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| Day 1 - Santa Clara, CA Day 2 - Eureka, CA Day 3 - Florence, OR Day 4 - Poulsbo, WA Day 5 - Poulsbo, WA Day 6 - Sandpoint, ID Day 7 - Kalispel, MT Day 8 - Sulfer Springs, MT Day 9 - Jackson, WY Day 10 - Orem, UT Day 11- Estes Park, CO Day 12 - High. Ranch, CO Day 13 - High. Ranch, CO Day 14 - Richland, UT Day 15 - Lee Vining, CA EPILOGUE |
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I leave Kalispel at about 8:10, and take
Hwy 256 to West Glacier, Montana. The clerk at the Motel 6 recommends
this route since I’m riding a motorcycle and she say’s, “It’s a very
pretty road.” She’s sure knows her stuff. It does turn out to be
an extremely scenic ride and I find myself laughing out loud at my
good fortune.
About halfway to West Glacier, I’m passed by four BMW’s, all from Colorado. I fall in behind them and keep pace till we hit Glacier National Park where I pull off for a picture of the entrance sign (photo 1). I’ve got to have proof that I was here. I see them again on the side of the road just inside the park entrance and I pull up behind to talk. They are two couples in their late 30’s or early 40’s. They ask if I’m going to the BMW National Rally in Redmond Washington. I tell them I’ve just come from Washington and I‘m now headed to their home state of Colorado. We talk about routes to take and they think Hwy 40 is my best bet. Not wanting to crash a foursome, I wish them a safe ride and I head out to see the sights of Glacier National Park. Glacier National Park turns out to be one of the most stunning parks I’ve seen, with the exception of Yosemite. In fact, there are several similarities to the two parks. Awe inspiring granite mountain vistas, meandering, forceful rivers, soft and lovely valleys (photos 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, & 10) but Glacier lacks Yosemite’s fantastic waterfalls. Don’t get me wrong, there is plenty of water running down hills and mountains in Glacier, they’re just not of the same caliber as those in Yosemite. It takes me about two hours to drive the Road-To-The-Sun highway. I have got to bring Linda back to see this. The top of Logan Pass is 6400 feet high and the rest of the ride is more-or-less down hill, in elevation that is. It is at times like this that I wish I had ‘ol Willy Shakespeare on the back so he could describe this place for you. I just cannot do it justice (photos 11, 12, 13, 14, & 15). After leaving the park, I stop in St. Mary’s, Montana to grab a buffalo burger. The burger was average but I got into a nice conversation with a couple riding from Tennessee. They are on a Yamaha Venture, a nice motorcycle in the Goldwing vain, and are thirty days into their trip to the West Coast. This is the second Yamaha Venture they have owned and they put 140,000 miles on the first one, which they traded for their present bike. These people are dedicated motorcyclist. He’s about my size but his wife is bigger yet. She is a teacher in Tennessee and I have the feeling she doesn’t have many problems with discipline in her classroom. There are more people out here doing this than one would first think. Nice people too.
