Montana is lucky it takes a whopping 10 days to bike across it. The days and rides have provided ample opportunity for Montana to redeem the terrible ride to Missoula.
The past five days have been filled with wide, clean shoulders and little to no traffic. It is not uncommon to see more animals than people or cars. Montana is living up to its “big sky” nickname. I have been snapping lots of pictures, but I don’t think they’ll do the scenery justice. (Some of the more technologically-gifted riders are posting their pictures on the Big Ride Web site at alaw.org).
My lush, rolling hills view of Montana is slightly skewed, as they are suffering from an unseasonably wet and cold spring and summer here. While the locals are disappointed, we bikers are relieved. The cool temperatures are perfect now that there are not as many trees to provide shade. The rain has left the landscape in beautiful shades of green.
After spending our first two days of the trip on I-90, we have since been traveling the back roads, through little towns. We have been slowed by deer and on one occasion, a heard of sheep in the road. (Some of the bikers helped corral the sheep).
Once we arrive in the towns, we are noticeable outsiders, but still everyone waves hello and stops to ask about our ride.
As I file this report, the ride is in its 14th day. We have already had three century days and five 90-plus-mile days. We have traveled over two mountain passes — Snoqualmie and the Continental Divide.
The latter has an elevation of 6,000 feet and takes four miles to climb. Climbing up and coming down were no easy tasks. Biking down, you lose that elevation over the course of a winding, six-mile decline. We were cautioned to “feather” our breaks for fear of overheating the rims and blowing a tire.
While the rest of our ride certainly won’t be flat, nothing will equal the elevation we have already ridden. We now must prepare ourselves for the long, flat stretches of barren land South Dakota and Wyoming will provide.
The most amazing and surprising part of the ride thus far has been how each state changes, practically at the state line. Washington brought emerald farm fields and miles of wheat and corn. In Idaho we biked through the beautiful Pend Orielle River Valley with rolling hills and scattered pine trees. Our early days in Montana brought lush green hills and snow-capped mountains.
Since the Continental Divide, we have seen cattle grazing plains that stretch as far as the eye can see. Over the next week, we’ll ride through the lonely plains of South Dakota and Wyoming. Miles of nothing but land.
Three states down, nine to go.
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