West. Day 25.

July 3, 2016

Sand Springs to Winnett, Montana

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Sand Springs Store in the morning.

One hundred and seventy steps from my tent behind the store to the bathroom out in front. I had this useless bit of information thanks to my FitBit. I almost left it home. While logging in every bite of food shoved in my mouth since Christmas of 2015 helped me lose thirty-five pounds, and watching my resting heart rate drop from the high 70s to the mid-60s confirmed improved fitness, I wasn't sure I wanted to be bothered with daily entry.

But the gizmo kept me company. When it vibrated at 10,000 steps, I didn't need to look at my cyclo-computer, I knew I pedaled 14-20 miles. (Was it road vibration?) It was entertaining to see how many steps I took in the middle of the night. Guess I got enough fluids.

Eating, on the other hand, was a struggle. Most of the time I ate because I knew I must. I didn't need the calorie-in versus the calorie-out chart on the FitBit to predict continued weight loss. My baggier baggies told me.

Lou advised, "Eat more calorie-dense foods." I gave up on peanut butter sandwiches (my nut allergy gave me loose stools--like you really wanted to know). Hunks of cheese and avocados worked better.

My resting heart rate was up to 68. Mostly it had been in the low 60s. Would I be able to take it easy?

The road west from Sand Springs.

Another excerpt from my book:

The road from Sand Springs rolls like ocean breakers. I am a short-grass prairie surfer.

“I see you, Bunny, darting from one sage bush to another down there in the holler.” I wave, cresting a rise.

“Very good,” Bunny says. “You still need to work on your observational skills.”

Scrubby outcrops reach into the blue like scattered peaks, shoulders gouged in hard folds. Ahead, a descent is obvious. Not so obvious is a distant, pale blue line peeking around the ridge. Mountains? And wait, that darker line, are those trees?

I don’t know why I glance left, but I do.

Poised on a wood post high on the brink, a ferruginous hawk, (larger than a bald eagle) peers toward the ground. Compelled to stop, I dig out my Nikon and fire away. A small bird dives out of nowhere and attacks his back. He doesn’t flinch. I wade across the road to close the gap, he coils and lifts.

Click, click, click. I capture a downstroke, an upstroke, a middle glide. He soars away with no hurry or concern. “Bye Dad,” I whisper to his contrail.

“Nice catch,” Bunny whispers back.

An opportunity to rest.

The view from my cockpit.

The miles to Winnett, population 192, were tough. Headwinds. Again. I walked several climbs, dropping my average speed to 10.5 mph.

Good thing I planned a just-under-45-mile day. The green grass of the Winnett Lions Club Park, next to the Winnett city pool, was a welcome respite.

Thanks for the sprinkler warning, Lions Club!

The water in the pool sparkled with kids. "You can shower for free," the lady lifeguard said. "We close at 9:00."

"Thanks. The water looks so inviting, I might have to swim too."

We chatted. She told me the grandpa of the kids in the pool lived two blocks south. "He'll probably be shooting off fireworks all night."

Great.

A swim was indeed lovely and refreshing. Mountains dominated the southwest sky beyond the high prairie. Even more mountainous clouds hung against the peaks. Sunset turned spectacular, even the air seemed to glow pink and purple and orange.

Tempted to drag out my Nikon to catch the sunset, I thought better of it as spatters marked patterns on the dusty street. Sheets of rain ahead of lightning kept Grandpa's fireworks at bay. The natural stuff was more than good enough.