Rapid City, Finally!

June 29th, 2013. The trip to Rapid City from Belle Fourche was long but enjoyable. Almost immediately after leaving Belle Fourche, you reach the edge of the Black Hills. The plains gave way once again to the pine covered hills. The population steadily increased, with signs of modern civilization increasing by the mile. After passing through Spearfish, it felt like we were traveling from one neighborhood to the next, all the way to Rapid City.

In the McDonalds’ parking lot in Spearfish, while drinking iced coffee, I met Dorothy, a spry little lady in her mid 60‘s who had questions about the journey. Dorothy said you can remember her name just by thinking of Oz. She walks 20 minutes, twice a day, rain, snow, or sunshine. She started doing this twice daily walk after sustaining a mild stroke. You certainly can’t tell from watching her move. Dorothy and her husband run a few small businesses and she stays quite busy. Their two sons and four grandchildren live in the area and she is quite satisfied with her life. Her passions are her daily walks and her garden. She runs a mobile home park and this keeps her busy. She really enjoys Spearfish, having lived in several towns.  It was a really pretty town, I have to say!

HD and I pulled into Rapid City in the late afternoon and we went through town to the east side, arriving at the KOA around 6:45. A little ad at the check in counter promised a live entertainment session with John Horton, “the cowboy poet”, at the pavilion at 7:00 pm. Well, I certainly wasn’t going to miss out on that one! So, I cycled to my tentsite, threw up the tent and tossed a few personals inside, then hotfooted it back to the pavilion. John is a 74 year old, tried and true, buckin’ bronc, ole cowboy. While I arrived just at 7:00, there were no other people in the audience yet. He was chatting with 2 young men, one of which was working on his guitar skills with one of John’s guitars. The ole cowboy decided to wait a bit, so he chatted with me and told me a few stories. By about 7:15 or so, a few people had wandered in, and the show began. He told a few stories, most in rhyming form, and sang some cowboy songs. He was very funny and you could see he had a big heart. He was a tough bird with a steely resolve, but a heart that would cry for a dog or a child in a heartbeat. 

After the show, John talked to a man, who had traveled from New York with his daughter, and myself for a bit longer. The New Yorker, Neil Saccamano, went to get his mandolin and flute while I rushed back to the tent to get a long shirt and pair of pants as the evening was cooling down quite a bit. When I got back to the pavilion just a few minutes later, an impromptu jam session had started with Neil, the young man who was a new guitar player, and John Horton. They each picked a few songs while the others followed along. Neil plays at a local pub near Long Island on Thursday nights back home, doing mostly Irish music. Yay, Irish!! The session was all too short as Neil went to check on his 12 yr old daughter back at the tent.

Well, John and I had another chat session and he gave me 2 of his CDs as a parting gift. Here is just a little bit of John’s story.

His mom died within 5 days of his birth. His dad was devastated and basically could not face raising John. So, he was sent to be raised by his aunt and uncle on the ranch. These are the parents he knows, so he calls them Mom and Dad. John enjoyed his life on the ranch and he loved his parents deeply. They were quite musical, playing music at night and then again on weekends for hoedowns and gatherings of all sorts. He learned to ride a horse by the time he was 5 and was put to work helping out. They had cowboys working for them, raising the cattle and all that entails: growing hay, herding, birthing calves, branding, etc. John says this was during WWII--there were no young cowboys because they were soldiers in the war. So, he learned his ranching and survival skills from the old cowboys. One of them, Sandy, was his favorite. This gentle old cowboy had only a single hand, but he quoted song lyrics and poetry with an incredible memory and a deep resonant voice. 

Once, the old cowboys were sitting around, discussing their one handed cowboy buddy. “How do you think that happened?” they asked. Little John piped in, “I’ll tell ya why. God took one hand away cuz he was working so fast no one could keep up. He had to slow him down somehow!” The group broke into laughter as Sandy, the ole cowboy in question, walked in, grabbed John and gave him a knuckle rub on his head. He said, “Well, little John, I’ll tell ya what actually happened.  Around the turn of the century, I was leading my team of horses as they were pulling the combine to gather the hay. The machine jammed and I stopped the horses to clean out the combine. I was pulling hay out by the handfuls. But, I had forgot to set the brake and something spooked them there horses and they just took off, yanking my hand plum off!” 

John was shocked. “That’s just terrible!” he cried out. 

“Yeah, I know,” said the old guy. “I lost half a day’s work that day!”

This quiet natured man taught John about horses, the out of doors, respect, music, poetry, hard work, and the ethics of the cowboy. John loved it all. So, he decided he was also going to be a cowboy AND a cowboy poet.

He made the announcement to his aunt and uncle. They were horrified. “You can’t make any money as a cowboy!” they moaned. They had wanted him to go to school to be a doctor or lawyer or other such “successful” man. But John’s mind was made up. 

When John was a pre-teen, his real dad showed back up and John moved from his father’s home to his uncle’s home and sometimes no home at all. 

When he was 12, he and a similar aged buddy decided to go on a survival trek by horseback in the mountains and desert in Nevada, covering close to 1400 miles in 105 days. They fished and hunted and survived in the wilderness and came home to tell the tales. They even saw an atomic bomb test near the military base in the desert. 

Later, while in military training, he was sent on a survival trip with a fellow soldier in training. Well, John knew survival skills like the back of his hand. His mate was from the area in the south, so he knew what game was available and what plants were edible. So, the two worked as a team and taught each other a few things on the way. When that training was over, they had each gained 5 lbs.

That’s not the end of that story however. Apparently, the drill sargeant who paired the two up had referred to Luke, John’s mate, as “that nigger”. Being a trainee, John didn’t say anything. But, when John graduated later and was promoted to a higher level than the drill sargeant, he walked over to him and said, “I better never hear you say that word again, or I’ll have your stripes”. Then, he went to another official, with whom he had developed a friendship. He asked for a favor. The friend said, “Sure, John. What is it?” John pointed to Luke, sitting out on a bench. “See that man over there?” “What man? I see a colored guy over there. Is that who you mean?” 

John says, “All I see over there is a good friend who has survival skills like you wouldn’t believe. We gained 5 lbs each on our survival test. You need to give that man a promotion”.

Luke was given a well earned opportunity to show his mettle. The result?  He spent a successful life in the military, training young men how to survive with nothing but a pocket knife. And a cool head. 

And the drill sargeant? He had to answer to Luke and refer to him as “sir” for several decades.

Yeah, baby!!

John was 14 when he snuck into a rodeo to do some bull riding. His aunt and uncle had said no, but the family was going to the rodeo so John secretly signed up. You had to be 16 but he was only 14, so he blackened the peach fuzz around his chin and upper lip and dirtied up his face to hide some of his youth. When the announcer gave out John’s name, John could hear his dad cussing up a storm in the stands, apparently threatening to do bodily harm to his nephew-son. Well, John said “I didn’t even place that first time. I got out of the arena and here comes Dad, walking straight towards me. I thought for sure I was gonna get a whippin’! But Dad gives me a hug and says to everyone, ‘That’s my son!’”

And his mom? Well, she was pretty upset. Not because he disobeyed and rode that bull. It was because he was dressed in his old jeans and beat up shirt. So, before the next rodeo, she took him into town and bought him the fanciest rodeo get up she could find. John still wonders how far that set them back financially. When they got home from the store, his cousin-brother complained to his mom and said, “You never bought me anything that fancy, Mom!”

She replied, “That’s cuz you can’t ride a bull like John can”. 

John rode bulls for 20 years. He has broken every bone in his body except his spine. His passion as a cowboy was not really anything to do with raising cows, but rather the horses. He has raised them, bought and sold them, trained them, and shoed them. He even did several years of stunt double riding for the old westerns in the 1960’s. 

