We’re taking a well deserved day off in Missoula. We ate pizza and beer for dinner. Hopefully none of us contracted Covid in the process.

Our hotel is the same one I stayed in in 2019. It’s nasty on the outside but more than adequate on the inside.

I test drove Corey’s sleeping pad on the floor last night. (It was my turn to go bedless.) It felt like a mattress despite being only about three inches thick. For four hours. My body subconsciously rebelled thereafter. This experience aside, Corey’s sleeping pad is much better than mine.

We ate a sumptuous motel breakfast. (That’s bike tour sarcasm, folks.) Afterwards, Mark and I independently drew up itineraries for the rest of the trip. They very nearly matched. Importantly, we agreed we’d reach the finish line in Astoria, Oregon on Wednesday July 20. We expect to be met by the roar of a crowd. Actually Mark’s wife is meeting us there. I suspect she’ll emit a fierce yawn.

On the 21st, Corey and I are riding 100 miles to Portland unless we can convince Mark’s wife to rent a minivan with a roof rack (we have to give Corey someplace to sit). Another possibility is to take a bus. However, we regard such mundane motor transport as unmanly and undignified.

I managed to walk one mile yesterday and a mile and a half today without stenosis pain. I suspect weight loss is a factor. Then again modest abuse of painkillers may play a role as well.

We walked to lunch only to find the brew pub was a brewery with a woefully inadequate food truck. I mean an omelette from a truck seems gastronomically unwise, don’t you think? So we hit a supermarket deli on the way back instead.

I booked a flight home and am making arrangements to ship my bike. Corey will be taking Amtrak to Chicago. (2 days of stultifying boredom await.) He’ll have to box his bike at the station. It seems odd that Amtrak doesn’t have roll on service in one of the bikey-est cities in the country. (Corey spent all morning trying to make his reservation ultimately handing the task over to his wife Lynn who speaks fluent Choo Choo Train. Needless to say, Amtrak’s reservation software needs serious work.)

At midafternoon we are hunkered down watching Chris’s Netflix account in our room. Chris apparently stayed here recently and left his account active for all who follow. We are resisting the urge to watch objectionable programs so that Chris’s family doesn’t think he’s some sort of pervert. Then again we might get bored with Top Gear and resort to mischief.

Our chains are lubed, our tires are pumped. Tomorrow we ride over Lolo Pass and down the Lochsa River valley into Idaho. We hope to make the trip without rain or hail, because, on a 40 mph downhill, hail can ruin your whole day.