July 26, 2011
Day 105: Great Falls, MT to Choteau, MT
I know that horrible winds are coming, so it makes sense to get up early and ride as far as I can before they start blowing strong. But when first light rolls around and it's time to turn good intention into action, sleep wins. Sleep's been winning a lot more lately.
I don't see any falls, nor anything especially great, on the trip out of Great Falls. It's mostly car repair shops, junkyards, businesses that have been closed for a decade, and one sad casino with two older cars parked next to the front door at 7:45 in the morning. A garbage truck escorts me out of town, leaving behind a wake of plastic bags and styrofoam coffee cups.
Someone flips the wind switch to On at exactly 9:00. I grind to the west, through a landscape that now seems not so inspiring. All I see are low hills covered in green and yellow and dotted with widely spaced houses and farms, broken-down tractors and rusty old farm equipment, square and round hay bales, and a couple of aqueducts. When 18-wheelers pass by I close my eyes, tense up, and wait for the blast of grass and tiny rocks and other crap from the side of the road to wash over me in a fast-moving wave. Most of the time I ride with my head down, pedal and pedal and pedal, and try to forget about the wind.
Full on rocket fuel made from equal parts pepperoni pizza and Mountain Dew I leave Fairfield in the early afternoon alongside huge gusts of wind that threaten to push me all the way back to Great Falls. Knowing that the pain was coming helps me deal with it better than yesterday, so I lose my mind only slightly.
| Heart | 0 | Comment | 0 | Link |
A few miles out of town the highway takes me down along the shores of Freezeout Lake, which for some reason makes the world smell like a giant fart. The tall grass along the road's edge bends at a 45-degree angle, while the dark green fields out beyond the fence line ripple in an endless series of waves and make the hillsides look alive. In the distance, rocky buttes rise from the plains, covered in dark spots where patches of clouds keep the sun from reaching the ground. The vistas are sweeping and huge, but they can't quite make up for the rolling hills and tiny numbers on the speedometer that taunt me for hours. It's one of those days where riding across the country on a bicycle seems like the most completely dumb-assed idea I could have come up with.
Tired from the wind and sun I crash land on a brown corduroy couch in a back room on the second floor of the Choteau Public Library. If any place in the country could be more different than the painfully modern Rem Koolhaas-designed Central Library in Seattle, this is it. I become convinced that the staff broke into the home of an 80-year-old, stole everything from the living room, and then reconstructed it exactly.
Under the glare of fluorescent lights and fake wood paneling on the walls I place my laptop, camera, phone, and notebook on a brown Formica table. Next to me sit a pair of tired recliners that don't really recline anymore, one a horrible shade of purple and the other an explosion of 70s-era brown and yellow and green. On the walls hang a poor quality painting of a mountain lake, a pen-and-ink drawing of a Native American warrior, a collage about local legend C.W. Broussand ("a man of music and service"), and a certificate of recognition from the Soroptimist International Association. In the background I hear the faint clinking of piano music from the library speakers.
The atmosphere is unbeatable. I write and edit pictures and soak in the inspiration for hours.
Choteau's a town that's still alive and kicking—at least as much as a 1,500-person town can. I walk the streets on a pleasant but still windy evening just after sunset, past old but attractive brick buildings that house the American Legion, a drugstore, hair stylists, and the Water Department. Other spots are filled by a bank, insurance agents, a movie theater, a couple of bars, and even a modern coffee shop that would be at home in any neighborhood in Seattle. The town isn't quiet but isn't busy either, which seems about right for a Tuesday night. I feel good about the place and positive for its future. There hasn't been enough of that on this trip.
I head back to the attractive and clean town park, where a creek runs through the middle and mosquitoes swarm but are too dumb or too full on the blood of other campers to bite. Eventually the winds die down, which gives me the slightest bit of hope that tomorrow may not be a complete bastard.
The tent is a chamber of funk after soaking in the storm last night and then baking in the sun all day. But it's ok, because I'm in Choteau, Montana on a beautiful summer night, eating leftover pizza and a Fuji apple, listening to songs from The Decemberists and Glasser on my iPhone as kids scream out in joy chasing each other around the jungle gym. In this moment, that is happiness.
Today's ride: 56 miles (90 km)
Total: 5,400 miles (8,690 km)
| Rate this entry's writing | Heart | 2 |
| Comment on this entry | Comment | 0 |