After about 20 years of riding bulls and drinking heavily, John recognized that his heavy drinking was killing him. He would drink so much that he would basically get alcohol poisoning, with the vomiting, headaches, etc. He decided to quit and, with the help of counselors, he did just that. He then went to school to learn counseling skills. He said that he developed training and therapy programs, but there was no degree for what he did. So he worked with the doctors, educating them about alcoholism and what his program could do. John spent several decades of his life helping alcoholic and drug addicts kick their habits. He wrote songs and poetry, something he had wanted to do but just hadn’t been able to do successfully during his drunken years. That dream he had as a child of being a cowboy poet came to pass, after he first went through the fire. He had dozens of stories to share and he was a most fascinating man with an untiring energy, even in his 70’s. 

John loves the out of doors and helping people. His deepest passion? “Today” he said. 

Did I mention he could cook? His cousin-brother made fun of him for enjoying cooking when he was a youngster. His mom said, “There are two kinds of cowboys. One kind can cook. The other kind goes hungry”. 

So John waves that spatula with pride on the summer weekends at the KOA, preparing pancakes for families, when he is not telling a yarn, quoting poetry, or strumming that guitar. During the week, he takes care of his wife and still spends time walking the Black Hills of South Dakota. 

I spent a comfortable night in my tent, sleeping soundly until morning. It was time to play catch up and write. And that is exactly what I have done today. 

Good night!

From Cheyenne Country to South Dakota

I left Lame Deer about 8:30 a.m. on Thursday, June 27th. It was my 55th birthday and the 34th birthday of my lovely daughter Heather. I was out of cell phone range most of the day. It was another grueling cycling day with just a few occurrences to mention.

In Ashland, a tiny little community between Lame Deer and Broadus, and right outside Cheyenne territory, I stopped for a little break. I met Johnny and Stephanie, two friends who love to hike, backpack, and just be out doors. “Nature” is what they loved. Johnny is from Sacramento, California and was visiting Stephanie and her husband for some outdoor adventures and friendship fun. Stephanie loves her home in Sheridan, a fairly sizable town on I-90. But, here they were on hwy 212??? Apparently, there is about 20 miles of hardpacked dirt road from Sheridan to Ashland and they planned on hiking in the local area. True, it is very beautiful in the hills in the Cheyenne Territory and surrounding. 

Stephanie talked to me about whitewater rafting and kayaking and was very familiar with southern Colorado and norther New Mexico waterways. She had me thirsting for a streamlined kayak on a swift river on a hot day.

They wished me safe travels and HD and I again hit the road. We hadn’t gone far when we hit major construction with about 2 miles of dirt where the hwy used to be. Traffic was siphoned to a single lane with crewmen letting one stream of vehicles go by at a time. The foreman decided it was too dangerous as well as time consuming to let me go through, so he popped HD into his pickup, with me holding onto my beloved trike to prevent it rolling off the back of the truck. So we got a birthday ride through the construction zone- a dirt road reprieve up some impossibly steep hills. Happy Birthday!! Yay!

We pulled into Broadus, my last overnite town in Montana. I was dirty, grimy, sweaty, and hungry. And I wanted to eat alot for my birthday! LOL! So, I checked into the small, bare bones motel room, walked to the single grocery store, and picked up way too much food. I bought a package of fresh made brownies for my birthday cake and left most of them for the housekeeper the next morning. I had salad and fruit and chips and cheese. The following morning, I did my best to shove the rest of the fruit, chips, cheese, and no bake cookies into the food area designated in Henry David’s cargo area. And several bottles of water.

My front tire was about flat. But, I pumped it up and it seemed to hold so I decided to try my luck getting to Rapid City as I planned on serious cycle maintenance and thought I might need new outer tires. Every 20-30 miles I needed to refill but the innertube did alright.

THAT tire did ok, anyway. About 20 miles from Alzada, a tiny town near the Montana/Wyoming border, and the ONLY town until Belle Fourche, South Dakota, I sensed a sudden slowing of HD’s speed. I looked back and noted the right rear tire was flat. Doggone it! I admit I had been anxious about this day as the mileage would be over 95 and there was nothing between Broadus and Belle Fourche except Alzada, which listed no services on the internet. I was getting worried about hyperthermia as the road was hot and there were no trees to provide shade relief. I was in the higher plains, with gently rolling grasslands. Every rest break had been brief, walking on hot ground with unrelenting sunshine. Would I have enough water? I was drinking often but sweating it off as rapidly as I could get it in. Uh oh. 

Nothing to do but address the potential emergency situation. I stopped, pulled the tire off the frame and tried to let out the rest of the air. No go. I tried to get the tire off the rim but could not do it with that much air pressure. I tried refilling the tire, but I could hear the air escape and the pressure would not hold. I tried again and again to release the air, but no luck. First, I cussed a bit. Actually, very little, surprising myself! Then I said to myself, “You know something good is going to come of this. It always does”. Right about then, a working man in a pickup, going the other way, stopped and asked if I needed help. I explained the situation and he took a set of pliers and also attempted what I had been doing. No luck. 

So, Rich Huber, who was driving the company truck (he is a pipefitter), offered to take HD and I into Alzada so we could ask the ladies at the cafe about the local mechanic talent. I was surprised to hear that there was a cafe, because larger towns than Alzada didn’t have any type of convenience store or cafe along the highways in Montana. So, off we went to Alzada. It was high noon and the heat was up. He sped along the highway, again without HD tethered, so I hung on to HD’s frame with one hand, wedged one foot underneath the left rear tire, and held onto the side of the truck with the other hand. The wind was delightful, cooling me off, although my hair took quite a beating at 60 mph in the back of that pickup!!

The ladies at the cafe pointed us to an auto and tire repair shop “next door”, several hundred feet away. The owner-mechanic, Dan, was not there at the moment, but his wife Carol was holding down the fort, as well as “Paul”, a seasoned auto body man and mechanic who was working on body repair that day. He pulled out a tire core removal tool, popped out the valve core, let out the air, and changed the tire for me. Yay!! He wouldn’t charge me anything but wanted to take a photo of the cycle, laughing to himself saying it had been decades since he worked on a pedal powered bike. 

I cycled back to the cafe/convenience store, picked up a soda and an ice cream, and finished cooling off. The event had taken 2 hours total, but saved me 20 miles of road in the hottest part of the day. So, I cycled into Belle Fourche, with 75 miles under me, arriving late in the day. I checked into a little motel on a side street--the Ace Motel, and spent a great night making inroads into my groceries from Broadus and recharging the electronics. 

Funny how things work out!!

Native American Lessons

Henry David and I left Billings on Tuesday, June 25th.  The mountains gave way to rolling hills and drier surroundings. The travel from Greycliff to Billings had continued in a river valley. After Billings, the road became a bit flatter and the prairie grasses were becoming evident. 

HD and I made it to Hardin in the early evening. I stopped and picked up a Subway salad and then popped into a convenience store at a gas station to get a drink. There I met Gary and Sam. Gary was a friendly, grizzled mechanic who loves to travel and work in different places. He introduced me to Sam, a Native American from the area. Sam was tall and had a commanding presence, wearing a bandana over his long hair tied up in a gray pony tail. Sam talked with his arms and his hands in a poetic dance, waving in sweeping gestures and making his body language say more than his words. He talked of the Sun Dance Ceremony, fasting, meditation, respect for Mother Earth. He bemoaned the young people caught up in their daily rush, who have forgotten their roots. It was like something out of a movie. He said he had a gift to heal as a medicine man, but it is only given to people who come to him to seek him out. He does not train anyone nor did anyone train him. He and Gary would be camping down by the river that night.  I kinda got the impression that these 2 friends live on the land and work when its available. 

