Day 22/18 : July 30, 2011
Crooked Creek Campground-Alberta to Cut Bank, Montana
*
I couldn't wait to get up and out of my tent this morning.
As I had been in my tent since 6PM the night before due to the mosquitos.
It was an earlier rise of 7AM and I was determined to make it out of Canada.
The bugs greeted me in the sticky morning air.
I packed my tent covered in dew and was out of there without breakfast.
This is what I was riding away from
as I entered the beginning of my long stretch through the plains.
*
I was craving an omelet this morning, and I decided because of the early start I would stop at a restaurant in Cardston, Alberta.
I found a cafe called "Our Place"
and it was where the locals went for their morning coffee and newspaper readings.
You knew who were the regulars as they were greeted by first names and brought their coffee or tomato juice before even seating.
It was clear I was from out of town.
I was the only light skinned, blonde haired wonderer as I was sitting on the border of the Blood Indian Reservation.
I sat with my hands around my coffee mug and my glance going from
the coffee
to the stacks of 'complimentary' peanut butter and jelly packs
to my bike propped outside the window.
Quite awkward as their stares penetrated deep and they whispered as though I could understand
their foreign tongue.
their foreign tongue.
3 cups of coffee.. and my food comes.
It satisfied the craving.
I left with my stomach full and
my handlebar bag full of a weeks supply of peanut butter and jelly.
*
There were limited services for the next 73 miles.
100 miles for the day was what it was going to be.
*
5 full water bottles.
100+ degrees.
Well rested body.
No mountain climbs
I thought I was ready for what was to come.
*
It was a whole different world.
And it was just the beginning.
*
34 miles and I was inches from being back in the U.S.
But for some reason I raised suspicion to border control.
May I please have proper identification.
Why did you go to Canada?
How long were you in Canada?
Goes inside booth. Comes out.
Can you take your helmet and sunglasses off?
Why are you by yourself?
Where did you come from?
Where are you going?
What are in your bags?
How old are you?
Goes inside booth. (Is there something I don't know.) Comes out.
Do you have any charges or felonies?
Have you ever been in jail?
May we see another form of identification?
Goes inside booth. Comes out.
You are crazy to be by yourself. Be safe. Have a good trip.
*
Wow. I am really glad to be back in the U.S.
I was hoping to fill my water bottles.
*
I was cherishing every drop of water because I didn't know when I would get to refill.
I really thought the ride was going to get easier as I left the Rockies,
but the 110 degree heat made the hills of the Plains seem more
gruelling than the multiple thousand foot climbs I would summit in a day.
*
There was no shade.
And what services that may have been available were now closed, boarded buildings.
*
This picture captures what I had to entertain my eyes and mind.
When I look at this I can remember the feeling that was within me and my thoughts
as I sat in the shade my bike provided
and sipped the last of my water.
Worried. "This is not good. Water. Water. Water. There has to be a cattle hole."
*
I was 32 miles from Cut Bank.
A ride that shouldve taken me a little over 2 hours, turned into
6 hours.
It was an awful ride.
My mental state was to a point of numbness and my muscles were struggling to get the pedals to go around.
I found myself pulling my forehead off my handlebars and convincing my body it can make it.
At what cars passed, I attempted to wave them down, hoping to get water.
0 - 5.
I was desperate. And the next approaching vehicle
I sat my bike down
and stood in the middle of the road.
They tried to pass.
But perhaps the tears and look on my face and my plead to stop convinced them I was in desperate need of something.
They cracked their window.
I said, "Do you have any water or something to drink."
"No. ... Well, I have a can of CocaCola."
"I'll take it."
Rolled the window down just enough to give me the can, and then they were off.
I chugged it.
It satisfied momentarily.
*
I could see green. I assumd it was Cut Bank. I was still 15 miles away.
*
I really didn't know if I was going to make it.
Every mile was a struggle.
A battle with my body and the elements surrounding it.
*
I passed a water hole. Barbed wire threatened an entrance.
*
I am unsure how I was able to navigate myself the rest of the way.
*
All was a blur.
*
As I entered the 7 mile stretch into Cut Bank, homes began appearing.
I wanted to run up to the doors.
I knew there was water behind them.
*
I remember thinking, that would waste too much energy, I can make it.
*
I wasn't expecting 5 miles to take me over an hour to do.
*
I would stop and stare at the homes.
Their appearance had me proceed to pedal.
There was a man out watering his yard. I stopped and stared. He turned away.
*
I was finally in Cut Bank. Subway was the first building I came to.
I filled all my water bottles. And drank them all.
I couldn't move.
*
After a half hour I went back in and asked if there was a campground around.
West 1/4 mile, left at bank.
I was unsure as I approached. But the host were there to greet.
After asking if there were tent sites and prices, they asked how many.
I look around, and as I begin to say, " well, one," here comes another cyclist.
I smiled. The company is always great.
As we were setting up camp, the local drunk, Jimmy, pulled up in his truck and asked if I needed help setting up my tent. The other cyclist said, " If she doesn't know how to set it up by herself by now I think we have a problem."
He pulled over to the empty site and sat.
We began to get dinner going and, once again, Jimmy pulls up to see if I need help with cooking and to invite us to a house party.
We kindly pass.
*
This cyclist was coming from Washington and heading to the Mississippi. He was to meet a buddy there and they were going to kayak down the river. He wasn't following much of a map. Asking from town to town which way to go.
