Miles: 87
Elevation gain: 6000 I predict
Temperature: high 103
A morning slew of phone buzzing messages rolled in wondering the details on Ralph's rejection. They demanded with explanation points, the truth under the coverup as if he had been stuff with our daranger. Honestly, having reached the border of our backyard, it felt completely rewarding to finish this trip full circle and ride all the way home. Canada is expensive, there is one road up to Banff, and it's an offshoot of our horrid route hwy93 just renamed in Canandian terms. Banff and Jasper Lakes may have been exceptionally beautiful, but full of Winnebagos and tourists plus an overpriced plane ticket home for the 5 of us. Even if we had made it to Santa's home, the places that have been most remembered are the intimate settings alone with nature, like camping above a farmer's field on a grassy knoll. Despite the vastness of grand places like Glacier, and perhaps Banff, the background noise of screaming monsters and aloof tourists ruins the quality of the view. Laying ahead, we still had to cross back over 1/2 the Rockies, through the Cascades to Seattle and then down the American coastline.
The heat of the day out here zaps energy and the lethargic posses seek shade by any cool lake. Naps: ever notorious for reviving states of depletion, the need comes on like a piercing migraine. The next thing we knew, passed out under a tree next to the biggest river lake, hours ceased to exist. Like waking from a time warp, grass blades imprinted on face, helmet still on, O'Reilly was missing, and a half drunk mystery ice cold diet coke lay beside the scene. It was like one of those days, pooped after work, suddenly waking up, fully dressed earring still in. The clock reads midnight, dim lights shine in the corner and the dog is restlessly slumped across the room, giving you that awful look: dinner was 5 hours ago and so was pee time. But oh the powers of multiple sleep cycles, so deep, and hours in, ants could eat one alive, and no amount of awkward stares would ever be noticed. O'Reilly was found in his habitat, refreshingly swimming in the watery lake, and then we were off again.
But hours later the heat drank the water right out of our veins again. We love people watching in small towns, to see a side of lives that are unfamiliar to ours. These tiny towns don't produce and urge to explore the beyond where family and friends remain for decades. It is never a pulsing desire. Eating dinner on a grocery store bench in Libby Montana became the ultimate people watching stump while the asphalt cooled. The town flocked in, tattooed young moms pulling toddlers, boys on beer runs, retired couples on vacation. The best were the teenage employees shoveling shopping carts around the parking lot on a mission. They befriended us with curiosity and we kept them entertained for hours while drinking a cartoon of cold milk.
8pm hit, it was still 91 degrees out, and chamois were still glued to the grocery store bench. The decision to set out for a last 20 mile stroll into camp sank the remaining heat of the day over the horizon. Ralph beamed his shinny red nose at cars as dusk fell, trains whistled by, sunset glowed an array of colors, and sleep took hold again under the stars at a very random of stops.
Koocanusa Bridge and Lake:
Sunset ride to camp:
Ralph's headlamp fits perfectly!