I spent the night at the Hardin KOA. I got a late shower and went to the laundry room to recharge and write, etc. I didn’t achieve much before it closed. 

On Wednesday, June 26th, it was time to head into rural Native American country. I left the interstate and cycled on hwy 212. First, at the I-90 junction and hwy 212, I stopped at a small travel center near the area designated as the actual battlefield of Little Bighorn. This is a few miles southeast of Crow Agency. At this travel center, I met “Art”, a Crow native who was curious about the trike. 

Art raises cattle and has a gravel pit on his piece of land. He is considered a leader among the people and participates regularly in the Sun Dance ceremonies. He has been invited into school systems in Washington to participate in meetings to pray for students. In one such meeting, he was surrounded by a group of Pentecostal Christians. He began a smudging prayer to pray for the young people as there had been suicides. Apparently, the Christians were horrified, saying his work was “of the devil”. Now Art is deeply spiritual and is considered a holy man among his people. So, he asked the Christians how could his prayers be of the devil? He believes in God, The Great Spirit, the One Creator. Didn’t God make the air you breathe, without which you would die? Didn’t God make the water, without which you would die? Didn’t God make the trees and the flowers and the grass? Didn’t God make fire? So, when you combine the air, water, fire, and earth in a ceremony to bless the people and pray for the young, how could this be of the devil? He asked the people these questions, looking at them squarely in the eyes.

One by one, each Christian in the group asked if they could use his smoke--created by hot coals and water, combined with herbs, and the ceremony became a joining of the two belief systems.  It was so moving that a principal of one of the high schools asked him to come and pray and lead a ceremony for his own school, which had an alarming dropout rate and problems with drug abuse. Art agreed and led a ceremony a short time later. The result: within 2 years, a marked reduction in drop out rates, improved scores, and general school success. Whether related to prayer ceremonies or greater attention to the youth, the success was measurable. 

Art has a lot of faith. He pointed to several far off hills surrounding the area. These “hills” were places of prayer for him and he travels to each one to pray for specific things. He talked about sacred numbers and a little about what they mean. 

For those fellow residents in New Mexico, we recognize the number 4 as sacred and it forms our Zia Symbol of New Mexico. The Zia is like a symmetrical cross with an open circle in the middle. Each bar of the cross is formed by four smaller bars. They represent the seasons: summer, autumn, winter, spring. The four stages of life: birth, youth, adulthood, and death. The four directions: north, east, south, and west. And the four Elements: air, fire, earth, and water. 

Ten is a major sacred number, explained Art, and represents woman. Art says woman is to be revered as they give us life. According to Crow tradition and beliefs, there are ten moons of a woman’s pregnancy, from moment of conception to birth. The phases of the moon, Art explains, are 10 full moons per year and 2 months of the year without the visible moon. So the moon is like the Grandmother. The earth is to be revered like our Mother. And woman is to be loved and protected. 

During our conversation, I asked him twice, “What do you love?”  He laughed and with a little embarassment, he answered, “Women!” both times. He then became more serious and said that, yes, he does love women as they give us life. He also loves to help others. He truly loves time out in nature, meditating in the hills. I asked him if he fasts and yes, he used to fast a few days each week, but less now that he is older. I asked if he had any epiphanies or truth-revealing-dreams while out on his fasting meditations. He said, Yes, of course, at least 10 separate truths. 

I asked if he could share any of them. He politely responded that he shared them with his family for meditation purposes but these are sacred truths and...

I told him I understood and I wouldn’t ask him to share anything he felt was private and holy. 

I asked him if he knew any medicine men or shamans. He said that I needed to be careful because there were many “self-proclaimed” medicine men who boasted of things they knew little about. It is about the training. He was trained by his uncle, who was also trained by a medicine man, etc.  This has gone down through the generations. He does recite chants and utilizes herbs and understands the Crow way of life as he still lives it daily. I asked if he had trained anyone and he answered no, but he was adopting a “white girl” this August and he sometimes takes her on his meditation quests to the hills, so maybe she will be interested. 

Art described the Crow nation as a peaceloving, spiritual people. He described the blessings and beauty of Mother Earth and convincingly brought me to tears on a few of the things he shared. What a truly beautiful man. 

HD and I left the travel center and the moving experience with the Crow Holy Man. Now we were leaving Crow Territory and heading into Cheyenne Territory. The climb into the hills was beginning again. Several miles east on hwy 212, a cyclist traveling west crossed the road, pulled over to my side, and we struck up a conversation. This was Yung-Wei Chang. He is traveling solo from New York to San Diego, hitting the national parks in between, in a somewhat zigzag line. He had stayed in Belle Fourche, Broadus, and Lame Deer and was heading for Hardin---the same route I was taking, going in the other direction! From Hardin, he was heading for Yellowstone and then the Grand Canyon, so our paths were diverging.  

Yung-Wei Chang goes by “Light” Chang, a nickname he picked up in college. “Light” is from Taiwan  and he has an engineering degree.  He quit his job to take this dream journey of his and he plans to return to Taiwan when finished by the end of the summer.  

How did he get his nickname? When he was in college, he shaved his head. His friends teased him about his shiny globe of a head, and thus he was christened with the nickname “Light”. 

He said that the USA is “Beautiful!!” and this was a dream he has cherished for some time. He described Taiwan as a tiny island and he knows it well. So, he wanted to come to the USA to travel the distance and visit our parks. He has been camping in all sorts of places: some campgrounds, some roadside parks, some back yards. Occasionally someone invites him into their home. Light has a girlfriend back home and she told him to go get his dream journey completed before they talk about any future together. He loves her dearly and carries a little picture of her holding a big teddy bear. She looks about 10 in the photo, but maybe its a recent photo. Some folks just don’t age! 

He plans to do a formal proposal upon completion of the cycling trip and returning to Taiwan. He has a little camera with video capacity on it and he is creating a marriage proposal video. Basically, he asks people he meets on the road to tell his girlfriend, who goes by the nickname Meow-Meow (“Miau-Miau”?) to marry him. So I had the gleeful opportunity to advise his lovely fiance-to-be to marry Light Chang because he really loves her and he is a great guy. 

How fun was that???

In the late afternoon, early evening, I rolled into Lame Deer. This is a sizable town of 2000 in Cheyenne Territory and the only actual “town”.  Some of the businesses had closed down but they still had a functioning grocery store and convenience store/gas station. I stopped in there for coffee and to ask directions to the campground. I had called the internet listed campground on the phone that very morning and was told that the campground was in Lame Deer and I couldn’t miss it. But I didn’t see it, nor did I see any advertising or directional signs.  While I was getting my drink, a local resident came up to tell me he really liked my bike. This was “Jay”, or John by his ID. Jay seemed to have perhaps a mild disability but he was full of local information. He said they had 2 campgrounds in town and he would walk me to them. In the meantime, he continued to tell me he liked my bike. At least half a dozen times.

HD is kinda cute!

Jay knows everyone in town and the locals drove by, calling out to him, teasing him, and telling me to ignore any advice he may give. All in fun. Jay walked and I followed on HD to 2 spots near the highway with a few picnic benches. All primitive, no bathrooms. The first one had grass about waist high and since I had been “bugged” by stinging flies all day, I asked about the other one. The second one was another park area at the community craft center. There were 2 picnic benches, some old Cheyenne historical signs, and 2 broken down outhouses. But there was a working water faucet on the outside of the closed craft center. And there were plenty of bushes---who needs an outhouse? Or as Jay called them, Honey Buckets? The grass was mown so I pitched the tent and chatted with Jay for a bit and shared my dried kiwi with him. 

