber place.

 

More open highway.  More wind.  More rain.  Four hours later, I spoke to my friend John Liposchak who was meeting me in Ennis Mt for a couple of days of fly fishing and rest.  John was already in Ennis and estimated I was only an hour away.  One hour of the coldest, hardest driving rain on a wet, gravel strewn road through what I would expect to be otherwise beautiful country.  Even with the heated grips and jacket vents snugged tight, I was shivering like a wind-up toy when I reached the cabin.  John had found a wall heater and had it on full tilt when I got in.  Cathy thinks John will make a good husband.  Any takers?

 

 

Night kids, Love you baby. 

The sun rises earlier up here.  At 4:30 am I was wide awake (thanks also to my embedded biocycles) and began packing.  Tom Pressley soon brought out a cup of fresh coffee and the sweet smell of bacon oozed from their rolling home.  With much too much to eat I bid them a goodbye with promises both ways to stay in touch and visit...

Thanks Tom and Lee Ann for taking this traveler in to your gypsy camp and making it my home for the evening.

 

There was still a noticable loss of power on the top end under load of the 650cc  powerplant and this was begining to get in the way of my enjoyment of this place.

 

It's rather cliche to mention Robert Persig when speaking of motorcycle travels but the thread of "Zen..." lays a foundation that the classical approach to life, in this case his relationship with his motorcycle, requires one to be a logical thinker.  Problem is, something like a 10% loss of power in the mountains causes me to obsess a little.  

 

Crazy Horse monument seen.  Pics taken....  I wonder if it's bad gas?

 

When I pulled into Deadwood SD, I parked under a shade tree in the lot of a museum and went for a stroll around town.  A fan of the HBO series Deadwood, I looked for familiar names and points of historical comparison.  They were there too!  The location where Wild Bill Hickok was killed is clearly marked and the chair where he held the famous poker hand of "aces and eights".  The cemetary where he and later Clamity Jane are buried is on the hill just above town.  I want to come back here and spend more time after reading up on historical to contemporary transformation of this town.  Neat place.

 

When I circled around to the bike a meter maid was making her way down the line.  Knowing it would take me a few minutes to mount and scoot, I dropped a couple of quarters in the meter and noticed it took me to one hour.  Time to figure this power thing out once and for all!

 

I spread out a small plastic tarp on the ground and laid out my tools and started taking the carberator off.  By he time I had it in pieces on the ground the meter maid had worked her way over to me and raised one eyebrow but followed with a smile as if she knew we were going nowhere until it was back on.  Besides I wasn't taking up much room and had to feed more revenue into the skinny silver taxman before it was all over.  I found crud in the bowl and varnish on other parts- remedied with some filter cleaner.  Back together and on the road by 10am.

 

A couple of riders from Texas that stopped to offer the kind of help one can give with one's hands in one's pockets, mentioned a detour north to Devils Tower.  A little ahead of schedule this sounded ripe for testing the results of the newly cleaned carb.

 

The path they described turned out to be a well out of the way remote road up into northern South Dakota then over to a connecting road that brings you south to the monument.  Good ride but not one for testing as I only saw three other people on the road for the entire one hour trip.  However the power was back.  That-a-girl.  I knew you had it in you... 

 

I jumped back on I90 north to deep Wyoming territory to find and follow a ranchers access path that ran along the interstate.  It broke up the monotony but put me behind schedule.  Still lots of wind and another storm brewing.

 

In Ranchester I dove into a clean but oddly quiet motel called the Western Motel.  The "free wifi" sign drew me in as well as discovering the closest campground to be back in Sheridan.  The propriter, his wife and their two small sons had whipped what was obviously a fifties style single story motorcourt with an office on the end, into a really nice well maintained home away from home.  If you are in the area and desire a very reasonable quick stop, check them out.

Unload the mule, cover her from the elements and blog until my eyes cross...

Nighty night Emily and Eli, Love you Cathy.  PS.  I'm really missing you guys.

Woke to a very wet parking lot and evidence of a storm that made me glad I grabbed a motel last night.  30 bucks for a dry room and shower was only 10 more than the strange campground across the river.

 

VERY strong headwinds today.  Enough to kill my mpg even more.  A sudden and surprising no-fuel groan presented itself at highway speeds way too early, I instinctively switched quickly to reserve and headed to the closest station.  After getting back on the highway I noticed a loss of power on the top end.  Hmmm.  Stopped and check the bike all over.  The air filter was a little dirty but not enough to cause this.  Fuel/air mixture seemed reasonable for the altitude, no smoke or sign of a rich mixture.  Eyes rolled at the Harley rider that smirked that it sounded like it was only running on one cylinder.   Since the bike was still running at 90%, I plodded along.

