Continental Divide Ride July 14, 2009
 

Our route for today is here.



    “Hmm, I wonder what Moose’s Drool tastes like?”

                                             Ron at the Glacier Cafe near Martin City, MT



   Turns out, Moose’s Drool was a type of beer.  We’ll never know what it tasted like because neither Meredith nor I were brave enough to try it.  It couldn’t be much worse than regular beer though.

    We’d spent the previous four days driving from our house to the Canadian border at Port Piegan near Babb, MT.  Meredith’s parents were nice enough to drive us there, as with the Trans-America Trail a few years ago. 

   
It had been a fun trip, especially since we had only a day or so in the 110 degree heat of Texas, Oklahoma, and Kansas.

    Once we entered Nebraska, the rolling green prairie was a welcome sight.  We paralleled the Platte River and the Oregon Trail, seeing several sights, including ruts cut into the soft rock by pioneer’s wagons over a 100 years ago.  To imagine the volume of travelers that it took to do this to the rocks is dizzying.

    We spent a night on the Powder River at a town by the name of Kaycee, Wyoming.  The lady at the desk of our motel practically said that we shouldn’t stay at the motel and should go somewhere else. 

    “This is a workin’ man’s motel,” she said.

    We explained that we weren’t picky, and after she reluctantly showed us a room, which was no worse or better than most cheap chain motels, we bedded down for the night near the same river where Deets, from Lonesome Dove fame, met his end.

    The next day we visited The Little Bighorn National Battlefield where Colonel G.A. Custer met his end.  The battlefield is scattered with
white, tombstone-esque markers where the bodies were found and has an eerie feeling.  After learning about how the battle transpired, you really see why Custer was so unwise, even though I already knew that.

    In the photo above, the marker with the black face is where Custer’s body was found.

   
We spent that night in a little town called Harlowton, Montana and had a great supper of steaks on a grill in the local park while listening to the play-by-play of the rodeo in the arena next door.

    We spent the next night in Cut Bank, Montana.  The town’s claim to fame is that it’s the coldest spot in the Continental U.S., and I believe it.  On July 13 the night temperature’s were in the mid-40’s, without the aid of elevation.  The area is rolling prairie.

   
We awoke the next morning to a cold, gray, drizzle and drove to the Canadian Border where we unloaded the bikes.  After our obligatory photos and basically putting every piece of clothing we owned on our bodies, we set off south towards Glacier National Park, a few miles away.

    The mountains here are very craggy and steep and the snow still clung in may crevices.

    We arrived at the park entrance and began climbing on the Going-to-the-Sun Road.

    Water streamed off the heights and cascaded down the green mountainsides from all places.

   
We gained elevation and the clouds came closer and closer until were were riding in them.  The scenery was just stunning.

    There’s not much more that I can say except, wow.

    We drove from the east side to the west side and exited the park.

    A few miles down the road we stopped for lunch and were able to purchase Moose spit if we so desired.

   
We chose not to and had a great lunch.  An hour later were at our motel in Kalispell, Montana.  It was a great day.  See y’all down the trail.


In the pic to the left, notice the road halfway up the mountain.


           July 15