West. Day 36.

patti brehler
May 11, 2021
2 min read

July 14, 2016

Potomac to East Missoula, Montana

A woman wearing all blackand purple muck boots sits on a recument bicycle in front of a tree. A young bearded man wearing a blue hoodie and a hat stands behind her. There are trees in the background. — Before I leave in the morning, Julie tries out my bike while Hunter looks on. Earl came home!

Still following the Blackfoot River, I caught up to a bicyclist I met the day before. His wife, who rode part of B'76, dropped him off in Glacier National Park so he could ride to Missoula. She would meet him there for the celebration. After taking photos of him, I let him get ahead. He stayed overnight at a different campsite and evidently did not have a good sleep.

A biycle tourist is riding a loaded bike along a road that curves off beyond tree-lined hills. He wears a yellow jersy and a bicycle helmet. — On the road to Missoula.

I took lunch at the Two Rivers Memorial Park in Bonner, between the confluence of the Clark Fork and Blackfoot Rivers not far out of East Missoula. The park honored residents harmed by heavy metal and arsenic contamination from mines upriver. Thankfully, the area was cleaned up and restored to nature.

Just as I wrapped a hunk of sharp cheddar cheese in a flour tortilla, two young women coasted up on a pair of fat-tire bikes.

"We're riding the Great Divide with a group of women and decided to come into Missoula for the celebration," one said.

"Hope to see you there!" the other said as they spun away.

How cool to see young women riding. I was proud of their obvious capability. Their faces glowed with health, and the contentment found by traveling on two wheels. Our meeting reminded me of how I thought the Santa-Claus-bearded man who rode solo in 1976 was "old." There I was, his age at least. Did those women think of me as old?

I felt the force of bicyclists converging, like the rivers in the park.

My original Facebook post:

POSTCARD FROM THE ROAD 7/14/16

So many helpers on my journey. Tonight, thanks to Karen Voss connecting me to her niece Erika (and family), I am relaxing in East Missoula, a short, short ride to the 40th anniversary of Bikecentennial ’76 celebrations tomorrow.

The mileage on my cycle computer? 1976.

The numbers displayed on a bicycle computer say 0 speed, and the distance is 976.56. The computer is tucked on handlebars below a red bag and a water bottle holder. — At 1000 miles, my computer started over. This number is 1976.56. Coincidence?

How is it a family welcomed so warmly a stranger into their home? The least I could do was make them dinner (thanks, Mom, for teaching me how to make pasties).