 

Wall South Dakota. 

For the last 335 miles, I've seen signs for Wall Drug.  "Have You Dug Wall Drug".  "5 cent coffee at Wall Drug".  "Dinosaurs at Wall Drug". 

Every half mile or so another sign.  That's ok.  With nothing else to look at except redundant but stunning landscape.  Miles and miles and miles of the same, the signs give me something to study while listening to Neil Young and the drone of 38 impotent horsepower that made it past my ear canal and the cheap earphones booming "Live Rust".

I really studied.  Font, color combo, guess how old the sign is....

So when I reached Wall South Dakota I couldn't not take the exit.  Could anyone?  Had to see it once.  However, the three things I needed from a drug store were not there.

I dove down to the Badlands for a quick loop before heading down through the black hills.

The Badlands are indescribeable.  Raw and big and scarred, they draw you in.  I wanted to sneak off and find my own roadless path.  Only 20 miles in I turned to see Rushmore before sundown. 

The federal management decided to give the owners of the big heads (us) and visitors little glimpses of Mt. Rushmore before asking for 10 dollars to proceed to a place where you can take it all in.  I stopped just around the corner and shot a pic of Washington.  Want to see more, Google Mt. Rushmore.  Lots of pics there.

 

I finished the day in Custer South Dakota at the camp of Tom Pressley, a former bank executive that retired with the lovely Leanne to the comforts of a very homey travel trailer and eyepopping Harley trike.  This trailer even has a garage for the bike.  Want to live in South Dakota for a while? No problem.  Ready for Florida?  Load the bike baby.  I like their style.

Leanne fixed a wonderful dinner and we talked around the camp until well after dark.  I pitched my camp in the woods behind and slept better than I have the entire trip.  Tom and Leanne, I hope we catch up again soon.  You guys are the best.  Happy travels!

Nite nite kids, Love you Cathy.

I'm really struggling with this blog tool.  It is picky about file names for pics and won't show the enlarged image when selected.  Adding to the frustration, Verizon chooses to allow only 10meg for total blog size.  10 meg!  When you can buy a 1gb of memory for three bucks I wonder whose making the storage decisioning at the big V. 

I'm adding pics as I can process them to work on the blog.  For a complete, unedited, uncaptioned, out of order view, go to this link

 

Anyway. 

 

The remainder of Minnesota was like the first half.  Huge farms and lots of land between them.  While running the speedlimit on a warm dry morning, I flipped up my visor just a little for air.  A bee came from several acres over and nailed the small hole provided by the ventilation.  With traffic all around, I gave my signal to move to the emergency lane.  Emergency being the key word.  Of course it only took 30 seconds to slow and stop.  Another 30 to get my gloves off, fumble with the helmet latch and yank it it away ears and all.  In that short minute the bee moved all around my head checking out both ears (thank God for earplugs) and both nostrils.  I fought it by poking at it with my tongue and wiggling my nose and snorting like a bull.  I named the bee something special.  Something I wouldn't name any other pet.  He decided to find something else to bother.

 

I pulled into Blue Earth Minnesota for fuel- earlier than usual but I ain't going through pushing again.  When approaching a gas attendant/waitress/pedestrian, I always ask "so what is this city/town/exit/wide place in the road known for?"  The lady behind the counter in Blue Earth exclaimed "the green giant".  "Where" I asked.  She pointed out the window to a fifty foot tall Jolly Green Giant.  How in the world did I miss that?

 

I stolled over and stared up at my arch nemesis. Yep.  I hate peas.  There he stands with that look on his face.  Looking beyond me.  Not even at me.  He has no underwear.  Or anything else.  Heh heh heh.  Look what peas will do to YOU!

 

Turning my back on this evil man I walked to a small shack designated as the "info center/gift shop"  The nice lady quickly began to tell me about a million dollar pea planting machine and how it's going to revolutionize pea production.  She offered a history book on Green Giant but I politely refused.  She continued explaining soil conditions and probably knew more than anyone else....what's this?  A green giant sticker.  A very small green giant.  I'll take it.  This puts him into perspective.  Turned out to be a tattoo but I made it stick on my windshield.  The lady's husband stopped in and we talked for quite a while about my trip and his days in the armed services stationed in Alaska and the Bering Strait.  Mr. Gaylord was a real gentleman and I couldn't help but be reminded of Henry Fonda in On Golden Pond. 

