Waterton Lakes, Bears, and Banff by the Campfire

As I write this I'm snuggled into my folding chairs next to our first campfire of the trip. It's been too cold and damp (raining) or windy so far to put match to paper but tonight we're in Banff, Alberta in the Tunnel Mountain campground. Surrounded by whispering pines it's still cool, so what better night than to split some wood (supplied by the campground) and watch the flames and listen to the snap and crackle of the logs.

Last night we were in Waterton Lakes, Alberta in the town site's beautiful campground right by one of the most scenic lakes in Canada. Last night I went for a quiet spin on my bike after an afternoon of what Sophie refers to as recreational shopping. Since we were last in Waterton they have built a nice bike path outside of town. As I came around a corner a couple of miles out of town I met this fellow and

his urine companion as they were taking their evening stroll on the path. I quickly  agreed that I would yield the right of way but after some breathless negotiation they agreed to pose, somewhat reluctantly, for the requisite snapshot. I saw three bears in the course of an hour's ride, giving us a total of six urine encounters in while in Waterton. All black bears, which we have plenty of in Colorado, but these were my first from a bike saddle. As we continue north you can bet we'll be on the lookout  for their more grizzled cousins!

From Battlefields to Glaciers

From battlefields to Glaciers, our next destination was St Mary, Montana which is the eastern entrance to Glacier National Park. Ahead of the crowds soon to descend upon this treasure we found St. Mary to be basically still closed. The season up this

way doesn't really get started until the second week of June. Fortunately the NPS campground was open and here we would spend the next three days. On day two the sun made a short appearance  which was enough encouragement to get Sophie and I to saddle up and attempt the ride up Logan Pass, eighteen miles and several thousand feet of climbing away. Rapidly the sun fled for warmer climes leaving us to battle sporadic heavy rain as we slowly slogged our way up, and up, and up some more. We have ridden Logan Pass from this side before, and then too it had rained, but then they had been the warmer rains of summer. Today's rain came with a vengeance but still we kept at it not knowing  if we would see any weather improvement in the days to come. The road is officially closed to vehicle traffic at about the 13 mile mark but the Park Rangers had said we could proceed by bike for several more miles. The road was snow free though the rain streamed down in rivulets that meandered back and forth across the tarmac. Reaching  Siyeh Bend there was a final road closure sign indicating people proceeding further would be prosecuted. I hate to turn around short of any summit but between the sign and the snowfields I could see in the distance I decided that prudence was the better measure at least for today. Logan Pass would need to wait for another day.

Sophie and I had ridden up at our own pace and on her way up the hill she had been caught up by another cyclist going at almost the same pace and struck up a conversation with Mark who had just come to Glacier from Georgia to work for the summer as an accountant for the St. Mary Lodge which would be officially opening June 9th. Until then he had nothing better to do except come out and suffer with the two other idiot cyclists enduring the pounding rain and loving every minute of it. Mark and his wife Rebecca (Rebecca also works in the park for the National Park Service at the east entrance station) had quit their corporate jobs and decided to work the summer in one of the National Parks. They both found positions in Glacier so here they were.  Mark stopped by our campsite later for hot cider and regaled us with tales of their decision to chuck corporate life for the wild adventure of Glacier.  The season in Glacier lasts through September 30th. I don't know if Mark and Rebecca will head back to Georgia come Fall, but I can easily see the allure of the western lifestyle enticing them to stay and put down roots. It was great meeting and talking with Mark and whatever direction they head we wish them all the best.

Little Bighorn National Battlefield Monument

The ride from Hardin along the back roads to the town of Crow Agency and into the battlefield monument is cycling paradise. Good pavement, few cars, a sunny day, even a couple of roller coaster hills make this  route too good to pass up. The monument itself is worth the trip. The Monument road travels approximately four and a half miles north to south following the route of the battle which started south of the Indian encampment on the Bighorn River in the flat lands beneath the hills and rolling bluffs to the east. On the morning of Sunday June 25, 1876 Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer sent part of his 7th Calvary to attack the Indian encampment below. The small force of 7th Calvary soldiers, led by Major Reno, quickly realized that they had ridden into a hornet's nest as a large group of warriors rode out in defense of the village. Forced to begin a hasty retreat in an effort to rejoin the larger force still up on top of the hills above the small group was effectively cut off and forced to hold their ground alone.