Jay told me a bit of the local history, both recorded and legend. The previous weekend had been the reenactment of the Battle of Little Bighorn--a big event for local residents as well as tourists. Also, there was a local horse race and the Cheyenne PowWow. Jay had helped run errands for some of the horse-related events and he was very proud of that. 

It is something I have noticed---gorgeous horseflesh in Montana. Big, beautiful, healthy horses, full of energy, curiosity, and vigor. This is a gorgeous time of year, with colts running in the fields and new calves gamboling about in the meadows. I saw so many pronghorn antelope and white tailed deer. All of these gorgeous, large animals are so curious and watch me go by. The cows and horses come up to the fences. The antelope, elk, and deer stand still and watch with interest before bounding several hundred feet away and watching me from a safer distance. Oh, Montana. Such a gorgeous place. Their state tourist motto is “Get Lost in Montana”. There are so many places to do just that!

Jay headed home around 7:30 pm and said he would stop by in the morning. I told him I would get him a cup of coffee at the convenience store, which is the local hangout. 

That evening, I read, did my exercises, and ate trailmix. 

The next morning, I waited for Jay until past the designated time and he did not show up, so I rode to the grocery store for supplies and then to the convenience store for coffee. At the grocery store, I gave the checkout lady the book I had finished the night before, as she liked to read. At the convenience store, after I drank my coffee, who should arrive but Jay himself? He said he slept in and so we went back inside and I got him his morning joe. 

In Lame Deer, the residents are quite friendly to visitors. Several people slowed down their cars or trucks to ask about the cycle and where I was going. A few people suggested I stay in town a few days. One man and his brother, who was paralyzed from a car accident, even stopped where I was camped to ask about the trip. Everyone gave me words of encouragement and blessings. Everyone was truly delightful and said I was welcome to camp anywhere. Within a short time of arrival, I felt like the whole town knew I was there. 

At the convenience store, I had noted on the day of arrival that there were notices in a stack on the checkout counter. All the local residents were encouraged to take one and “pass the word”. I read the notice. It was an exhortation to the Cheyenne to join together at the Sun Dance Ceremony for a special cleansing ceremony. A young local girl had committed suicide. According to Cheyenne law, when blood is spilled violently, either from a homicide or a suicide, there must be a cleansing ritual and prayers. So, the local Cheyenne were reminded of the law and the necessity for all to gather to participate. 

This was very powerful to me. When my own children were teenagers, there were kids in their school who had committed suicide.  One young man was a friend of the family. We had noticed a disparity among the residents depending on the identity of the teenager. The suicide of a popular child from a well-to-do family generated news stories, public outcry, and church prayer meetings. The death of an unknown caused nary a blip. This bothered my children quite a bit. As a mother watching her kids struggle through their developing years, I was often fearful of them taking their own lives as their emotions dipped and dived based on social acceptance, sense of success or failure, relationships, etc. 

But, what would happen if, every time a person was killed or caused their own death, the entire community gathered to do a cleansing ceremony, praying for the future of their tribe, and actively participating, as if the lost life was their own? Would this result in greater respect for life? A more aware acknowledgement of one’s valued place in the community? 

Also to be recognized is the lack of a class-based society. These people are generally poor, many unemployed and struggling. But they help each other and all are considered “family”. A death of violence is reason to gather and pray. Together. Not alone, but as a community. 

We have lost that community bonding. But we CAN get it back. We need leaders to bind us and a renewed idea of what it means to be part of a community. 

May it begin with you and me. 

Billings, Montana

The morning of June 23rd, 2013 was a beautiful Sunday. The weather was quite warm and the sky was clear. What a lovely day, but oh, so many miles! I was happy to see a nice sized town called Columbus, with several travel-friendly stops by the interstate. I popped into the McDonalds to grab some iced coffee and then went outside to sit at a table near my trike, check my paper map, and rest a moment. No sooner had I parked the tush at the bench than two very handsome young men plopped down right across from me. What a pleasure. Life has its rewards!

They had decided to come talk to me because of the human powered Henry David---he really does generate interest and opens doors. I was wearing a rainbow colored “doo-rag” on my head, so they thought maybe I was headed for the Rainbow Coalition Gathering. Or just a traveler. Either way, they wanted the story. I explained my journey and then the conversation turned to them.

The younger of the two, Kyle, had recently graduated college with a BS in Agriculture and specialization in Horticulture. He has been traveling the country for several weeks, starting from the east coast, offering his hand and his knowledge to organic farmers. He works for food and lodging and the education and the fun of it. He told me about WWOOF--World Wide Opportunities in Organic Farming.  This is a volunteer organization that links volunteers with organic farms. Kyle has found farms through WWOOF and works for a time and then moves on. Sometimes he goes into a town, asks around to find out who the organic farmers are, and then volunteers his help. With going through WWOOF, the organization will identify those farms who have signed up as hosts. But not all organic farmers know about this organization so he tries to educate people about this great volunteer organization as well. 

Kyle and I talked about organic farming and healthy nutrition. I told him I had a dream to own a small, organic farm and a vineyard some day and to have a small healing practice 3 days a week. He told me to contact him when I get the farm and he will work for me and teach me what he knows. I think he knows quite a bit, so I will have to hold onto his contact info! Kyle was friendly and open and I think he would be a good teacher.

I would like to hook him up with my daughter Heather and her husband Rick. They have been studying permaculture on their own for years and, now that they are new homeowners, they are changing the face of their yard, making it a productive mini farm in a suburban neighborhood. I think they could spend days sharing information.

Alex, whose artistic pen name is Alehk, is a young man who has a list of skills and stories. He has worked for a few years in northern Montana doing construction and painting homes. He enjoys the artwork of painting homes and does the specialty faux finishes and the more creative work than just rolling a brush. He is a spiritual person but without any specific beliefs or dogma and he likes to talk to people. He draws strangers to him and they embrace this young man and invite him into their homes and their very lives. He is also a fine musician and plays the piano, writes his own music, and even sings. He gave me the name of one of his songs so I could look it up on YouTube. The name of the song I found on YouTube is called “Once I Looked” by AlehkBranko. It is New Age in style with haunting tones and contemplative lyrics.

Alehk travels substantially, riding buses, trains, walking, hitching rides, etc. Have backpack, will travel! He finds people in bus and train stations and coffee shops and through “CouchSurfing”, a volunteer organization that links up travelers who share their homes and floor space. Alehk met Kyle just one week earlier in Boulder, Colorado through CraigsList. Kyle had gone to Boulder to seek out farming work but none of the farmers wanted any assistance. So, he posted an ad on Craigslist. Alehk answered, and the two are now traveling several hundred miles together. Kyle, who owns the car, is quite flexible and will drop Alehk off probably near Whitefish, MT.  In the meantime, they are enjoying each others’ company. And meeting strangers wearing doo rags.

Alehk told us of his recent history with a young Chinese lady who reached out to him for spiritual counseling and a good ear. “Wei” wasn’t sure what she wanted to do, but felt she needed to get out of her town in California. So Alehk, from Montana, joined her for some travels to ensure her protection and safety, which is how he ended up in Boulder. By then, several weeks into the trip, Wei still wasn’t sure where to go next---they had been to numerous places already. So, they parted friends, having made new friends in Boulder. But I think Alehk is a bit worried about her. 

He apparently is the Knight for the Distressed Maiden and told other stories, asking if he must have an invisible but legible sign on head that advertised him as a Protector. This sometimes gets him in trouble as the ladies mistake his generosity for something more.  Oh, such problems!  To be young and handsome and have the ladies falling all over you. 

He reminded me of my son: very slim, dark haired, full beard, big eyes, long lashes. While my son has light brown faun’s eyes, Alehk’s were a deep hazel. He looked like he could be my son. 

