(written Monday)
Yesterday officially marked the end of the calendar summer season, bringing us into autumn. Gone are the days of careless fun, hot days and cool drinks. As the leaves change color and mornings turn crisp, just before we must face the reality of approaching winter, we often reflect back upon the adventurous and the lazy days of months recently passed. Hopefully, as we remember the joys of summer, we do so with a sense of contentment for what has passed and what is now beginning, for the cyclical nature of life.

Quite fitting, then, given this current seasonal transition, that yesterday would commence the last day of riding of this second leg of my journey- the westward segment. Tonight I find myself in the comfort of my uncle John’s and aunt Ruth’s house in Great Falls, Montana, thinking back on the last few days of riding, as well as the journey so far as a whole. First, let me share the last few days, how I came to be here right now.

Before leaving Miles City on Friday, I made a stop at the local bike shop to see what I could do about my shifting problem. I figured maybe I would be able to pick up that part, the module that attaches to the axle, for cheap. Maybe they would even have one lying around I could take off their hands. They did not, but they owner there was able to help me out. He was able to bore out some new threads in the screw hole, as the existing ones had been completely stripped, which is why the screw would not tighten against the axle nut. With new threads, we were able to put a new screw in and properly clamp the module on with no chance of slipping off. He didn’t charge me anything for the labor.

After leaving the bike shop, the pastor took me out to lunch at a surprisingly delicious Mexican restaurant in town. I ordered a feast and had a taco, an enchilada, a tostada, chile relleno, and rice and beans. The meal filled me to the brim, and I felt good about riding out. As I began to roll out of town, the winds seemed calm, almost nonexistent, but no sooner had I reached the highway again when they picked up out of the west, per the usual.

It was a relatively late start, but I had decided to only travel about 40 miles to the town of Forsyth- put in a short day followed by a long one. Also, since this stretch of highway 12, on which I had been traveling since Minnesota, merged with the interstate, I figured I would be going a bit faster anyway. I always ride faster on roads with high-speed traffic, especially if there is a wide shoulder. And don’t worry, riding on the interstate is legal in Montana. I made decent time, considering the wind and some tough hills and arrived at Forsyth just before dark. It’s a relatively small town, but there is a campground, so I knew I would definitely have a place to sleep. I checked it out first, and it didn’t really present any promising spots to hang a hammock, and the mosquitos were definitely still out, so I decided to go back into town, get a meal at a cafe, and try my luck at finding something else. The campground could be my backup plan.

The meal was good, although a bit pricy, and the server there couldn’t help me out with a place to stay. He did, however, give me the section of the paper that listed all the churches in town. So I rode around and checked them all out, but could find no one around who might help me seek permission to sleep at any one of these churches. After a half hour of roaming around, I finally gave up and decided to just go back to the campground and sleep there. Just as I was leaving the last church, however, I looked down at my rear tire and noticed a thorn stuck in the rubber. Shit. Well, first reaction is to pull it out. Before I even had the damn thing fully removed from the tire, air began streaming out with a slight whistle. It was completely dark by this point, and I didn’t really feel like trying to patch my tube in the dark, with the aid of a street lamp and a flashlight. So I decided to just walk my bike to the campground, about a mile away, and just worry about it in the morning.

I walked through the bumpy streets, down a gravel road leading into the park, and found a site. Again, there were no good spots I had found earlier, and I had very little chance of finding one by the glow of my headlight, so I stopped at the first reasonable, open site I found. I set my hammock on top of the picnic table and pushed one of my rear panniers inside to the head of the hammock. That would suffice to keep the mosquito netting up off my face and ensure that no critters bit me in the night. No clouds and no forecast of rain, so I kept the rain fly off and slept under the stars.