Meanwhile, Custer continued to ride to the north along the ridge increasingly harried by a force much, much larger than they had anticipated though his own scouts had given him early notice of the size of the Indian encampment. The sites where Calvary soldiers fell along the route of the rolling battle are identified with white marble markers (Indian deaths are identified with red markers). One marker here, three to five there, until you reach Last Stand Hill where Custer and those still with him met their end. After shooting their own horses to serve as breastworks, Custer and his men fought on until they ran out of ammunition and the Indians charged up the hill to finish them off. As I walk by the white markers I try to envision what that day must have been like for soldier and

Indian warrior alike. The Indians were surprised by the arrogance of the white soldiers willingness to attack such a large Indian encampment but apparently there had been some foretelling of the epic battle to come around the Indian dance fires in the nights preceding the battle. For a lowly Calvary soldier what had turned out as just another hot dusty tramp across the prairie was quickly evolving into chaos as, from the scattering of markers indicates, it was every man for himself as each tried to fend off, for as long as they had bullets remaining, an overwhelming enemy force intent on their utter destruction. I can hardly imagine what thoughts must have gone though their heads as they fired their last shots and heard the click of an empty chamber realizing they were moments away from death. 

Along with the individual markers there is atop Last Stand Hill a Memorial to those

who gave their last full measure of their devotion that fateful day. There is also, hauntingly, a smaller Memorial marking a horse cemetery. Being Calvary the soldiers obviously started out on horseback, but perhaps not as consciously realized, is the fact that while more than 200 soldiers lost their lives so too did their mounts, often shot by the soldiers themselves in a last futile effort to block the fusillade of Indian bullets and arrows coming their way. Fittingly the monuments a quiet place, with the constant prairie wind whipping through the grass covered hills. If you close your eyes you can almost picture  that time long ago when two sides, each believing they were in the right, faced off in one of the last major clashes between two ways of life unable to coexist with each other.

Interestingly, the Memorial to the 7th Calvary soldiers is very much what you might expect - a tall obelisk reaching towards the blue prairie sky engraved with the names of the soldiers who died that day. The Indian Memorial fifty yards or so from the top of the hill takes a completely different approach with more of an emphasis on learning from what happened that June day.

Where Old Bikes Go to Die

We spent the night at the Hardin, Montana KOA which is about 15 miles away from the Little Bighorn National Monument. Around the perimeter of the KOA someone who must have been a bicycle fancier has placed about fifty old bikes literally out to pasture where they will rust and decompose over time. It was fun to walk around and look at the collection (for bike afficionados out there all five speed freewheeling and simplex shifters) of bikes from a bygone era. This KOA is not very busy and I fear too many folks do what Sophie and I have done through the years which is simply drive past at 70 mph with nary a glance, or even a thought, of the little town of Hardin.

This KOA is actually for sale. It's very clean but in need of some updates and tender loving care. Like the bikes in various stages of disrepair this KOA appears past its prime though for us that has its advantages. The campground is about a mile off the main highway which means it's quiet and peaceful and has beautiful shade trees galore and nice grassy sites to set up our temporary home. I suspect the owners are probably reaching the age where they too have other things on their bucket list and are either unwilling or unable to financially invest in the upgrades to bring the campground into the 21st century.

Before we left Denver we had attended our niece Payton's High School graduation ceremony. One of the valedictorian speakers used her time in the spotlight to encourage the class of 2016 to be truly present in the moment which for her meant looking up from that handheld device and physically interacting  with the world and those in it in a non-virtual way. Kudos to her, but shame on us that this needed to be the topic of choice for a valedictory speech. Of course she finished by making her point by whipping out a selfie stick and taking her own picture while those in the audience took pictures of her. This too may be a reason why this KOA may not find a ready buyer who will love and nurture it into better days. While they say my generation is causing a resurgence of hitting the road in the modern equivalent of Minnie Winnies apparently the generations behind us would seemingly prefer to participate in life through technology. Part of the appeal of this trip was to experience it feeling the wind in my face while hearing and feeling the whir of my wheels beneath me. I retired somewhat early precisely because I could no longer stomach watching the world go by outside my window as I sat staring at my computer in my cubicle.