They were such a delightful pair of young men. Each with their own goals and dreams who, through Craigslist, are building a good friendship while making memories for life. I find it fascinating how people find each other. 

So, on to Billings. I arrived in the evening and checked into a Super 8. I cycled to a grocery store and grabbed a few days supply of food and settled in. The next morning, I went to the A&T store and $460 later, I left with an iPhone 4, a step down from the 4S which was stolen. This time, I bought the insurance!

I did a little supply shopping and stopped at a City Brew Coffee Shop near the Walmart on King and 24th Street. Man, was that coffee fantastic! It was like the blonde roast from Starbucks. Smooth, not bitter. They give one free refill and then 50 cents per refill after that. I didn’t need a refill but it’s a good thing to know! I spent the afternoon reconnecting with loved ones on my new phone. And getting a few “apps” back. I lost all my text messages and numerous photos. I still may be able to get some of the photos, but I kinda doubt it. 

The next morning, I packed up and went back to the coffee shop, drank my coffee, checked my digital maps (yay, phone!!), and went outside to check my tires. A lovely blonde woman, smartly dressed, carrying a business like folder in her arm stopped to ask about HD and what I was doing. We chatted a bit about the journey and then I asked her about her passions. She loves to write. She loves any kind of adventure. But mostly: She loves stories. In fact, her life revolves around stories. She pointed to the building next to the coffee shop and said she works there. 

It was a top local radio station, MOJO 92.5. Perfect name, eh? They play classic rock music and have a sister station, TWANG 105, that plays country. Lynne pulled me inside and introduced me to Charlie, who was busy working behind all the electronic equipment. They decided to interview me right then. So, after a song finished, they did an immediate, short, sweet interview, with Lynne asking questions. It was really fun and Lynne and Charlie were fantastic. Charlie apparently also loves to cycle and is apparently a big outdoors man.  

Lynne Fitzgerald is well known in Billings and has been doing the radio shows for quite some time now. She enjoys the stories. She would like to write but wonders if she has what it takes. She loves adventure and travel and has almost finished raising her children--which has been a joy. She is wondering what she will do next.

Funny. I’ve met a few women now who want to write but don’t know if they can. All three are intelligent, creative, friendly, witty, and yes, even lovely. There is a light in the eyes of creative people that accentuates their beauty. Male or female, young or old. Get out your computers ladies, and get to it. You DO have what it takes. 

After passing around hugs, I zipped back into the coffee shop to use their facilities before the long haul to Hardin. Right inside the door there was a retired couple drinking coffee and eating their breakfast. They had watched the interplay outside when I was talking to Lynne and checking my tires. They also wanted to know where I was going. Another delightful conversation ensued.

Vic and Sharon Signori have been married close to 30 years. They both worked for the University in Billings in administration. Sharon coordinated student career programs through several branch colleges as an academic advisor and guidance counselor. Vic worked in the money handling end---which is quite a job with a university. Both jobs require quite a bit of thought, ability to project thoughts and plans forward, and even multi-task, keeping several things on the front burners at a time. They retired from the university setting and for awhile they did some traveling. 

Mr. Signori, however, has a serious disability and he now relies on a walker for ambulation. He doesn’t feel any pain and he can’t tell where his legs are. He has to watch closely to make sure his leg isn’t twisted in an awkward direction because he wouldn’t know that he broke a bone until he sees swelling, bruising, or a misshapen limb. I was amazed at his jolly demeanor, his twinkling eyes, and his continuous smile. He said that, since he has no pain, there is nothing to be sad about. He just has to take his time.  They have been unable to do much travel lately because of the deterioration in his legs. 

What a friendly couple. They wished me safe travels and HD and I left the busy city.

Billings was a great place to visit, meet people, and drink coffee. For the next two to three days, I met people on the road who pulled over to say they had heard the radio interview and wondered if they would see me on the road. It’s a huge, small state. You know what I mean?

East Through Central Montana

June 20th, 2103: a cloudy cool Thursday in Montana with rain forecasted all over the place! I left the Butte KOA at 8 am, stopping at Safeway to get a cup of coffee. I was on the road by 8:40 am, heading out on I-90 east. After a few rolling hills, the road went up, up, up and HD was adjusted to his lowest gear and we trucked on up the mountain. Then, zip, zip down the other side in a 5-6 mile joy ride. For the next several miles it was back to very mild road conditions until the next range---then back up, up, up. Woohoo! Two ranges in one day. Awesome. It is so fun to go down those puppies! Back in March, I would practically ride the brakes going down these types of “hills”, using the rubber of my shoes to assist the brakes.

But now, I am thrilling to the descent, recognizing that Henry David really is easy to control and there is nothing to be afraid of. I am even able to look behind me on a hill, as well as over the side to valleys down below and without feeling my breath catch and my heart stop. I rolled into Camp Three Forks, about 2 miles from Three Forks, MT, about 4:30 pm. I was greeted by Pam and John, the camp hosts. After pitching camp and taking a much needed shower, I wandered back to the office to see if I could score a cup of coffee. John put the pot on, while Pam served up a scoop of the best Montana ice cream ever. While I sipped my coffee and allowed that sweet caramel and vanilla ice cream to slide soothingly down my throat and into my belly, I listened to the wonderful story of Pam and John.

When asked what gives them joy, John was flummoxed, so Pam stepped in. “It’s him”, says she, pointing to John, her husband of 37 years. “He gives me joy. He is the one who gives me a reason to get up in the morning. He is who and what I love”. 

They met in a bowling alley. Pam was bowling with a friend and noticed John in the building. She asked her friend if she knew him and, yes, she did. So her friend introduced them, “Pam this is John. John this is Pam”. Nuff said. Nothing happened for a month. But Pam had set her sights on him and I think he was a bit shy. He certainly was attracted to her, but didn’t make a move. Pam knew the people he worked for and arranged another meeting, a month later. Well, two weeks after that 2nd meeting, John asked Pam to marry him. Two months later they were married. They are still together, and quite happy with the arrangement, 37 years later. 

Pam had a son from a previous marriage, but she and John married when her son was only 3, so John is “Dad”. John says that he and his stepson talk regularly on the phone and they never say goodbye without telling each other “I love you”. Pam and John had a daughter together and she lives in Spokane. Pam and John are building a house in Spokane, with plans to eventually move there. Pam’s mother already lives there, in an independent living home, connected to an assisted living facility. 

John grew up in the tiny town of Logan, just a few miles from Three Forks. His parents are still living but his mom has Alzheimers and his dad is struggling to care for her. Pam’s mother is still alive and has some orthopedic issues related to aging and osteoporosis. So, currently, Pam and John drive back and forth from Logan to Spokane to help their parents. Camp Three Forks is open from mid-May to mid-September, so they spend a lot of time driving back and forth. Logan--Camp Three Forks--Spokane and back again. 

In addition to loving each other, they love their children and parents, and they love sports. They enjoy watching baseball and football games together and they still love to bowl. Pam is a retired PE teacher and John is a retired radio operator for the border patrol. I had to laugh---”Oh, so you were working to keep out the Canadians???!! I bet that kept you very busy!”  He laughed and said that, Yes, he was kept very busy. And then he gave me a look that suggested a wink, without actually doing so. 

Pam showed me another of her passions. Needlepoint. She was working on a detailed cross-stitch picture of a bunny and a kitty touching noses. I always admire that kind of work. Such attention to detail. And good eyes...

