Day 31 – July 13, 2015
Columbus Mt to Billings MT – 47.5 miles
Bumble Bee – Audrey:
Ok, today I had to really push myself. Getting up was hard, the cottonwood tree scum was hard, the packing was hard but the ride was easy. Getting on my bike is liberating. It is moving and free. And today we had no tailwind but a semi head wind, which meant it was cooler.
We took off from the campsite and decided to go to town for some breakfast. We stopped at the nearest, about 1/2 mile, steak house bar and casino, which is something typical of Montana. Oh, and they serve breakfast too. We pulled up like we normally do, bikes leaning against each other, and locked them together with our little bike cable. Well, we sat down at the table and as soon as we sat down the fellow behind Gregg said “you must be from California. We never lock anything up here in these parts. Each one of the trucks you see out there probably has the keys sticking in the ignition.” Yep, Gregg said, we are from the BIG city LA, and we lock up everything. They all laughed. I said “Well I will check that out and see which one will take us the farthest?” Again a chuckle. “We also go some guns in those trucks”. The old man at the table proceeded to tell his buddies that he has a …. type of hand gun floating around somewhere in his backseat and the other guy started to say he has a 2… rifle and another larger handgun in his, and they were off and running trying to out do each other in the size of the weapons they had in their trucks. That’s just about where we were, in the middle of Montana where the trucks are big, unlocked, and guns are ubiquitous.
We were in four finger country. The rancher who started the BS had four fingers. That’s is something that I noticed a lot coming into the farming and ranching communities. Many of these guys had a digit missing. They were friendly enough and were really curious about our trip. They asked about how many flats we have had, and we were proud enough to say none because of our Schwable German tires! They wondered about distance and riding on the Interstate. They gave us tips about places to stop along the way like Medora North Dakota where they have an outdoor amphitheater that presents Old West musicals on a regular basis. Generally they were nice and funny and probably pulling our leg when it came to the size and amounts of guns they had. Or maybe not. That’s the kind of place we were at.
One funny thing I heard was when another guy came in, he said hello to the guy sitting next to us. He asked him what he is up to? and the guy literally said “I am making hay”. That is crazy. We never hear people say things like that. The waitress apologized to us because the other waitress is off because she had to help at the farm because they were making hay today. When that happens in these parts, it’s a big deal. The restaurants will suffer because people are “making hay”.
Then we made hay, not not really, we just made our way down the road. It was a leisurely ride today. A little traffic but no Interstate riding. Yesterday was bad. We got on for about 15 miles off and on, and at one point we had to cross the Yellowstone river on a narrow bridge with absolutely no shoulder. Gregg had to stop up in order to wait for a break in the traffic that was going a minimum of 75 mph!! After the second bridge I stopped and cried. Far too scary. Gregg calmed me down and said that we made it fine with no worries. I hated it. I know we have to deal with more of that ahead of us, but nevertheless, I hate it.
So today we pushed along on a nice Frontage road, my favorite. Though today it was not as serene and quiet, there was traffic. At about mile 15 we came across another one of our crosses, those Montana crosses that we have become accustomed to. But this was more elaborate, I told Gregg I wanted to stop to take a picture. Sure enough, this was one that spoke to us. As you passed the hundred or so white crosses we passed, I mentally put a story to the cross. How did this person, or persons, die? This one was very special to us. It was a cross with a painted white bicycle next to it, a ghost bike. Everyone in our community knows what a ghost bike is. A bicyclist died here. It sent chills down our spines. I stopped, took pictures, and honored Tina who died there July 18, 2011 about 4 years before we passed this spot. It was a solemn moment. No words. I saw how Gregg was there, at that moment, thinking how careful we must be. Yes, this is dangerous.
I took pictures. I sat in my thoughts about about Tina for a moment, but then it was time to ride on. We rode in silence. Sad. Very sad. How did she die? We must be careful. We must ride on, for Tina.
Another 30 miles or so and we got to Billings, our last big city before the great flat prairies. There is nothing more after this before? Fargo? Well, Gregg’s wonderful Keene bike sandals died here. We stopped at a great bike shop here and he replaced them with some proper touring bike shoes. Though, we had met, on other rides, a number of long distance bike tourists who actually swear by Keene sandals and, platform pedals too.