Someday my bike will go the way of the bicycles around the KOA. Hopefully by then I too will be ready to dismount and watch from a rocking chair. As my bike and I eventually turn to rust and dust we'll remember most fondly those days spent out on the road together.

This time of year...

This time of year the weather can be somewhat problematic and given the spring weather so far this year I can't say I was too surprised when waking up this morning in (still windy) Cody and checking the forecast for our intended route through Yellowstone to Flagg Ranch to find there was a winter weather advisory for the area including highs in the low 40's and a probability of snow. Almost all of the campgrounds along the way are also still closed.

If you've driven from Jackson Hole to the south entrance of Yellowstone Park you have flown by Flagg Ranch. During a bike trip several years ago my wife and I camped at the campground there. There is a dirt road that apparently is we'll maintained that goes from the main road into Yellowstone and cuts west into Idaho just to the north of the Tetons. This road is also part of the Continental Divide mountain bike route that meanders from Banff, Canada to its terminus at the border with Mexico so I was really looking forward to biking this section but I have a lot of respect for mothers, especially one called Nature. So a re-route appeared to be in order to avoid all this nasty weather.

I think I have one of my former coworkers, Mike, to blame for all this. As a fellow bicycling enthusiast he had been curious bout my intended route and during one conversation he had broached the subject of "Gee, Dave, don't you think your pushing the weather envelope starting out so early in the season?" So thanks Mike for putting the curse on me weather wise! Of course I know what's likely to happen - I'm going to go from bone chilling and windy to hot and sweaty and yes I'll complain about the heat when it finally arrives. Right now I could go for some nice 80 degree days but I know I should be careful for what I ask for as I might just get it.

So where to head in northwest Wyoming if you're not going to Yellowstone? The Beartooth highway from Cook City to Red Lodge is a route to rival Trail Ridge road in Rocky Mountain National Park but the plows coming at the snow drifts from the south and north hadn't yet met in the middle (yup, still closed due to snow) so I had to come up with a plan 'C' as we were done with the hurricane winds of Cody.

Pulling out the dog-eared map I spied another National Monument just across the border into Montana. For all the western history buffs out there you probably already know the spot on the map that beckoned. Harken back to 1876, specifically the two days of June 25th and 26th when 263 soldiers, including Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer, died fighting several thousand very angry Lakota and Cheyenne warriors trying to protect their rapidly vanishing way of life. In 1879 a stacked log memorial was erected on Last Stand Hill to honor the 7th US Calvary. It wasn't until June 2003 that an Indian Memorial was dedicated to honor all of the tribes defending their way of life at the battle of the Little Bighorn. Relations are still tense to this day - Colorado just had a commission debating whether to keep or eliminate Indian mascots for schools. This site is another of the "someday" sites we have repeatedly driven by so I'm excited to finally take pause to visit and pay respect to those who gave their lives on both sides in passionate belief of what they felt was right all those 140 years ago on these quiet prairies.

The Wind Doth Howl In Cody, Wyoming

Reaching Cody at 11 p.m. In the rain and being directed by Google to the south side of the lake (Buffalo Bill reservoir) when our campsite is on the northwest side made for a 20 mile detour and a fitting end to a long day. And lest I forget to mention, the wind was blowing which made setting up a new camper tent in the dark and rain even more of a fun exercise. The next day dawned sunny and dry but still windy. The old saying goes if the campers rockin' don't come a knockin' but today it was only because of the strong west wind coming down from the Yellowstone plateau forty miles way. Having driven through Cody many times and always telling ourselves we'd come back and explore what looks to be a fun town the wind gave us the perfect excuse to spend time wandering Main Street  which has an eclectic blend of run of the mill tourist shops intermixed with burger joints, western boutiques and very friendly people.

Several miles outside of town there is a former Japanese internment camp from World War II with a neat interpretive exhibit educating those like me who had never heard of this place (Heart Mountain) that for three years during the war was the equivalent of Wyoming's third largest city housing some 14,000 folks of Japanese descent who had been involuntarily relocated to the wilds of Wyoming from the west coast where it was feared they might support the Japanese empire's war efforts after the Pearl Harbor attack. It's worth a couple of hours of time if you're in the neighborhood and the message about racism towards a selected group has obvious resonance given the world we live in today. Driving back into town in stark contrast we saw a semi trailer painted with a message that .Donald Trump is going to save America. I guess the modern day version is more about building walls than internment sites but some of the underlying motivations are sadly similar.

