Dewey

Cycle Greater Yellowstone, Day 4: Whitehall-Dewey

I've begun to see a pattern. Most people on this ride came along with a buddy (or a small group), and they draft each other or form short pacelines. Each day, I've been passed by a group I dubbed “Team BMC” (a couple of them wear BMC jerseys). Each day, they pass me and then slow down. Catch the target, mission accomplished. Now riding at a slower pace than I wanted, I would pass them. [Lather, rinse, repeat.]

Today, however, their pace was adequate. Maybe they're getting tired. I figured, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em; they weren't taking turns, anyway. They looked at me a few times, but I hung on at the back of their paceline until some little uptick in the road or another divested me.

A gentle climb led to our first crossing of the Continental Divide, at Pipestone Pass. Crossing the Continental Divide seemed like a big deal to me, but apparently not to the state of Montana. No sign marked the spot, but evidently the elevation is about 6,453 feet.

There have been some fine snacks at our rest stops. Fudgsicles (I confess, I ate two). A new CLIF bar product—nut butter filled. And a make-your-own revelation: half of a flour tortilla, upon which one slathers peanut butter and Nutella. [Oh, yum!] I think there will be more of those in my future.

Headmistress Jennifer had considerable angst about our route through Butte; she's not an urban rider. From a distance, we could see the upper walls of the massive Berkeley Pit (former copper mine that is now a Superfund site).

A lovely trail led us out of town on the other side of the tracks, straight to ... I-15 South. Sometimes there just isn't another road between towns, and when that happens, bicycles get to use the Interstate. [That's right, the Interstate highway.]

The shoulder was wide, the highway patrol was stationed with flashing lights at our onramp, and they lit an electronic sign in our honor: BIKES ON ROAD, DRIVE CAREFUL [sic]. Truck drivers were particularly respectful, moving over to the left lane. I may not have driven on a road where the speed limit is 80 miles per hour, but here I was biking on one. After about three miles, we took the next exit and continued along a frontage road.

Yes, another frontage road. Yes, another hot day. Yes, another interminable, exposed climb. There's always a headwind. A ladybug hitched a ride on the frame of my sunglasses.

After peaking around mile 48, I decided it was time to boogie. With a slight downhill assist, I cranked it up in excess of 20 mph for the next half hour and blew past fading riders. Making up for lost time, I managed to cover the the distance (65 miles, with 3,110 feet of climbing) at an average pace of 12+ mph.

At the town of Divide, we turned into a valley along the Big Hole River. A large bird soared high above the river; a flash of white tail feathers confirmed a hunch: Bald Eagle.

As we visit each town, we tap the local residents for volunteer help. A driver who gave us a ride to the ranch last night seemed amused that we were heading next for Dewey. “I have never been to Dewey,” she said emphatically. We were warned that we would be out of cell phone range.

Camp set up not far from the river; a few folks cooled off in the water, and at least one tried his luck at fly fishing.

Having booked early enough, I was fortunate to score a room a few miles down the road in the town of Wise River; most non-campers were shuttled to a motel back in Butte (an hour's drive).

And what a score it was! I was promised a room above the saloon, with a shared bathroom. I'd been reassured that this would be fine, as it was not a weekend and there wasn't much fishing action because the water level was low.

My room was right up front, next to the communal balcony (where my laundry dried in no time, with the wind). Of the entire trip, this room was my favorite.

Sheltered from the raindrops on the balcony, I watched lightning streak across the sky. So happy not to be in a tent tonight. So happy.