Day 31 - Missoula, MT

A message from the future:

Circumstances have made keeping up with daily (or the day after) posting the blog difficult. I’m going off memory from days back. So some of what I share may be more of a thumbnail sketch.

Right now I’m sitting in a bar, 150 miles away from these events.

And a blast from the past:

Waking up in Drummond happened around 6am when the sunlight started to make its way through the sides of the tent. I started the process of breaking it down shortly thereafter. All told it took around 45 minutes to fully break things down and repack, and honestly this is my least favorite part about camping.

While I was doing final checks and getting water a familiar face walked up to me saying “Robert Ralph, as I live and breathe.”

It was Lars from a few days back, the other cyclist I met before Bozeman. We stood and talked for a while. He shared some very deep and personal things with me that I will not share here, but I was glad to hear them and how his Journey has been one of healing. He reminded me very much of my friend Jeff Morgan, who I met in person for the first time at Bob and Robin’s wedding.

The sort of shy, gentle spirit that has found a true zen on the other side of a turbulent life.

After talking and snapping a picture for posterity I finished up and moved on. I wanted to get ahead of the projected headwinds that would start around 2pm. Missoula was the destination and it being only 57 miles and all downhill (kind of) meant I might be able to do it before lunch.

I pulled through the rest of the decaying town of Drummond and onto the frontage road and proceeded to make miles in the early morning chill.

The frontage road was a winding course up and down hills that at times seemed to make no real sense as to why it followed the path it did. But I stuck to it for the sake of safety.

Eventually my path took me past huge rock bluffs that in the dim light had the makings of some coloration.

Like so much of Montana, where the geology is so fractured, there was a completely different set of geologic features on the other side of the road. Rather than granite peaking from fractured rock deposits, the sedimentary rolling and grassy buttes and hills.

As I climbed upwards over one such hill the soil broke open beside me showing the extreme nature of the forces working on the land. Imagine the force required to take huge swaths of the earth and turn them literally 90 degrees.

I was certain if I spent a significant amount of time here I would almost certainly find a fossil of a crinoid or a Nautilus or some other ancient sea creatures. I had no such patience or time, so I followed the frontage road down to river level again.

Over the next hill the sun was finally fully up, starting to show some of the iron rich layers of sedimentary rock.

When I rounded the bend there was an explosion of orange and red in front me:

When I pulled over to take a picture of it I spotted a beaver cub moving quickly away from the road. As I looked around there was more evidence that beaver were in this small bend in the river.

Again I climbed the frontage road, above the highway level and got even closer to the colored rocks to my left.

Again, turning the bend meant seeing a completely different structural character — almost like seeing the walls of a long extinct castle.

Even the rocks to the right had several variations in color. From green to yellow, to orange and red. I assume that the green and yellows are mostly lichen growing on the faces. Honestly, who knows though.

After perhaps another mile I had descended into a more open area between the now, more gently sloping sides of the mountains. It’s here I started to see magestic specimens of what I think are Sentinel Pines. Their trunks ranging from a red to brown, and towering over the landscape.

Pressing on I saw a herd of goats resting in the early morning sun and stopped to take a picture for my friend Ashley, who I know will appreciate them.

The frontage road, as always, petered out and the only way to traverse the river was to hop on the interstate. I found myself with a slight tail wind making an absurd pace of 25mph.

In the distance I saw a figure that looked like a biker, and I was gaining on them. Over the course of perhaps five minutes I crept up behind who I thought was Lars. Though how he could have passed me I wasn’t sure. As I came in close behind him I gave the “Shave and a haircut, two bits” honk of my horn as a greeting. But as I passed the cyclist it wasn’t Lars at all.

Frank is a cyclist who started in DC and is making his way towards the west coast, likely Seattle area. He’s part of a larger group of riders that decided to swing south and come up through the Bitterroot valley, which Missoula is at the head. I had considered this approach, because in 2011 I took that path and found the Bitterroot to be an absolutely gem. Though the valley system I was working my way through now was also breathtaking.

Frank let me know that he was riding as part of Warrior Expeditions a charity that selects and outfits groups of veterans and sends them out to tour across country. They pay for everything. As Frank said, he just brought his phone and a toothbrush. Why? To help with the PTSD that many veterans suffer under. To be out in nature and let it heal them in the same way that it has and is healing Lars, and me.

If you’re interested in the non-profit that helped Frank and others check them out:

https://warriorexpeditions.org/

Frank had said he was choosing to do mostly interstate miles because the frontage roads were so hilly and difficulty. I was starting to agree. And since I wanted to beat the headwinds I decided to adjust my route accordingly.

The rest of my ride was purely interstate miles. At that point I had perhaps 25 more to go.

Gradually the terrain was closing in again, and becoming more and more piney and apparently wetter.

After ten or so miles it was time for an energy break. I stopped in at a local market and got some kefir and raspberries, and a large cookie. I got about two servings into the bottle of Kefir before I decided forcing myself to finish it wasn’t something I wanted to do. The raspberries, however, were delightful. The cookie was stowed for later.

A few miles up the road I caught up with Frank again, this time he had pulled over to… uh… make water.

I found other things to take my attention, like the Chinook helicopter that was transporting water to fight a wildfire elsewhere.

Frank and I talked for a bit longer and then departed again.

Three miles out from Missoula and the wind was finally starting to change directions, making the going a bit slower. However it was not strong enough to slow my progress. Within half an hour I was deep within the city.

I have said before, if there was anywhere else on Earth I would live, It would be Missoula… Zootown. Unlike Butte, which has been hit hard, Missoula seems to be thriving. Not only that but it is kind of the bike capitol of Montana, and much of the Western US. Most roads have designated bike lanes or infrastructure, and there are so many cyclists.

Missoula is nestled at the head of three intersecting valleys, much like Livingston, making it a logical crossroads for commerce and shipping.

As a result Missoula has a ton of historic structures like Butte, but these have not suffered from decline. They are well preserved and add to the quirky vibe of the town.

I hunkered down in a coffee shop just after noon and started to get settled. Earlier in the day I had made some calls and texts to different Methodist churches and pastors, but to no response. So I eventually settled on grabbing a hotel. I desperately needed a rest day. And so I took one.

On my full day in Missoula I just tooled around the city, crossing the river from the old city to the newer parts. Getting food, seeing some of the neighborhoods. Not doing anything terribly touristy.

This was my Sabbath and I meant to take it, trying to stay off the bike as much as I could.

I went to the Missoula library and hunkered down to continue writing my unfinished blog from the day before. Their library is probably the best I’ve ever been inside in terms of amenities. They have a full floor for a maker space, a discovery area for kids, a floor devoted to community meeting spaces, and a full test kitchen set up for demos.

In my first ride I used libraries as a safe place and developed a deep love for the space and people that create and inhabit them. To me the library should be a nexus for the community, and I have only ever been in one I didn’t feel fully welcome, even when I was dirty or soggy from the road.

Other than the food I enjoyed that’s about that. I had intended to give you some deep history of Missoula, but I don’t have the space or time to do so. But if I had an infinite amount of money, it’s where I would live.