I awakened on the day of the Summer Solstice, Friday, June 21st, with a happy heart. It was one of my favorite days--one of the REAL holidays! An actual planetary occurence to mark the day. Usually, on this day, I balance an egg on its tip for at least a few of my patients who have never seen it done. If it’s a weekday, that is. Then, I often hang out with some friends or have a little ceremony or gathering at my house. So, I sent text messages to family and a few select friends and got off on a late start from the junction of I-90 and the road to the campground. But, it is turning out that 9 a.m. is becoming the new norm. I get up about 6 or 6:30 usually, and then pack up my gear, eat breakfast, and cycle to the interstate junction travel center for coffee. Today, I added a quick trip to the Montana Wheat Bakery and purchased a big bran muffin. Yumm! Fiber. 

I answered the usual questions about HD to passersby, usually travelers whose passions are travel and family. Most of the travelers I’ve met on the road in Montana this June have been squeezing in some visits to the great national parks while also visiting relatives.There are some incredible places to visit in Montana: Yellowstone, Glacier National Park, Little Bighorn Battlefield, and numerous places steeped in Native American history. There are unrivaled fly fishing and outdoor sports competitions of all sorts.

Three Forks, where I had spent the night, is the location of the convergence of three rivers--the Jefferson, Madison, and Gallatin Rivers---they join to form the beginning of the mighty Missouri River, the longest single river in North America. The Missouri and the Mississippi Rivers are part of the same watershed draining into the Gulf of Mexico.

Rivers are plentiful around here!

So, onward HD and I traveled on my favorite day. It started with singing, waving of the arms in the air, sun salute yoga stretches, and text messaging loved ones. As the hours ticked by en route to Livingston, my mood slowly slipped downward.  Part of this was due to fatigue, but more of it was related to loneliness. Sure, I meet people on the road and it is marvelous and fascinating. But this was a special holiday for me, hearkening back to my Celtic roots. I wanted family or close loved ones, maybe a little fire in my back yard, maybe a poetry reading, a potluck, or the music blaring from my sweet home by the Pecos River. So, homesickness was setting in. 

There is a private RV park and campground in Livingston---one side of it bordered by mobile homes, followed a row of RVs, then the tent camping area situated on the grass. I pitched camp, wandered to the store and picked up a salad, red velvet mini cake to celebrate the holiday, and a book by Nicholas Sparks. He writes wonderfully sentimental novels and I was “in the mood” for sentiment and mush. So, after finishing my salad, I ate dessert and read almost half of the book. That shook out the doldrums and I went to sleep knowing that tomorrow would be a new day.

And it was. I awakened to a beautiful day for riding, although there continued to linger a chance for showers. I headed for the KOA at Greycliff Prairie Dog Town State Park. The address for the KOA said Big Timber KOA, so I cycled to that town and couldn’t find it. As it turns out, the KOA, while sporting a Big Timber address, is actually closer to the little burg of Greycliff. I was able to follow frontage roads for quite a distance that day, and made it to the KOA by about 2:30 pm. I was so excited!! It was early! This KOA had a jacuzzi, a big jumping thing for the kiddies, and a nightly hayride to the Prairie Dog Park. This meant an afternoon and evening of just FUN.

It may often sound, through these blogs, that this is a “fun vacation”. But, actually, it is very challenging and often lonely and frequently even painful. The rewards outweigh any discomfort and I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else than what is going on right now! This minute! That being said, it is very tiring as well and tests my mettle on a daily basis and begs the question, “What am I made of?” Do I have what it takes to crawl out of a self imposed shell? Do I have the courage to face the storms, the dust, the road? Who is out there whom I should meet? Is there anything of value that I can say to someone to help them face their own demons?” So, I press on with this dream.

Therefore, this afternoon was very promising indeed! Jacuzzi, shower, do my exercises, and go on a hayride. Maybe read again! Wahoooo! I was pretty jacked with excitement.  So, I did my exercises first, then headed for the jacuzzi. It is for adults only and a staff member opens it for you. You can even lock the door. So, I did--and stretched out in that roiling water and breathed happily. 

Then I gathered my clothes and soap and went to the women’s bathroom where I could shower, as well as charge my phone. I plugged in the phone with an adapter overhead at the bathroom sink (2-3 sink basins). I took a quick shower and came out to see if I had any messages. But, where was the phone???? I looked up and there was my adapter---but the cord and the phone had been stolen. I informed the staff and they were quite helpful. But, in the end, I called AT&T and reported the theft and shut the phone down. The police came and asked a few campers if they had seen the phone. Of course, no one had. So, for the first night, I went to bed without the phone next to me. 

The next morning, I packed up to head for Billings, MT. While rearranging gear, I met the mother and daughter campers who had set up camp next to mine the night before.  Donna and Rebecca were heading home to Oregon and taking the scenic route, visiting national parks and enjoying each others’ company. Rebecca is a fresh faced young lady with wavy hair and a winning smile. She recently graduated with a bachelor’s degree in international studies. But all the job offerings were of a political nature and she isn’t sure she wants to go that route. So, for the last 2 summers, she has had internships at DisneyWorld in Florida. She worked more on the business end than the entertainment end: answering phone calls, taking complaints, making schedules, appointments, and reservations. She now has the challenging task of trying to figure out what she wants to do next. More school? She really loves anthropology and studying other cultures. But what to do?

It’s a daunting task. Figuring out what you want to do. What you love. What would give you satisfaction and a sense of purpose and accomplishment for many years to come.

Donna is Rebecca’s supportive mom. She has played taxi a few times, getting Rebecca to Florida from the west coast 2 years in a row. She is the mother of the household, that’s for sure. Her son even called her that day asking her what to do about his flat tire. Mom reminded him that his dad was right there! Then she reminded him about the Les Schwabb tire store within a short distance of their house.

She reminded me a little of my friend Truth. Truth is organized and smart and can find a solution to just about everything. Her family goes to her first with their questions and problems. I have seen this woman multi-task with flawless precision on so many occasions that I would just stand back and watch in amazement. 

Rebecca, you have a great support team and you just take your time. A rewarding career is a hard thing to choose.

When I was in college, my psychology professor said that, on average, American college students change their major 3 times.  Americans, on average, go through 3 careers in their lifetimes. And, on average, American women receive 3 marriage proposals before they get married.  I guess that means, get married for the “first” time! Now, this was in the 1980’s. Considering the divorce rate, I wonder how many proposals, on average, we American women get now? And now that women are taking a more assertive role, I wonder how many men receive marriage proposals?

Again, more questions to keep you awake at night!! Haha!

Now--off to Billings, Montana and an AT&T store!

Emerging from the Valley

Good Ole Muralts’ Travel Center. I stayed at the Day’s Inn, a part of the Center, on June 15th and 16th, 2013, giving me one full day to do laundry and recover. It was Father’s Day, so I talked to my dad and my son and my sweet granddaughters on the phone. Then, while my laundry was whooshing around in the motel washer, I decided to run stairs. I have been running stairs regularly since I was about 16. But, since starting this cycling trek, my knees were not happy with stairs, so I haven’t run stairs in 2 1/2 months. My knees have been doing better so I thought, “Why not?” So, I ran 100 flights. I used to run 200 flights at the Carlsbad High School about 3 days a week. So, 100 flights in a motel with a short staircase should be a piece of cake. Right? So I thought. 

Oh yeah. It was easy and I was jacked up with pleasure for the wondrous strength of my powerhouse thighs. 

Until I awakened the next morning to quads so sore I could hardly walk! And I had to cycle that day to Drummond, a distance of about 60 miles! Yikes! So, at every break, I slowly climbed off HD and walked stiffly and slowly, as if I had a corncob. Well, you get the picture. My right thigh was barely working and every step I took I had to extend the knee to use the jointlock technique to bear my weight. While I could cycle, relying substantially on glutes and hamstrings, the quadriceps were definitely in malfunction mode. I could cycle up a mountain with a 250 lb load. But couldn’t run half the stairs that I ran 3 months ago. 

