Day 38.
- patti brehler
- May 13, 2021
- 4 min read
July 16, 2016
Missoula, Montana
The route out of town on the way to the Travelers' Rest wound behind a mostly abandoned "flat roof" industrial area. A travel trailer, tucked in the weeds between a brick building and the rusted carcass of an antique truck, caught my eye. Oh--rather--the mountain bike hooked up to a kiddie-trailer grabbed my imagination. Who lived here? A man who used the bike and trailer to collect cans? A young single mother who transported her child behind her bike?
I parked an inconspicuous distance away for a few shots with my Nikon.
Nearby, a tarnished old Dodge stake truck had a makeshift dump mechanism attached to it, filled with an open spring mattress and iron beams. Its tires were bald and each wheel missed two out of five lug nuts. And yet, its shiny, silver door handle beckoned a driver to step on the once-black running board and climb inside.
The bike trail left the working district and wandered through a modest neighborhood. At an intersection, I met a young man on a bicycle pulling a trailer hauling wooden stakes and a stack of white cardboard signs. I caught up to the ride's route marker.
"Beautiful morning for it," I said. The man was happy to be out and about with his chore. I dawdled with him for a few more blocks, thinking to help, but he had it well under control. I got antsy. "Have a great day," and off I went.
At every cross street, traffic stopped for me. I wasn't used to this consideration. It reminded me of riding in France, where bicycles were welcomed as part of everyday life.
In 1987, when Lou and I were in France to compete in the Paris-Brest-Paris, a few Americans rode from our hotel to the start so we knew how much time we needed to get there on the morning of the event. In the middle of a roundabout, unsure which exit to take, we stopped to consult our map. A police car pulled up. The officer got out to help but none of us understood his directions. Lou opened up her translation book. Nope. He grabbed our tandem, turned it around, and gestured, "never mind, follow me." He sped off with us chasing, all the way to the race start.
The ride to Travelers' Rest was smooth and relaxing.
Riders gathered at the park. I decided to wait for Big Dave there instead of riding further. A few pop-up tents offered information about the area and preregistration swag--a metal drinking glass with the path logo--but no fruit or energy bars for participants. Ah, well. I forgot my food bag but a bit of cash bought me a beef stick and a banana. A tour bus group crowded around my parked Tour Easy, more curious about my bike than my journey. One woman couldn't contain herself. "May I sit on it?"
"Of course."
I felt lazy. And light. The sun beat my brains. Good thing there was plenty of free water. I knew I was bonking, yet I was paralyzed to leave in search of food. I hoped things would happen soon.
More cyclists arrived. One group of young people rolled up on fat-tire bikes. They unloaded a small cookstove, a hand-operated coffee grinder, and a coffee press. They brewed coffee and joked and laughed and compared their fly-fishing rods that were stashed in tubes mounted on their handlebars. Loud and fun-loving, their energy washed over me like a tide.
Where was Big Dave?
A television reporter, acting as his own cameraman, found an ACA employee who just rode up and interviewed her about the ribbon-cutting ceremony (that didn't seem to be starting anytime soon) and the weekend bicycling celebration.
Big Dave!
With pipe-cleaner antennae sticking out of his helmet, he struck an imposing posture with his snow-white beard and a tattoo of the B'76 logo on his left calf.
The crowd moved to a makeshift stage on a flatbed trailer in the field near the Lewis & Clark latrine (their "only archaeologically verified campsite...in the nation"). The drawn-out series of speakers was like an election campaign.
Finally, the call came for '76ers to lead the ride back to Missoula. I was proud to be one of them.
The reality of bonking brought me back to earth. Dave wanted to stop at the first convenience store/gas station we found. Yay! It's amazing how much food you can find in such a little store. Big Dave splurged with a gigantic burrito; I opted for a calzone and a Gatorade. Long overdue.
We ate outside at a cement table. Tucked in a corner of the building was a heavy-set young woman with a cooler, a couple of large duffle bags, and a dog. The dog was eager to greet us and I didn't mind.
"I'm waiting for a friend of mine," she said, pulling a long drag on a cigarette. I was too interested in stuffing my face to engage beyond the dog, so Dave was stuck with the honors of engaging her.
Too spent that night to write a Postcard from the road on Facebook, I posted this photo and caption instead.
After-dinner entertainment included a performance by a touring cyclist who wrote a song about riding his bike. Here's a short video.
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