The morning saw the return of Mr. Headwind at least for a few hours, and with him came clouds and cool temperatures. That was fine with me because there was a big climb ahead of me and a cool headwind can save the day. This was the first day that I covered all four limbs. Up until now every day's wardrobe had been: cycling shirt, cycling shorts, socks and cycling shoes.
As I started up the pass, I came upon the place I should have pointed towards the previous day, just 3 miles short of the Sula store. Darby had a good swimming hole, and a fine breakfast spot, but it was somewhat lacking in character. But you never know these things until you try them and the conclusion you draw is often erroneous, but my assessment is that Darby is still searching for what it wants to be.
The serious climbing began 8 miles (and 2500') from the summit. I was carrying only enough water to get me to the top, and it occurred to me that I might not find a visitors center at the crest to restock my water. As it happens there was a small ski area, and water was plentiful, but I must be more careful in the future.
Today I encountered my first long-distance cyclist. Hans who hails from Germany, has been cycling around the west for 12 months, he said, but his English was so fractured that he might have meant 12 weeks. He has been on the road long enough that I couldn't tell whether it was weeks or months. If one looks at me, you can tell that I am new to this life; I still show sunburned spots that I missed with sunscreen, and my bike looks way too clean.
The resort which is the day's destination has a natural hot spring and it was very soothing but what I really needed was to share a beer with some townfolk. So it was across the highway to Rose's Saloon where you could drink Bud or Bud Lite. Everyone there seemed quite solitary so I took my cue and beat a retreat. There was a crowd at the window watching a fire in a cabin off in the distance, and I found out shortly that the structure belonged to the chef who was cooking my dinner. It took awhile to get him back into the kitchen, and put his mind on my entree.
For some reason I was drawn back to Rose's after dinner and the crowd was completely different. I sat down at the bar with a cowboy and his wife who were in town enjoying his last day off for 4 weeks. He will be gathering hay during that time as well as all the other cowboy duties that make me tired just thinking about them. He is a retired dirt bike racer so he jumped at the chance to work at this ranch where the motorcycle is the preferred steed, He says there are still ranchers in the Big Hole who gather their hay by hand, but most ranches use some kind of a machine to gather it.
This couple has been given a house with a 300 acre front yard and 500 acre backyard. Plenty of room for their goats and chickens, and also the deer and elk which saunter through regularly. He says there is an old black wolf which he sees sporadically and he hopes the wolf stays far enough away so he doesn't get into trouble.
Also in Rose's making the rounds was this rather inebriated miner who was bragging about all this gold he was panning out of a nearby river. No one seemed to be paying much direct attention to him but I got the feeling that a lot of people were eavesdropping and taking copious mental notes.
When I told them of the story of Babcock and Turner to the cowboy couple, they were fascinated. He told me that there is a writer in his family who has just published their family story about life on the range in the last century. I bet every family has a story worth telling.
Speaking of Mr. Babcock:
"I'm out fer de coin."
"Doesn't the tandem push hard?" we asked.
"Oh, sometimes; but I can almost always find some old geezer tramping across the country what thinks it'll be fun to ride, so I put him on de odder seat and work him till he wants to walk, see?"
He says he is sketching country portraits in the towns he strikes, and doubtless Seattle will soon have him added to her list of Wandering Willies. Many immigrants are on the road with their covered wagons, some headed east, some west, all driven by the restless prompting that the distant fields are better than those near at hand. Probably another season will find those same people going over the same road again in the opposite direction, after finding that the enchantment which distance lent, was simply a delusion. When we are on the line of the railroad, we meet many tramps, and occasionally one a little smarter than his fellows, and apparently ashamed of the company he is in, will quietly inform us that he is sent out by a magazine or leading daily to prepare a series of articles on tramp life.
In three days we expect to be in Yellowstone park, and after a week there we shall again be following quite closely the Northern Pacific, and our Puget Sound friends who happen to be passing over that line may possibly see us from a car window. We may be out in the sand mending a puncture, or resting in the shade of a telegraph pole. If you happen to have a sandwich or a box of Lake Washington strawberries near at hand, just toss it out of the window. We will heap blessings upon you as, with the afternoon sun beating against the backs of our sweaters, we continue to chase our shadows across the country.
The next leg is short with two small passes to negotiate. I should have some time to look around the ghost town of Bannack, which was to have been the capital of Montana.
The are a couple of bikes camping nearby, one of them a tandem pulling a trailer. Think I'll go over and find out what's up.
78 miles for the day and I'm over the divide.
Dennis