What a wake up call. So, I am adding regular squats to my exercise routine and possibly iron mikes. And toe raises, because even my calves were whining. 

The soreness lasted two days. 

On the way to Drummond, I stopped at a little burg with a gas station/store and met “Jeff”. He is a cyclist who was enjoying the great day’s weather and getting in a ride from Missoula to his home town in the hills, and back. He is employed as a regional something or other for Starbucks (purchasing manager??), based out of Missoula. He is on the road quite a bit and is a returning resident. He grew up in a small town about 30 miles from Missoula but moved around a bit upon reaching adulthood and getting an education. He had been living in Los Angeles and returned to the area one year ago. He loves nature, quietness, and cycling. He enjoys traveling but says that his gemini personality has not been conducive to a steady girlfriend relationship. He is not sure what he wants to do next, but he does know that he wants to traverse the USA on his cycle and then on to Europe to do the same. He was whip-cord thin, like a serious cyclist. A very nice guy!

I reached Drummond in the late afternoon. It was a strip of town of bars, a restaurant, a little hometown market, and two gas stations. About 1/3 mile down the road from town is the Drummond City Park, next to a little river known for its good fishing. The City Park has a few unmonitored campsites, a pit toilet, and water pipes that used to work at one time. The cost was $10 per site, but $15 for electrical hookup. The electrical boxes, however, were locked with a padlock, so basically, it was $10, honor system. I set up my tent, went back into town to the gas station to get change, came back, and put the $10 in an envelope and stuck it through the drop box slot. I did my exercises and ate my food that I had brought from Muralts bakery, breakfast bar, and convenience store. 

It was a quiet night and I awakened at first light--about 4 am! At 5 am, I got up and packed up my gear, riding into town by 6 am. After a cup of joe, I was on the road by 6:30 and was hoping to reach Butte, Montana. It meant a 70 mile ride, including a grade ascent to Butte. 

Part of the ride was on the interstate and several miles of frontage roads. Thunderstorms raged on all sides, but not on me. The wind picked up and the going got very tough. I thought I would head into Anaconda on hwy 48 but the wind was worse and I could see lightning just ahead, so I turned around and got back on the frontage road. After a few miles of that, the frontage road pavement stopped and roadworkers pointed me toward Anaconda! I guess the signs were there---onward to Anaconda! (Cool name, huh?). So, I went there via the town of Opportunity, a little neighborhood of farms. I passed signs for the burgs of Wisdom and Hope.

Seven miles later, I rolled into Anaconda, whose main industry is copper mining. I checked into the Tradewinds Motel, and took a very welcome, and needed, shower. I walked a block to the grocery store and picked up tortilla chips, an avocado, Tillamook pepper jack cheese, a salad, and a piece of red velvet cake. Boy, did I feast that night!!

I also talked to Peter on the phone. (I have mentioned Peter, haven’t I?).

Anyway, I awakened this morning, June 19th, to clouds but no rain. I cycled the 25 miles to the Butte KOA and set up camp by about 1:00 pm. I did my exercises and then came into the laundry room to write on these blogs, as the sky was darkening. Within a few minutes, the rain began and continued for several hours. It finally stopped and now I am drying a few things. The stuff inside the tent was actually dry! But, I had left my pillow on the seat and I decided to dry the covering rainflap for the tent. 

Next, I think I will walk to the store and pick up some dinner. It’s only half a mile away and I could use the exercise.

Slacker!

Idaho to Montana

The Idaho panhandle is pretty narrow. Two cycling days and I was in Montana. Kaboom--like that! But, Lawdy, Lawdy, Idaho is soooo Purdy!!! I left CdA on the morning of Thursday, June 13th.  Cloudy, cool weather greeted me as I emerged from my tent. The road up the next set of hills was rolling, with a gradual ascent over many miles. Again, I have to give the interstate engineers of Interstate 90 a big hand---they managed to cross the upper range of the US side Rockies with a gradual grade, no worse than 6%--and that is more of a rarity than a commonality. Most of the interstate rolls through river valleys, between the mountain ranges. Again I wondered, “what had I been afraid of?”

Back in New Mexico, so many well-meaning folks had given me dire warnings of how impossible it would be to ride HD over the Lagunas, Big Sur, the Pacific Northwest, The Cascades, and The Rockies. Big Sur was actually the hardest, then the coastal mountains of the Pacific Northwest, then the Lagunas. The Cascades and The Rockies have been a relative piece of cake with the interstates and nearby highways wisely following through the best passes and bordering river valleys. Ask the water, I thought, The Water Knows!! 

I also have noted that I am becoming more and more fond of Henry David, my trusted companion. He is surprisingly sturdy and reliable. 

It is like becoming one with the machine. Here’s the funny thing. We are all made of the same stuff, whether animated or not (I know of some people that are particularly un-animated!! Oops, did I say that?). Down at the core, there are a few differences that make me a human and HD a cycle. 

Of course, those differences might be considered HUGE from a “spiritual” standpoint. But maybe not so different from a “quantum” view. We are both forms of energy with electrons spinning in an endless space.

Back to the Journey. The ride on the interstate was very nice---winding through the mountains and bordered by rivers and trees. I took a break in Kellogg and drank Mickey D’s coffee while I consulted my iPhone maps again. Osburn was a short ride ahead so I meandered that way and stopped in town. Osburn was very, very small and had no actual grocery store. The RV and tent campground was open but I didn’t even check it. I kept seeing signs for Wallace, the next town up the road. Also, I knew that there was a bike trail--the Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes. So, I hopped on the trail in Osburn and rode through picturesque river country into Wallace. 

Wallace! Now, THAT’S a town!! I fell in love with this tiny mining town that was extremely proud of its heritage. I stopped at the Visitor Center/Chamber of Commerce and met “Diane”. She is an effervescent young lady that looks and acts a bit like my lovely niece-in-law, Teresa. Diane exuded energy. She runs the CoC with verve and dedication, training volunteers and taking time off when she can. She moved to Wallace a few years ago from Los Angeles, happy to get away from the big city. AHA! I thought--I recognized that California ENERGY. She has taken it to Wallace and is a fantastic spokesperson for this cute town. She pulled out maps and brochures and talked with great animation about her town and the spots “not to miss”. Apparently, this weekend was a special weekend, with a carnival taking up 3-4 streets downtown, a drinking parade scheduled on Saturday night, and general fun. The Chamber had posters of movies that had been filmed in the area, one of them is Dante’s Peak. I really liked that movie!

Wallace is known for its Silver Mining and is still a world mining area for that metal, as well as other metals. It is known at the Silver Capital of the World and 1.2 billion ounces of silver have been mined since 1884. Over the years, mining practices have improved and the area has regained its pristine beauty, through careful and conscientious mining .  Every downtown building is on the National Register of Historic Places. Thus the interstate had to go OVER Wallace rather than through it. It was crazy looking---so impressive--with the Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes on the edge of town and this huge Interstate bridge spanning the edge of town so as to leave it all undisturbed. There are some great mining museums in the area. 

So what industries thrive in the mountains of Idaho and Montana? Logging, mining, and numerous small ranches and farms.

Diane pointed me to the campground that is connected to the City Limits Pub & Grill, right next to the Trail, and truly on the Wallace “city limits”. I pitched my tent next to a rushing creek and enjoyed the rather loud white noise all night. It was quite chilly, but I slept well with my sleeping bag, space blanket, and the rushing waters. It even rained, but it was so very cozy. 

But, before hitting the hay, I spent a delightful evening at the City Limits Pub & Grill. They offered several vegetarian dishes and I ate like a queen, with leftovers for breakfast! I played on the internet while I sat there, looking up educational choices for my future. I do not plan on being on the road forever...