We stopped in Billings to get a shower, good hotel, and some laundry done. How wonderful and warm a hot shower is. And, we stopped at a local Co Op where I bought more organic sun block and some nice shampoo, for the 1000 miles of nothing ahead of us. Oh, and I had 2 great Martini’s at a hipster watering hole catering to the Bakken oil men. Goodbye to to all of that since we are now peddling into “fly over country” for real.
auchandgrog
Hi Mike…Gregg here
The people we meet in Saloons and cafes (sometimes the same place) are usually retired (the four fingers guys), 20s to 40s passing through driving an 18 wheeler etc., and moms with their kids. More than half seem to be the older guys. They are often very old and probably alone at home. They come in for a meal, a beer and for somewhere to go, and to have a conversation with their old friends. Many of the towns they live in are dead except for he combination saloon/casino/sometimes cafe. The not so old guys, guys our age or a little older, are more social. Sometimes I think they say things to pull our leg — like the unlocked pickup trucks full of guns. This last group appears to be somewhat affluent. They own ranches, farms, or business. Some work on the ranches. Last night we talked briefly at the bar to an middle aged guy. We passed him driving a harvesting machine of some sort. He was wearing the same shirt he had on the night before. We waved of course. With the amazing mechanization of agriculture, these ranches and farms can be worked with very few people. The younger people move away for jobs or out of boredom. This leaves the old and a small work force of all ages to keep things going. At one cafe, the server told me that she was normally the cook but they can’t find anyone to work the server job. The other thing that is striking is the number of anti-meth signs. Meth, as we from the and of cocaine and watchers of Breaking Bad stereotype, is a big problem — remember the tweaker to took my watch early in the trip. The other thing, is state like Montana would blow away in the wind if it wasn’t for subsidies from California and New Your. This state is very dependent in interstate highways and other infrastructure not to mention farm subsidies. They imagine, around here, that they are free of government help and that the government can do no wrong all the while being highly dependent on government support. As we over hear conversation in saloons and cafes while watching the television tuned to FOX News, we get a clear idea what many of he rural people think, of how isolated and narrow are their views, and that they are as ignorant of places like Los Angeles as we are ignorant of the lives and people living in small towns in rural Montana. That being said, we feel right at home in downtown Missoula or Bozeman. There is much to like and admire in the people of small town rural Montana. But we are different, in some ways world apart. This is part of the divide in the this country that no movement, except demographics and economics, is likely to change.
Mike Williams
My morning routine now includes reading your blog. If there is no post, I wait patiently, hoping that all is well. If two posts come on one day, I only read one so I can savor each one and have something for the next day. You speak of “fly over” country as we have heard politicians say about areas they avoid due to the sparsity of voters. I enjoy hearing your thoughts about the people that live in these areas. Just like the people making hay. What does it take to scratch out a living and survive in these places while Wall Street and Hollywood enjoy large tax subsidies? My mothers family emigrated from Germany, to Canada and then to Wisconsin. They were poor farmers. I have a copy of my grandfather’s citizenship documents where he had to renounce the Kaiser. He opened a small tavern for the locals probably like the bars you talked about that were so frequent. It would interesting to know the story of some of these people and their ancestry. How they got there and why they stay there. My parents came to California because my father couldn’t stand the cold winters in Wisconsin and they had jobs waiting for them. It seems like a struggle for survival in fly over territory. Why do they remain?
auchandgrog
Hi Kerstin. I was thinking of you when I took the picture of the old radio station KPRK – the picture of it is on the Blog July 12th! What history, what a building. How strange and sad that this place is abandoned. It is tough keeping up the Blog but super excited that you are following. It is something special to do going slowly through America. You meet some interesting people and ride thru some pretty weird little towns, virtual ghost towns. It is a up hill and down hill journey. But, there is always something good in each day. How much I appreciate hot showers! Thanks for the comments, words of encouragement, and knowing that you are on the other side of these words. Hugs. Audrey
auchandgrog
I don’t think an gun would do you any good unless you want to add extra weight. Asside from the occasional jerk who passes too close, we have felt totally safe.
kerstin
Thanks Audrey and Gregg for keeping this up – the ride and the blog. Love reading it – especially because you share the good, the bad and the ugly – and following you in my mind – and sometimes on the US-map in our guest room.
How far you have come physically and mentally while I am basically staying on my couch 😉
Pete
Speaking of guns. Aside from the Grizzlies, have you guys felt safe? I’m always wondering about bringing a gun with me. A lot of hassle, weight, and responsibility, but a measure of safety. I would really hate to hear those banjos playing, and Gregg squealing like a pig. 🙂