Still exhausted, I woke up to my alarm at 6 the next morning. It was 12 bucks to camp there, and I didn’t want to pay, so I peaced out before 7am. I walked my bike down the road a half mile, out of the park, and stopped to fix my flat. I realized that pushing the flat tire over gravel was not a good idea, and had actually ruined my tube and was doing considerable damage to my tire. I changed the tube for a new one and got everything back together just fine. Then I headed over to the grocery store to stock up on some fruit for the long ride. I decided to treat myself to breakfast at the cafe. I figured I could use a good, hearty meal to keep me going, even if it was a bit pricey.

After my meal, I headed out into the morning calm to begin my long day through what I knew would be a whole lot of nothing. I wasn’t wrong. Back on highway 12, off the interstate, I was in pasture country, dry pasture country. I can’t imagine there was even one percent humidity out there. Even thoughts of moisture seemed to evaporate just as quickly as they came. All the labeled creeks were nothing more than winding beds of salty dust. This was the landscape up until the last 15 miles or so.

For lunch that day, I stopped in a town called Ingomar, the town I was originally going to shoot for the day before. In Miles City, a few people had recommended I get a meal there at the local joint called the Jersey Lily. Kind of a famous spot, regionally at least. It had the small, western town atmosphere, looked like it had been built 100 years ago. I’m pretty sure everyone else in there was a local. I was too tired to talk to anyone, so I sat at the bar. Everyone I had talked to in Miles City said I had to get the beans there, so I ordered the bean and salad bar, an unlimited lunch for seven bucks. I piled my plate high with salad fixins: lettuce, tomato, cheese, egg, croutons, cucumber, bacon bits. Then I filled a bowl with the esteemed beans, kept warm in a crock pot. It looked like a two-bean medley with pork fat and onion. Can’t really go wrong there. So I ate my salad plate while I waited for my beans to cool. (I have a low tolerance for heat in my mouth. Kind of a wuss, really, when it comes to that.) When finally I felt I had waited long enough, I went for a big ol’ spoonful of beans. They definitely were not bad, but I wouldn’t call them much more than good. There was nothing too special about them. Some kind of spice that I couldn’t put my finger on, but pretty standard otherwise. Not sure what all the fuss was about. Still, it was a good meal, and I filled up. The salad and bean bar even came with a cookie.

After my filling meal, I had a couple brief conversations with some locals. They were all friendly. One was a truck driver who helped himself behind the bar. When I told him I was headed to Roundup, he said he was going there that afternoon as well. He said this as he poured himself a tall glass of vodka. ‘Not right away, of course,’ he added. I told him I was glad to hear that. When I left the Jersey Lily and grabbed my bike to go, I noticed the rear tire was low, nearly all the way flat. It definitely wasn’t flat when I arrived. So I figured I would try pumping it back up, see if it would hold any air. It did. Must be a small leak. I didn’t really feel like patching a tube again, so I figured I would see how far I could make it just pumping it up when it got low. As long as the puncture didn’t expand, I knew I would be fine. I would just have to stop every so often and add some air. It turned out a half hour was about the time I could get off each filling. After that the tire would become too soft and slow me down, and really pose a threat of getting another flat. And so that is what I did for the next 60 miles to Roundup- stopped and pumped up every 30-40 minutes.

Coming into Roundup, I had a name and address and telephone number for the pastor in town, but I wasn’t sure yet if I was good to stay with them. I hadn’t had any cell service since about 20 miles out of Forsyth. I assumed I would get service by the time I reached town, though. Nope. No service for me in that town. The town was laid out in a fairly simple grid, so I was able to find my way to the address I had written down, figured I would just ring the doorbell. No lights on, no answer. I also had the address to the Lutheran church, so that was my next stop. No one there either. So I would have to call. The first gas station I came across (probably the only one in town) had a pay phone, but a woman was using it, and she looked like she had a handful of quarters at the ready. I went to the grocery store across the street and asked to use their phone. Local calls only, so I couldn’t call my uncle or my voicemail, but I could try the pastor. When I dialed the number, it said the number had changed, to something in a different area code, which means a different state than Montana, as the entire state has the same area code. Now what?