The next morning, I awakened to cloudy, cool skies and the plan to go over Lookout Pass and land in St Regis, Montana. My brief sojourn in Idaho was about ready to close. 

I cycled the Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes to Mullan, Idaho. Apparently, the trail started in Plummer, Washington. I had sadly missed most of the trail, but I certainly can’t complain as the roads I had taken had been very nicely maintained and the views were beautiful, whether on the interstate or the bike trails. The only roads I don’t always relish are the city streets with traffic and stoplights---which is my bane as I have to get off the interstates when they cross cities. Some of them, however, give you side roads to neatly sidestep the traffic. On these edge-of-town roads, you see the industrial market at play: tire stores, farming and ranching equipment lots, mills, auto and tractor repair, etc. It reminds you that the business outside of town is often what makes the town viable. 

After exiting the trail in Mullan and entering the interstate, the road’s ascent sharpened to 6%---still quite doable and not that far, actually. Or maybe I’m getting stronger. I guess that’s a possibility.

At Lookout Pass, which is the Idaho/Montana border, I stopped at the Info Center and purchased coffee and a snack while I tried to warm up. It is apparently quite the ski area in the winter, with a ski school, ski lift, rental ski equipment, etc. You can also hop onto the Trail of the Hiawatha there and you can rent a mountain bike to do it. This is a popular graveled road---an old railroad service road---that families can enjoy for many miles. You can ride slightly downhill and then take a bus back. Very, very cool. 

A note on trains. The history of the train services through the Pacific Northwest is fascinating. As is all train history. From a cultural standpoint, sociological standpoint, political standpoint, and economic standpoint. The libraries are full of train stories. And don’t we still get a thrill when we hear a train whistle? It beckons of adventure. 

BUT---the ENGINEERING of the entire system is phenomenal. I didn’t know this before this wonderful trek through the northwest, but train tracks cannot ascend or descend more than 1.7%!!!! Can you imagine what this means? That is such a minimal grade, that you have major construction and problems to solve to lay any track. Bogs had to be drained manually, dirt and rock built up or taken down, bridges every where, tunnels cutting through mountains when you can’t go around them, because you can’t go over them with a 1.7% grade. 

The service roads for the trains, therefore, have the same grade. For the northwest planners to make them into hiking and biking trails is a fantastic thing for travelers, vacationers, tourism dollars, and to delight the local residents as well. 

I just love trains. Many people bled and died to connect the east and west. Natives lost their lands and Chinese labourers lost their lives. Fortunes were made and lost as our country heaved and groaned and laboured to build a nation. 

Back to Lookout Pass. It was chilly at the pass, about 40 degrees, and my fingers and toes were complaining and tingling. I fished out my gloves, a bit late I’ll warrant, and donned them to make the descent.  The rapid descent from the pass was indeed chilly. OK, it was damn cold. But, with each 100 ft drop, I could feel a substantial change in temperature. Within about 6 miles, I could feel all my digits again. 

I cycled to St. Regis and pulled into the St Regis Campground, backtracking up the frontage road to get there. I met the owner, a spunky little lady about my age named Lisa. She had me laughing in seconds--actually the moment I walked in the door. She had seen me cycle up the gravel driveway on HD and wondered who the heck was crazy enough to do that?? She and her husband Mitch own the campground, which is open 6 months of the year. In fact, that is what I have found to be the case for most of the campgrounds, even the KOA, in the mountains where the winter becomes severe. The managers and owners of these seasonal campgrounds love this feature. They work 6 months of the year. Then, in the frigid winters, they hole up in their homes or take off on vacations to warmer climes. Lisa, however, is alone most of the winter as her husband has a winter job that takes him away for several months. 

This is a gutsy woman. 

She loves to sew and to read--great wintertime activities to relish with a cup of coffee and a nice fire. She joined a quilter’s club and loves the older, more experienced quilters who are teaching her the intracies of this art. She says, in a whisper and with a quick look around, that she loves “old people”. This is handy, I think, as the RV campers are generally seniors who are enjoying the spending of their childrens’ inheritance. Yay for travelling seniors!!

Yay for travelling, period!

The St Regis campground was very nice and I was planted on a grassy patch. The bathrooms were immaculate and the shower hot and welcome. 

The next morning, I tried to get it together early and got back to town by 8 am. But, by the time I drank coffee, consulted my maps, and talked to a few folks, it was about 9:15 a.m. 

There at the major travel center in St Regis, I met Andy. He is a disabled vet, likely in his mid to late 60’s. He has a bicycle with a little motor on it, which helps him get up hills. This is his mode of travel and he travels “aimlessly wandering”, as he puts it, camping on the way with an occasional motel stay. He was friendly but maybe a bit on edge. When I asked him what gave him joy or what does he love, he got a bit aggravated. But I understand that this is usually because most people don’t stop to ask themselves what they love. They don’t pursue their joys. They wander “aimlessly” through life. Eventually, he answered, “traveling around”. He has done his share, both on a typical bicycle, and now on his semi-motorized one. We wished each other safe travels and I headed up the hill.

Unfortunately, it was the wrong hill. I had pointed myself in the wrong direction and cycled for 45 minutes uphill on a country road . But, it was NOT the highway I was supposed to be on. I turned around and reached St Regis an hour after I had started. So, I pointed HD toward hwy 135 with the intent on cycling the “Ninemile Rd” almost to Missoula, until it was supposed to connect to hwy 93/200. 

I say “Supposed To”. LOL!! This road appeared to be a gravel county road going over the mountains. I changed my mind when I actually saw the dang thing, and stayed on hwy 135 till it connected to hwy 200. So, the 78 mile ride to Missoula turned out to be a 95 mile ride to the Muralt Travel Center, about 6 miles west of Missoula. 

Hwy 135 and Hwy 200 meandered next to rivers. Hwy 200 ran next to the Blackfoot River, known for its famous flyfishing. It is the area filmed in “A River Runs Through It”. Really gorgeous. 

There are no real towns along this stretch of the highway, on 135 or 200. My body was seriously fatigued by about mile 55. I was climbing again out of the river valley and, in order to keep from getting weepy and hopeless, I took on Drill Sergeant Joe role and yelled at myself and HD to push, Push, PUSH and show what we were made of, dammit! I shouted some obscenities, in a good natured way, making myself laugh, and then I scolded myself until I reached hwy 93, where I turned south toward Missoula. Right at the intersection was the little burg of Ravalli. Not much there, BUT there was a little cafe, so I stopped in, thighs screaming and body shaking. I ordered a huckleberry milkshake. I had seen these advertised all the way through Oregon, Washington, Idaho, and now Montana. It was about time. The waitress was kindhearted and friendly and encouraging and her sweet smile was like manna. 

And damn, was that shake good!! Little purple huckleberries, still whole in the lavender cream, were sweet and tart. I was revived, with over 30 miles to go.

I headed south toward Missoula and was greeted by a long, slow grade. I saw several billboards advertising Muralts’ Travel Center and that became my Holy Grail. “If I can just get to Muralts’, I will stay in the Days Inn”, I repeated to myself over and over. Then, when the descent toward Missoula began, I sped the last 6 miles downhill, made one last uphill climb at the end, and rolled up to the Inn and checked in at 9:30 pm. Whew! I was sooo happy to be there. 

And, oh so tired. The restaurant was closing in 30 minutes and I knew I couldn’t get my gear into the room and back down to the restaurant in time, so it was trail mix and fruit and bakery leftovers from St Regis for dinner. I knew I was going to need a day to rest.

Funny how the most difficult things, once faced and conquered, become the happiest of accomplishments.