I had a 6:00 breakfast hoping to get on the road early but I had agreed to ride a ways (14 miles) with the couple on the tandem and so I waited while they got going. They had a friend who was going to drive them over the mountains to Sheridan but they wanted to ride a little so we agreed to leave all baggage at the motel and ride to the small town of Shell unencumbered. Their friend would meet us there with the bags. Although it was very easy pedaling without my trailer, I was nagged by something like separation anxiety. All of my worldly possessions were in that one bag, and the fate of my project depended on it, So I fretted a lot and in the end did not enjoy those first few miles.
As slowly as I tried to pedal, the tandem was far slower, and in the end I decided to never again try any logistical shuttling. Each cyclist has to take each day at their own pace, depending on what they want to accomplish and the amount of time allotted. In this case, they had a flat 12 mile ride and could afford to dawdle, while I had the hardest day yet ahead of me.
I had my second breakfast at Dirty Annie's, the last food for forty miles. One has to take what one can get. Suitable stoked, I said goodbye (again)to the tandem and began the task of pushing up to Granite Pass. This particular road, called the Bighorn Mts. Scenic Byway, is a steady grade with a good shoulder, and these interesting signs describing the rock layers as I passed through them. It was most interesting, especially since, as I pedalled up this steep pass, I was going "down" geologically, into older and older rock, until finally reaching the sign which said "granite - Pre-Cambrian - 2.5 billion years ago. Wow! That's old rock!
A little further along the high mountain range, I came to some road construction I had been warned about. They told me there were two sections, each of seven miles, and that it was unridable, so I chose to hitchhike over the bad section, and quickly got a ride with a police investigator and his wife. We had an engaging conversation and after awhile I realized that we had long since left the construction zone. So he left me off, and we exchanged business cards. He wrote his home phone number on his card and assured me that if I had any problems during the next few days, that I should call him at any time of the day or night, and he would take care of it. He was a wonderful guy, and I have to say it is comforting to know there are people out there available for emergencies.
Tomorrow I head north, back into Montana to try to pick up the trail. I must admit that I have been far enough away from Babcock's route that I have not felt his presence as much as I did in while in Yellowstone. The journals are a little sketchy about their progress through eastern Montana:
That night about dusk we stopped at a little cabin and were told by two English boys who owned the place that we could stay if we cared to share their bachelor quarters. The offer was accepted and they even forced upon us their cots while they made beds for themselves on the floor. The miserable preceding night had put us in condition to more fully appreciate their generosity; the mosquitoes made a fuss on the outside of the screen, but not one encounter did we have during the night. The breakfast was fine and we shall remember those boys a long time, not only for the entertainment, but because they were perfect gentlemen. They had each served three years in the U.S. regular army, but a soldier's life had not made them rough and "full of strange oaths," and we did not hear an ungentlemanly expression from either.
68 miles and 5670 feet uphill, the hardest day yet but it's the last mountain pass for awhile.
On the road to Harding, MT. They tell me I must stop at the Custer Battlefield.
Dennis