Jackie’s Avg speed: 7.3 mph
Scott’s Avg speed: 9.1 mph
Weather: 40-55 degrees, morning clouds gave way to late afternoon sun
Wind: from the east

The smell of bacon wafted up the stairs about 07:30. Breakfast was ready, so the blog would have to wait. Sandy had prepared scrambled eggs with mushrooms, as much bacon as we could eat, and English muffins. We had our fill, then snapped the panniers on the bikes.

By the way, a hundred bucks for a room with a shared bath is a little steep. When I called about the room the day before, we had no other options, so I didn’t even try to bargain. As it turned out, we were the only guests and had the bathroom to ourselves. Advice to other cyclists: inquire about a discount if the bath has to be shared. That seems fair.

Sandy takes cash or check, no credit cards. I paid with check to have a record of the transaction, and we were underway at 08:45. The early morning sun gradually disappeared behind the clouds. The temperature dropped a couple degrees, and the wind started to rise.

A few miles later, we stopped to read the historical marker about Butch Cassidy, the Sundance Kid, and Kid Curry’s Great Northern train robbery in July 1901. This was Cassidy’s and Sundance’s last robbery before they moved to Argentina. The three split the $83,000 haul.

In about 90 minutes we were in Malta, formerly known as railway siding  number 54, with a few errands to run. Legend has it, back in the late 1880s, a Great Northern Railroad official spun the globe and his finger came to rest on the European island of the same name. (Apparently the town of Glasgow was named in similar fashion). I had forgotten my prescription sunblock on the dresser at the Stage Road Inn, so needed to replenish my supply, and Scott had left his Carmex somewhere. Casualties of the mad scramble every morning when we repack the gear. I left a voicemail for Sandy, once we were in town and had an AT&T signal, and asked her to send the sunblock to Scott’s brother in Grand Forks where we would be the last week of May. We made our purchases at Albertson’s then went to Stretch Pizza for an early lunch. The leftover pieces went in the handlebar bag. While we were having lunch, the sun came out again. Very cheering. Thirty more miles to Saco.

A couple miles east of town, we saw a turnoff for “Old Highway 2” on the right. No mention of this in our bicycle map, nor our “Ride GPS” bicycle app. The smooth asphalt off the busy highway beckoned to us. Our heads told us Montana did not have the resources to maintain two Highway 2s, but our hearts said, “This road goes to the Bowdoin wildlife refuge.” Our youngest son is an alum of Bowdoin College in Maine, sentiment won over reason, and we steered toward the refuge. 

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The first five miles were sheer heaven. Warm sun, cool refreshing breeze, only two cars went by. The birds were flitting around and chirping in the spring air. Old Highway 2 meandered through the countryside, not following a straight line, so we were out of the wind for a while, rolling silently through the solitude. We came to the west entrance of the Bowdoin National Wildlife Refuge and the end of the asphalt. Well, we had known that this would happen. And the gravel was okay. In some places, the old asphalt surface remained, presenting a relatively even surface. The rest of the road was packed hard, if a little bumpy, and easy enough to ride. 

We spent about two and a half hours pedaling along the shore of the reservoir that sustains the waterfowl. We got to the end of the sanctuary and Scott said, “We can take a spur up ahead that will bring us back to Highway 2. Or we can continue on this for another four miles or so and come out on Highway 2, but closer to Saco.” It had been such an idyllic afternoon, even on the gravel, that I chose to keep on. Big mistake.

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In a half mile, the hard packed road turned into a gravel trough that made it hard to keep the bikes upright, much less pedal through. Our tires slipped and skidded on the bed of loose rocks. In the middle of the road, we saw wheel tracks that went down a couple feet, no exaggeration. We stuck to the sides where the ground was firmer. Whenever my front wheel slipped on the rocks, I screamed at the top of my lungs, I’M NOT HAVING FUN RIGHT NOW! *&$^#(*(#*^”**!! Paradise found and lost. After a half hour we saw another spur leading to Highway 2 and took it the rest of the way to Saco.

So, a note of caution to other cyclists. The bird sanctuary was worth it, but check your GPS map and take the first left on the west outside the sanctuary that leads back to Highway 2. Also, we were there in early May before the insects were out. Mosquitoes might be worse in the summer.

We arrived in Saco about 17:30, exhausted from the gravel ordeal and a little giddy to be done for the day. We stopped at the Old Brand Saloon to meet the owner of the Saco Motel. About eight or nine people looked up when we came in, checking  out and greeting the windburned cyclists. The locals seemed to love company and gave us a warm welcome. Reviews of the motel said to ask at the café (closed on Tuesdays) for the owner. So we asked at the bar and a kind woman offered to call “Carla,” (not sure if that’s with a C or a K). We ordered a beer and hard seltzer. In about 90 seconds, Carla burst in and gave us a room key. When I was paying with my debit card, she asked where we had stayed the night before. She knows Sandy, but didn’t volunteer any opinions.   

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The Saco Motel is a good place for people open to adventure. What do you expect for $58/night plus tax? A couple of online reviews were damning, but hey, cyclists don’t need luxury. Nor do the regular customers, mostly hunters who come in the fall during duck and pheasant season. The breezeway between the café and motel could have used a good pressure wash to clear out the tumbleweeds, old leaves, and accumulated dirt. The room itself was shabby, but tidy. The bathtub was chipped in a few places, but seemed clean enough. The pair of full-size beds were old and sagging, the springs apparently shot. I flipped back the covers to check for bedbugs and saw nice white sheets. (A few years back, bedbugs were a problem all over the U.S., so that’s the first thing I check in ANY lodging away from home). Also on the plus side, we had encrypted WiFi and hi-def TV. Scott was already fast asleep by the time I slid in next to him. I laid down and noticed a faint, unpleasant, musky smell. From the mattress. Not Scott. I had no desire to analyze further, so I got out my sleeping bag and unrolled it on the other bed. After a few episodes of “The Office,” it was time to sleep.