As I wind my way down the eastern side of the mountain, the landscape turns into the gently rolling grassy plains we associate with stories about the west. This is open range country and sure enough, as I come around a curve there are several cattle crossing the road (photo 16). I have plenty of time to stop and they are so slow that I get out my camera and take a picture. Names on businesses and historical markers indicate that this is Kyowa and Blackfeet country. When I stop for gas, the station and food store is filled with American Indians. I don’t believe I’ve seen so many Native Americans in one place before. I hope they have some political clot to go along with their numbers. Talk about one group that’s been consistently screwed over through the years, it’s got to be the American Indian. Anyway, this is reservation country and I pass a sculpture to honor them (photo 17). There aren’t a lot of people out here and I’m now in the wide, open, spaces. As I ride along, I see houses sitting quietly by themselves, miles from their neighbors (photo 18). The American independent spirit surely lives in the heart of Montana. As I come into Great Falls, the traffic picks up but I continue on and about 40 miles out of Great Falls, I start to get back into hill country. These are not tall mountains like the Rockies but good size hills or small mountains. I’m never sure where hills end and mountains begin. The road heads down into a valley, and for the next 50 plus miles, runs along a small river or stream before finally climbing out into the new set of foothills
The day started out cold and clear then became sunny and warm as I got into the plains, then I got good solid rain in the afternoon from thunderstorms. I can see lighting off to the west and then I’m out into the sun again. As I come around one of the many mountain curves I run into snow on the road. This gets my attention as I try to slow down without falling down. When it rained on me earlier, apparently it was snowing at this spot. Within two miles and I’m back on dry pavement. I experience a real smorgasbord of weather. As I come leaning around a corner into one of these pretty little valleys, a deer walks across the road. I have time to stop but not enough time to take a picture. Deer on the road in the evening can be a real problem and I’ve heard and read stories about motorcyclist who were killed by running into deer at speed. I’m aware of this fact and drive at a reduced speed to match the road and deer conditions. I wanted to get to Livingston tonight but as it gets to be around 5:30 I realize I want to stop for the day. The next town is White Sulfur Springs, Montana, about 15 miles away. The roads are good and there’s little traffic so I find myself scooting along to get into town. I find the local Super 8 Motel, actually the only motel in the town, and get a great room for only $44. This turns out to be the best bargain on the trip. Total miles for the day, 339. It starts raining again after I get into my room and I try waiting it out before trying to find some dinner. I finally give up and put on all of my riding gear, and head “downtown,” such as it is. This is a small town so there aren’t a lot of choices. The desk clerk has recommended “The Mint” as having the best food. When I ride the 9 blocks to the “downtown” area, I find The Mint located on the main street. It is a bar and the owner obviously isn’t spending his profits keeping the signage looking new. I park the BMW out front and go inside. The place is filled with smoke and there is a long bar the length of the room on the left side of the room filled with local patrons. There is a jukebox playing and two small kitchen tables on the right and an open area in the back. I walk to length of the room hoping the “dining area” is in the back. No such luck. Once I realize that if I want to eat, I will need to sit at one of the small kitchen tables while everyone watches the guy dressed in the funny clothes stuff his face. I also hate to eat around smoke. My whole family smoked, so this is not a new experience, but I’ve gotten used to smoke free eating living in California all these years. It’s decision time. I decide to leave. I turn around walk back the length of the room and out the door and back on the bike. At the end of town I find the “Truck Stop Café.” I pull in and dismount. This place is where eating is the primary purpose, not drinking, and there are plenty of empty tables. The décor is Western Worn with four basic booths on the left, six kitchen tables in the left center of the room, and a large jukebox in the corner. No music is playing. There is a large U shaped counter with stools in the center and the right half of the room is a dining room decorated with knotty pine and old style gaslights. The dining room is completely empty. There are six people on the left so that is where I sit in one of the booths. The staff consists of a sole waitress and a cook. The waitress does it all, of course. She takes orders, delivers orders, wipes tables, takes the money, and so on. I order Chicken fried steak with white gravy from a very limited menu. For some reason I forego the halibut thinking it may not be their specialty. As I wait on my meal, more locals come in and the place starts to fill up on the left side. The waitress turns out the lights in the knotty pine dining room to discourage anyone from sitting in there. I assume she’s either not expecting enough customers to warrant the cost of electricity or she doesn’t want to run back and forth. My meal comes with french-fries, white gravy, and a large steak, all deep-fried and semi-nutritious. The meal is tasty enough and fills me up, and all for $10 even. You can’t beat the price. God, this type of cooking reminds me of growing up. My mother, God bless her memory, fried 90% of what we ate. I grew up fat, happy, and with high cholesterol. Still, my grandfather lived to be 94. Just think how old that bugger would have been if he had eaten a low fat diet. Yeah, right. I find the atmosphere pleasant, friendly, and I enjoy listening to the locals talk about horses, weather, road construction, and each other. Folks seem to be friendlier here than at The Mint. Of course, that may just be because I gave them a chance to be. As I head back to my room, the rain has now turned to light drizzle. That’s enough of the nightlife in Warm Sulfur Springs, Montana. Tomorrow will come early. |
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