Sunday in Cody was graduation day for the high school and downtown had its fair share of mortar board-clad kids. Having attended my niece Payton's graduation festivities before leaving Denver it was nice to see the same passion and exuberance in Cody's next generation that we saw back home.

Meanwhile the wind had kicked up a couple of notches on the hurricane scale and there was now a large dog wind warning in effect. Our two huskies, Yukon and Bentley could only stand into the wind noses skyward, paws splayed out as the wind strove to give them introductory flying lessons. Yukon, you are cleared for takeoff...

Returning to the campground we were pleasantly surprised to see the camper still upright on two wheels. This place we are calling home for the next several months is pretty important to us so seeing it still standing was a site for sore eyes. We just didn't anticipate that it's first major weather skirmishes would happen right out of the gate!

Cast of Characters

Originally my intention was to bicycle solo from Denver to Prudhoe Bay fully self-supported. However, Sophie, my wife of more than 25 years, made it clear she didn't think it was a smart thing to be out there all alone what with the occasional hungry grizzly bear as well as lots of four wheeled critters who often seem on a mission to bag an unsuspecting cyclist. Besides, she wanted to go to Alaska herself though she had no passion for riding the several thousand miles it would take to get there.

So we went off and bought a SylvanGo camper which markets itself as the Coolest. Camper. Ever. If you aren't familiar with what these campers are you should check out there website. So it's me, my wife, and a brand new camper. What else could be missing? Ten points and a free trip past go if you guessed, what else, canine companionship. Not just one dog mind you, but two. Aptly named for our intended destination these two balls of fur are Siberian Huskies, but they do a better impression of being more suburban than Siberian. Yukon and Bentley are rescue pups who adopted us at about one year of age after not being so gently welcomed into the world by their human, but not so humane, original owners. Having found there new forever home what do we do but uproot them again and head out on the road.

Oh, and since this is supposed to be a bicycle trip why not load up four bikes and since I hear there are several large bodies of water enroute why not throw in two kayaks for good measure. What started out as a self-supported solo bike trek has now morphed into a fully supported caravan with most of the comforts of home thrown in for good measure.

So there you have it - two supposedly responsible adults (although as someone who just retired I'm looking forward to being not all that responsible, at least for a while), two snow dogs from Denver, a camper, four bikes, two kayaks and all the assorted paraphernalia to support this ungodly load all either being in, or towed by, our Toyota van getting ready to brave I-25 north out of Denver. First stop, Cody, Wyoming with the serious intent of at some point actually putting butt to bicycle saddle somewhere between home and the arctic circle.

Winter's Release

The snow is gently falling outside the window pane making for an idyllic winter scene save that it's the middle of May. The road that beckons is currently painted white and not conducive to bike riding so I sit and contemplate a journey yet to begin. The longest journey begins with a single footstep but unless I don snowshoes that first step will have to wait.

That's not quite true. This journey anticipated began years ago. Perhaps it was my first trip to Alaska, just enough of a young man's jaunt to have kept me dreaming about a return for too many years since. Perhaps it goes back to my father's death that now makes me note the passage of time and makes me realize if not now, when. Already the aches and pains that come with middle age are making themselves felt. Recovery from hard efforts takes longer than just a year or two ago. So now is the time. Take that first physical step (or as a cyclist that first pedal revolution). Get off the coach, away from the computer, take a deep breath and shove off. North is where I'm bound, to where the road has been beckoning for a long, long time. Too many to count the times spent at work over a long career dreaming of hot asphalt with a yellow line leading the way not to mention the after work winter riding sessions in the dark, in the snow, in the cold to maintain some semblance of readiness come spring to head out wherever my bike may take me.

This blog will chronicle that journey as it unfolds. Where precisely I'll end up I 'm not quite sure; how long it will take to get 'there', wherever 'there' is, I don't know. For me it doesn't really matter. I learned long ago that life is a journey, not a destination. From  past travels I know that I'm happiest when I'm out on that road to wherever, the road that beckons.