Between the Rockies and a Hard Place.

July 14, Saturday I think...

I woke up in Bozeman, and sat down to try and get another post up; the other "ZAMMers" as Marcus and John call themselves, left before me to go to the university where so much of the important action of ZTAOMM took place. It took them a while to find Montana hall but I sent them the picture from the ZMM Facebook page just as they had been directed to it by a librarian who apparently is a big fan of the book 

I packed up from the Bozeman Inn, which was a lovely place to stay, and headed for the University myself; even with the picture as reference it took me a little while to find Montana hall, and when I arrived I had a text from John telling me that the building was locked. So I went up and took a couple pictures and managed to take a halfway decent picture of the interior through the front door, and then headed off to look for someplace to have breakfast. 

The Church of Reason.

MSU is a lovely campus, blending the modern with early 20th C. in harmony with the surroundings. 

I found myself at "Joe’s Marketplace", which seemed appropriate, but it was in fact more of a market that a café. However, the proprietor was kind enough to direct me to the coffee shop in back, behind their parking lot. The International Coffee shop is as cool a college town coffeehouse as one could hope, for and I had a great cold brew and a delightful egg sandwich (they call it a Panini but I’m not really sure it was a Panini) and I sat and got some more pictures uploaded. All in all, I was trying not to make it too heavy a day, and decided that I would be satisfied if I made it as far as Butte,

The inside of the International Coffee shop was lovely, and cool even with all the doors open. Good coffee, too.

At the International Coffee shop I had the pleasure of meeting a young man named Pete, a student at MSU, who was working there during the summer to try and establish residency. Pete hails from Massachusetts, and on a whim I asked him what it was like to go to college in a red state when he came from such a blue one. That got us into an earnest conversation about the election of 2016: what went wrong, his part in it (he voted third-party - kids!) and whether he had learned his lesson or not...  Peter is also a motorcyclist and was fascinated by our journey across the states to emulate Robert Pirsig's journey of 50 years ago. He has read the book (!) and says it is already something of a bible to him and he’s very excited to read it again, some years after he read it the first time, and see what has changed for him. 

We exchanged email addresses and I hope to keep the dialogue going with him: this feels like the first really successful conversation I’ve been able to have with anyone since leaving Chicago . 

This was on the wall. It's a fair reminder that we have brought all our current troubles on ourselves.

There are some streets in Butte that I just didn't even dare try on the bike, slightly top-heavy as it is. I didn't realize it was called Butte because it was literally built on one...

Butte is a really neat community: an old copper mining town. They were having the Montana Folk Festival there, and there were no rooms to be had, and since the weather was so nice (hot, but very clear and dry) I decided to strike out for Missoula and got on the interstate right behind another motorcycle, a Beautiful Indian Road Chief or somesuch and we paced each other back-and-forth through he changes in terrain, until I arrived, in the evening, in Missoula, Montana. Now, I should point out that this puts me a full day (or two, depending on how you look at it) ahead of my itinerary. (although exactly on a pace with the itinerary the ZMM Quality folk have laid out in their map...)

This was the lovely rest stop on the way to Missoula; Montana takes their rest stops seriously.

The light began to fade on my way to Missoula - it happens really quickly when you are driving between two mountains.

It's really hard not to stop every 100 yards in Montana - it's that lovely.

I was feeling very accomplished as I pulled into town I pulled into the Sinclair gas station (I love that they have Sinclair gas stations here) only to discover I had received a text from Marcus (&John) telling me that Missoula was almost full; so I struck out to try and find lodging for the evening. I had actually been prepared to camp tonight but, as it turns out, arriving a day early was not the best thing in the world. 

Missoula has a marathon the following day, and every single room was completely booked up: even the KOA had no available spaces. After texting back-and-forth with Marcus (&John) I decided to try a Super 8 on the outskirts of town that had *appeared* as though it might have rooms (to them) as they had arrived a couple hours before me; the Super 8 was also completely booked, but the night clerk was kind enough to point me toward the Tamarack Inn. Now, the Tamarack Inn seems like a nice enough place (although overpriced, this weekend, like everything else) but their address in Google is actually nowhere near the motel. I found myself almost 20 miles to the south on Montana 93, and had to find my way back to Missoula. After a frantic phone call with the night clerk there, (fortunately I made a reservation while I was at the Super 8 because I honestly think I may have gotten the last motel room in town) I arrive at the Inn and settle in. I am glad I called to confirm I was on my way, because I heard the woes of another traveler whose room had been given away, because they said they would be there shortly, and then took over an hour to appear.

The weather across the distance from Bozeman to Missoula was beautiful and the terrain continue to surprise me: leaving Bozeman I found myself in plains again and although the vegetation was limited because of our altitude the terrain itself was relatively monotonous. We left the mountains of Bozeman behind us, and as I followed my "friend" on the Indian, I was surprised once again at how rapidly the terrain can change. Today was also the latest that I have found myself riding; it is in fact the first day that I’ve actually found myself riding at night, and because the bugs are worst at dusk I found myself having to stop and clean my visor just to be able to see. 

The visor is also the first mechanical failure I have had since striking out; the left side hinge mechanism of my visor seems to be failing, and I think I may need to have one set expressed out . Although, while I was lost, looking for the motel, I did happen to see a Honda and Yamaha dealer south on Montana 93 - so perhaps tomorrow I’ll be able to get a new visor. It is almost midnight and I am completely exhausted from the days exertions; so, I’m going to sign off now and finish this post in the morning. I don’t think I’ve said this yet, but I want to express my genuine gratitude to everyone who is bothering to read these little posts. Parts of each day are difficult and it helps to know that there are people thinking about/love me back home, when I have to surmount the difficult parts. So thank you, and I hope everyone is well and rested and enjoying the summer....

Sunday 7/15

Out of Missoula to the Blackfoot at the bridge. 



Then back through Missoula to head for Grangeville. US12 is a great drive; changes personalities completely at the Lolo Pass.

My impressions of riding US12 from Montana into Idaho at the Lolo Pass:

Montana: you’ll never top the Beartooth Highway

Idaho: hold my beer

Longer version:

US12 in Montana:

I know it’s distracting, all this natural beauty - but if you stay safe and concentrate, we’ll keep the roads well marked and provide lots of scenic pullovers.

US12 in Idaho:

F**K YOU.

F**K YOUR SUSPENSION

TRY NOT TO FALL OFF, B**CH!!

Because seriously, what had been a super clean, pretty fast (70mph) scenic country road, switched on an angry bitch-face at the Idaho line and turned into 90 miles of the “corkscrew” from Laguna Seca that hadn’t been maintained since the Truman administration, and whose idea of a "safety pulloff" was "a loose pile of gravel perched on what appeared to be the treetops below" and that didn’t appear to actually be lined  in any way

Until, of course, you get to the bottom of the valley: if you survive the descent, *then* you can have a beautiful, newly paved asphalt with fresh, bright lines. 

Except, she (Idaho) heard that crack about the Truman administration, so f*** you, she thinks, I’ll just maintain it today, shall I!? I’ll maintain thirty ducking miles if it, because you don’t mind riding your sport bike through alternating hot tar  and loose gravel, do you? DO YOU!?

There are no pictures from this portion of the ride, and certainly no video. They would be terrifying. And incriminating. But, it was really fun.

And now, it's check out time in Grangeville, on to ... somewhere else today. Almost certainly, somewhere in Oregon. There are lots more pictures to this section, but I am at checkout time, and things are STILL uploading. BECAUSE WIFI IN THE WEST IS A LIE.

More soon. (I hope.)