I left the grocery store and went back to the gas station. The lady was gone by then, so I got on the payphone and called my uncle. He told me the story- pastor moved, but he had found someone to help me out, Pam, the piano player at the church. He gave me the contact info, I called her, and made my way to her house. She fed me leftover pizza, some fruit and cheese, and let me take a shower. Then she unlocked the church and set me up in the basement there. Sleeping on the floor with my sleeping pad, but I didn’t mind.

I had to get up by 8:30 the next morning, as service started at 9:30, and people started arriving at 9. I can’t sleep later than eight these days, even if I try, so that wasn’t a problem. I got up and packed up and was beginning to patch my tube when people began arriving. Everyone was friendly and talked to me. They wanted me to stay for the service, but I knew I had to get an early start to make the 75 miles to Lewistown before dark. I knew there would be winds, like always, and some serious uphills were waiting for me.

Boy, yesterday was one of the toughest days I’ve had yet. I hadn’t taken a day off since Blue Cloud Abbey in eastern South Dakota, 10 days and 700 miles of headwinds and hills earlier. I already felt like I was running on fumes for the last few days through dry, eastern Montana. This day was nothing but hills. Long, some steep, winding hills. And for most of the day, the shoulder was very limited. Parts had a wide four-foot shoulder. Some had a narrower two-foot shoulder. Then there was my favorite, the two- to three-foot shoulder with rumble strips that meandered about the shoulder. So at one point you might have a foot and a half between the strips and the dirt, and other times you might only have four inches. Nonetheless, I took each hill in stride (a slow stride), never getting off to walk. The downhills would have been truly amazing had it not been for the wind. The first half of the day was marked by variable, sometimes erratic, crosswinds. That made for very unsteady descents. Taking just one hand off the bars was a serious risk, as a gust over 20 miles an hour might come through at any moment, easily enough to knock you over when you’re speeding over 25 miles an hour downhill. So I had to be a bit reserved.

About halfway through the day, the highway merged with another highway and turned from mostly north to mostly west. That put me straight into a headwind. By this point, it was mostly steady, not nearly as erratic as before. It might die off for a few minutes, but guaranteed that anytime I had the slightest thought about the wind being gone, it would pick up again with vengeance. At first, though, there were much fewer uphills, mostly flats and long, gradual climbs. I pushed on, thinking that when 5 or 6 rolled around, the wind would begin to die off, as it usually does. By six, however, the wind had not died off a bit, and I was coming up to a small mountain range. A long, steep, winding ascent waited to welcome me into the mountains. The scenery was very beautiful, especially with the setting sun, but I really had to focus all of my energy to climbing. At the top of climb, I could finally see my destination, the town of Lewistown, still another six or so miles. The sun was almost completely set, the temperature was dropping, and surprisingly, the wind was actually picking up even more. The descent that followed was glorious, easily a few miles, but the cold wind was making my hands go numb, and I had to retrieve my gloves. I was hoping the hill would carry me all the way into town, but unfortunately it stopped a few miles short of town limits, and I had to struggle through accelerated winds. By this point it was nearly completely dark, and the winds must have been gusting around 25 mph. I couldn’t believe it. I felt as though someone had been kicking me on the ground for hours, and just as it seemed they were done, as I was beginning to rise, they added insult to injury and poked me in the eyes. What a day.

Luckily I had a place to stay all lined up, thanks again to my uncle. The local pastor, Paul, met me in town and had me follow him to his house. Wouldn’t you know it, he lives on a hill, and I ended the ride barely making it up to his house. Once there, however, I was given a bed to sleep in, a fast food meal for dinner, and hot wheat cereal in the morning. I also had a really good conversation with Paul about religion and philosophy, and I feel that our conversation really got me started reflecting upon my journey. I had been pushing so hard lately, I feel as though I didn’t give myself a chance to look back and reflect, to think about what I have learned, what growth I will ultimately take from this adventure.