 

More wind and pretty farms all the way into South Dakota.  I intended to stop in Sioux Falls and see the Wells Fargo headquarters and maybe look up a couple of the folks with which I've been working projects.  Somehow I missed the exit.  No tall buildings near the interstate.  Several miles down an exit deficient road I decided to roll on. 

 

Mitchell South Dakota.  Home town of my friend Bill Farris.  Gotta see the corn palace.  While navigating the streets of Mitchell, I noticed a Yamaha dealership.  Since two business had already turned down my offer to purchase oil if they would let me use a bucket to catch the waste and dispose of it I decided to have it done.  The great guys at Palace Motorsports took me right in at the last minute, changed oil and gave the bike a quick look-over and had me out in time to see the Corn Palace.   Google the history of this place.  My fingers are tired.  I looked for Bill's picture of his championship 1964 basketball team but no luck.  Sorry Bill.

 

Covering a lot of ground to get to my daily goal of Chamberlain South Dakota, I noticed a BIG storm moving in on the Droid weather map.  A fellow and his wife on a Harley recommended a motel back in town.  Just about dark I checked into Allens Hilltop Motel, Bait, and Tackle.  Freshly cleaned fish were on a paper in the lobby with mounted fish, pics of fish, and the people that get them. 

 

After a BLT at the bar next door, off to sleep. 

Nighty night kids.  Love you Cathy.

Clare helped me load up the bike this morning.  She and Lydia fixed me a couple of bags of grapes and celery for the road.  Little sister Helen was orchestrating the movement from moms hip and dad was looking for his glasses.

I love that family. 

 

Clay pointed out a cut across northern Illinois that would take me through the countryside so I aimed the mule in that direction and with the grace of a seasoned rider slipped the clutch and killed the motor, almost dumping the whole load in the middle of Lake Forest.  That would have raised a few window blinds.

Wisconsin is green, blue with white puffy clouds and happy cows.  Hey California, they ARE happy!  But they do talk like the cast of Fargo.  I could listen all day.

 

I stopped at the Wisconsin Dells for fuel.  I didn't know what a dell was so here was my chance.  I still don't know what a dell is.  Maybe I should have pushed further into the "dells" but all I saw was outlet stores and tourist attractions.  Kinda like Pigeon Forge with Cheese.  Maybe it's the Wisconsin "Deals".

 

Cheese.  I stopped at Eichelmans (or something) for a quarter pound of extra sharp, a piece of cheese bread, and dried sausage.   That with the celery and grapes from Clare and Lydia, I had lunch under the blue blue sky at a roadside pulloff and watched some kind of bugs wrestle.  They liked the cheese.

 

Crossed the Mississippi and on through eastern Minnesota.  The exits really start spreading out putting fuel stations few and far between.  Even with the spectacular weather, the wind was strong and steady.  Blowing from the north all day resulted in me riding with a lean into the wind.   I suppose it looked like I had a training wheel.  Another symptom of the strong head-side wind was dramatically reduced fuel milage.  When the startling sound of a fuel starved engine groaned about 50 miles early, I quickly reached and flipped to reserve then started doing head math to figure how far reserve would take me.  I backed down from the speed limit of 70 to 60 until the cypherin' was done and the GPS could point me to the closest station.  Twenty two miles ahead or 9 miles behind.  No exits so it would mean crossing a grassy median.  I pushed on.  Three miles from the gas exit the starving groan was back.  Neutral took me to the bottom of the hill and shaking the bike back and forth got what little was on the right side of the take sloshed over to start it again.  At the top of the last hill, she was out for sure.  I coasted to the bottom of the ramp to see the station was still two miles to the right of the exit.  Ok.  Extra fuel in the storage tube on the front, right.  Wrong.  I didn't want the extra weight until I had to have it in Alaska.  Shake shake shake the bike and lowering it almost to the ground gave me a half cup or so.  Enough to start it and allow me to get enough momentum to coast into a pay-at-the-pump only station in town.  Whew.  I'm paying WAY more attention to fuel stops.  Back home, it seems there is a gas station anywhere two or more roads cross.  That and a CVS.

 

Roll along through Minnesota with the stong wind continuing all the way to Albert Lea.  I found a KOA next to the highway for a reasonable $20 per night with wi/fi.  Sitting on the picnic table until well after dark penning the day's events on the tiny keyboard of my netbook.

Night night kids, love you Cathy.

 

At 8:30am Louisville and all of Kentucky is in the rear view mirror as I cross the Ohio.  What a lovelly state sweet with the smell of creosote near the mine areas to sweet feed and manure at the numerous and stately horse farms.  Expensive poop.

Pardon the white below.  I tried cutting and pasting to allow spell check (come on Verizon...) to weird results.  Patience with the pics...