Josh and I had a brief breakfast at the restaurant in town, then left separately to head up the mountains. Our camp at Rising Sun was at the base of the climb. The road turned dirt right at the beginning and the trees cramped alongside of the road. The road lazily began to point upward and I readied myself for a long, merciless ride.
I had been told that there was construction along the road, quite a bit of it in fact. No more than a mile or two into biking, I came upon a light that had just turned green, a couple hundred feet in distance. The car, however, hovered at the light, moving slowly through that ambient green "go" signal. I hurried my pace, attempting to reach the light before it went red. I reached it just as it turned red.
Well, shucks. Pausing on the gravel, I was completely caught off guard to find two little animals cautiously watching me from the side of the road.
Do I run the red light? Is there a man in charge of this light that did this to me on purpose?
A strange calmness moved through me. The panic of being caught off-guard struck me but the little bears were obviously very weary of the strange man on the steel frame. The lead bear made movements like he wanted to cross the road, peering into me wondering if that was okay with me. I moved back and gestured to the road in an "It's all yours" type of movement but the little bears weren't buying it. They descended back down into the brush. What wonderful creatures, they were.
The ride continued, sweat accumulating within my helmet and dripping down into my vision. I'd only worn one contact that morning because of trouble in my left eye. However, scenery still looked stunning and clear. The sun seemed to climb with me up the mountains. Eventually, the trees broke open and Logan Pass showed itself just around the corner.
Within the Rockies, the mountains stood triumphantly. Despite being at an elevation of only 6,000 ft. at this point, you wouldn't believe it from looking down. I'd been higher at Monarch Pass (12,000) last year but this felt higher. I can't describe the giddiness that ran through my bones or just the wonderful thoughts that were running through my mind. How lucky I am to be able to do something like this. How wonderful it is to live in the United States. How spectacular humans can be and how truly beautiful the world is.
The last bit of hiking I took very slow. At each scenic view, I stopped to take video with my camera of the landscape and to just take it all in. Next thing I knew, I was standing at Logan Pass watching a Bighorn Sheep rush across the highway, stopping traffic.
The Logan Pass Vistitor's Center didn't have much to offer per-say but they did have some exhibits on several animals that inhabit the high elevation. I saw every single one of those animals. The Bighorn Sheep went plodding down into the trees in front of the center. The Colombian Ground Squirrel scurried in between people begging for food. The Whistling Pig (or Hoary Marmot) sat next to a hiking trail, bathing in the sun and posing for cameras. The Mountain Goat chewed nonchalantly on grass at the top of another hiking trail.
Unbeknownst to me, Josh was already hiking up the "Hidden Lake" Trail and I encountered him on my way up.
High fives ensued.
"It wasn't even that bad. People hyped this up way too much," Josh said.
"Yeah, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I saw two bears on the way up!" I gushed.
"There's a couple mountain goats up there on the trail. I took a selfie with em'," Josh laughed.
We got our picture taken by a friendly couple on top of Logan Pass.
The hike up the Hidden Lake trail was beautiful, and I did pass the mountain goats. They couldn't care less about the humans surrounding them taking their picture. There were two adult goats and one kid who followed closely behind his parents. Soon enough, I reached the lookout point of the trail.
At this point, I'd spent about three hours up at the summit and all I could think about was that 3000 ft. descent. I was actually nervous about it, and I never really get nervous about these descents. It's something that's come with this trip; nervousness. Last year, there wasn't much of that at all until I reached the Rockies. I distinctly remember being a bit afraid of going down the Appalachians this year as well, and it bothers me. However, whether I like it or not, it's good to be cautious. I must say though, I miss the helmetless, wild recklessness of last year. Josh has done a fine job containing me and I think we both worry more about one another then we really do ourselves. That might be where it comes from.
Down by the bikes, Josh was finishing a peanut butter sandwich and readying himself for the downhill. I slowly took my time, hoping he would go first so we could both have our own experiences. I mounted my camera onto the top of my front pack with a bit of duct tape to videotape the entire descent. Josh left and not long after, I pressed the record button on the camera, fit my turtle helmet snug onto my head, and descended down the Rocky Mountains.
The other side of the pass seemed to look completely different. The peaks went higher, the valley floor appeared much farther down, sweeping down into an arc on the bottom. It went down forever and the road traversed ever so narrowly to the edge. Wind blew into my ear canals so loudly, I could barely hear myself singing as I plummeted. I came quickly upon one truck that waved me to go around it and I did, grinning from ear to ear. Surprisingly, it was awfully hot.
I passed Josh taking in one of the viewpoints on the way down, and hollered and whooped as I flew by. Again, out of anxiousness, I stopped at a scenic overlooking to check my tires and make sure they were okay.
"See ya later, poser!" screamed a cackling voice. Josh rode on by while all the people at the stop stared at me.
"Hey, where are you guys from anyway?" Josh asked.
"South Jersey," Bob responded.
"Like Cape May?!" Josh said in disbelief.
"Sorta, little place called Cape May Court House," they said.
Long story short, we stayed in Lake McDonald at the bottom of the mountain for the night at a $5 biker campground. From there, we slowly biked to West Glacier and stopped at a restaurant. In West Glacier, we met a man named Ian. There we were just sitting, and eating in the shop when a young man with wild blonde hair, and a cut-off t-shirt walked up us.
"Hey, you guys the bikers?" he asked in a heavy accented tone. The type of accent from people who are exceptionally easy-going, surf or just take life as it comes. Perhaps, a free soul type.
"Yeah, man, that's us," we responded.
"You mind if I sit down with you guys for a second?" he asked.
Josh and I looked at each other, slightly caught off-guard. "No, not at all."
Ian expressed his interest in cycling and some of the work he does to progress the method of transportation around the United States. He basically moves from place to place, living out of his tent in friend's yards and working with local business and bicycle advocacy. Toward the end of everything he was talking about, he extended an invitation to stay at the house he'd been sitting for the summer.
"Well, just think about it. If you want to, I'll see you over there. If not, good luck on your trip," he said, standing up. "I'm the yellow house across the street. Ya can't miss it," he told us.
We spent over an hour debating what to do. Okay, it's supposed to snow in the morning here. But not down in Whitefish. But we'd be missing out on a possibly incredible opportunity. We stayed.
I couldn't have been happier about staying. We made a fire out back, cooked eggs, made sandwiches, ate popcorn, cherries, and locally picked huckleberries. We talked and talked while drinking some beer. Eventually, we passed out inside, on thermarests upon the floor.
I've missed quite a bit of writing over the last few days and it's kinda overwhelming right now. I wish I'd written more about some of the events sooner. We're in Whitefish right now, waiting out a snowstorm. Josh's bike has apparently completely gone to shit. I say apparently because he got his bike checked. I've come to the conclusion that I have absolutely no trust in any cycling shop and I believe they're scams. If you're bike is not running at optimal pace or there is the slightest problem, you will be caught. They usually scare you with something that could potentially injure you or kill you and recommend you get a new blank immediately. At Glacier Cyclery, I opted to get the new tire I needed and not give them my bicycle. Josh gave them his bicycle and was told, "You need a new everything... literally, everything." The tires are gone, the back rim is gone, the chain is gone, the cassettes are gone, the brake pads are gone, the wiring for the brakes are gone, the grip tape is gone. It's a completely new bike, which is all great and dandy but he got robbed blind for it. And they used scare tactics to get him to do it. I just think it was a scam. Who knows. I'm gonna just ride till the wheels fall off.
Out and about to Libby, MT tomorrow. Glacier National Park is a must see.
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