Before I had even reached Paul’s place, I knew that the next day I would be reaching Great Falls, despite the fact it was just over 100 miles away. My uncle John had said he would drive and meet me and pick me up the next day. I was flooded with relief when I heard that. I had planned to make two days out of the remaining 107 miles, given that it would be some serious uphill. As it turned out, I didn’t do any riding. John picked me up in Lewistown and drove me the entire way to Great Falls. What would have taken me two days of strenuous riding, was just a two hour drive by car. Amazing. That was definitely the longest car ride I have taken since I began this trip nearly three months ago. It was weird. To be honest, the speed with which we traveled frightened me a little, and not being in control of the vehicle made me a bit anxious. Even so, I was more than happy to be riding as a passenger, relaxing, as the car did all the work of pushing through the winds and up the hills. I’m not entirely sure I could have lasted another day of powering myself through those conditions.

So now what? Now that I have reached Great Falls, Montana, here at my uncle’s house, what comes next? Well, I’m not entirely sure yet, but my plan for now is to stay here for a few days, maybe a week, then make my way down to Denver. I won’t be riding my bike to get there, however. For one, I need more rest. My body and mind have had enough riding for a little while. I need a break. Second, it’s just about October now. The weather will be very unpredictable, very volatile in the coming weeks and months, and I’m not sure I want to risk riding through this part of the country during this time. Snow could come at any time. Part of me wants to go through with it, based on principle, because of my ego, and maybe I would if I hadn’t already done so much, if I wasn’t so tired, but my common sense tells me to find another way. So that’s part of my goals for the next few days, is to figure out a way to get down to Denver as cheaply and efficiently as possible. There is not train running through here. Busses may be an option. I’m not too keen on flying, although I would do it if circumstances demand so. Other than that, renting a car comes to mind, or trying to find someone who is already driving down that way. That’s a long shot. I’ll figure something out.

In the meantime as well, I will be using this time off to get some work done. I have a few web projects to work on that I have been putting off until I got here. I also have loads of pictures to put up here on the site. I realize I haven’t posted any since Minneapolis, and I probably have a few hundred that I have taken since then. I will be putting those up in spurts over the next few days. Other than that, I have a lot of resting and reflecting to do. I really want to try to put some perspective on the last few months, put everything together, think about how far I have come and what I have learned from all this. It’s finally starting to sink in just how crazy and amazing this trip has been. I have met so many wonderful people, had encounters with some real weirdos and assholes, and seen some of the finest scenery this country has to offer in daily life. Now I want to figure out what this has done for me as a person, what I can take from all this, where it can lead me. I don’t think this adventure is quite over with, but this is a much-needed interlude after a grand segment, and a fine time for reflection. So expect more writing in the week to come to accompany the pictures. There’s so much more to tell, and I want to get it down before I forget.

Thanks again to everyone who has helped me out along the way. I appreciate all the comments. I appreciate the hospitality I have been given along the way, both by strangers and friends and family. It’s good to know that fear hasn’t taken over every aspect of people’s lives, and trust can still be found lingering in the hearts of many a good people. I sincerely hope that I have been able to give back to people along the way in a meaningful fashion. It’s always impossible to know just how much anything you say or do affects those around you, and I can only hope that what I have done has left positive impacts in my wake. There are plenty of people with whom I shared the address to this journal that I have never heard from. I’m sure some never even looked it up, but I am positive there are some out there who have read along quietly. So as I begin to reflect upon what this trip has done for me, I would be curious to hear what anyone else has to say about the trip, anything they have learned along the vicarious way, any words of insight that could be shared. Please feel free to leave a comment or send me an email.

And one last thing that must be said: Don’t worry, Grandma, I am alright. Despite all this talk of being worn out, of how tough this has been, I am safe and warm and dry and well-fed. It has been an incredibly rewarding experience, and there was never any time when I felt that my life was in really serious danger. I’m glad you were reading along, and I know you were praying for me the entire time. Thank you for that. I know my Mom was watching out for me as well. I will call you soon. I love you.

Sincerely,

Otis