Whitehall

Cycle Greater Yellowstone, Day 3: Bozeman-Whitehall

More smoke today, this time from a grass fire that might require a diversion in our route. Although GPS tracks had been helpfully provided before the ride started, we were reminded to follow the road markings (and route marshals) to stay on course. Yesterday's track, for example, showed a return route from Emigrant on the highway (rather than backtracking on the quieter parallel road), a plan that had been changed.

This morning's route made us all feel supercharged: it looked flat, but was a gentle downhill. For the first two hours I averaged 17 mph. [So that's what it feels like to be a faster rider!]

A couple passed me, then slowed down. I passed them. They passed me. After a few rounds of leapfrog, the husband finally picked up the pace. I left a gap for his wife, but she didn't fall in; instead, she drafted me, I drafted him. We arrived together at the first rest stop, and I thanked him for the pull. They introduced themselves, and she said “You're amazing! You're so consistent!”

There is a lot of Lewis and Clark history along our route. In the town of Three Forks, the grounds of the Sacajawea Hotel accommodated us for a rest stop. A bicycle trail led us to (and from) lunch, and there I learned what it's like to follow a rider who is not consistent.

He would spin spin spin really fast, then coast. Spin spin spin like crazy, then coast. It was maddening. At the first opportunity to slip past him, I did.

Much of the terrain has reminded me of our rides in the Eastern Sierras, which left me pondering whether I should simply have joined that ride again this year.

But then we followed the Boulder River through a scenic canyon, and I perked up. I also couldn't resist the chance to snap some photos from a locomotive's perspective, as the tracks were right there, with plenty of visibility to spot any oncoming trains. [There were none.]

Our approach to Whitehall gave us a straight-on view of the enormous open pit hardrock Golden Sunlight mine (in particular, the waste rock filling a valley). From camp, we had a view of the back side. These mines create huge toxic hazards, with the potential for cyanide runoff and a great volume of acidic water, that will endure for years. (Centuries?)

Even though this was a 76-mile day, with only 1,160 feet of climbing it was a fast trip. I gathered my stuff at camp and looked for a shuttle to the bed-and-breakfast ranch where I'd be staying. Maybe the shuttles would start before 3 p.m., since most people were done riding.

Nope. In fact, they wouldn't start till 4 p.m. How would I get cleaned up and back to camp for dinner by 5:30 p.m.?

I was one unhappy (non)camper, hungry, overheated, and gritty with salt, sunscreen, and road grime.

The only sensible solution was to make one trip, after dinner, to the ranch. I claimed a towel, used the shower truck, washed out my bike clothes and strung them up to dry on a fence. I had been curious about the Laundry Pods, anyway; now I had the opportunity to use one. (It's a manual washing machine—think salad-spinner-for-clothes.) It worked quite well.

Of course, I was free to use all these facilities, and once clean I was considerably less grumpy.

The Iron Wheel Guest Ranch was on the outskirts of town; tomorrow, we would cycle past it. The property is the site of an old stagecoach stop on the Yellowstone Trail; what could be more fitting than running a modern-day equivalent? The proprietors took good care of us—even rising early to supply us with a hearty breakfast the following morning—and proudly gave us a tour of their taxidermy workshop.

Authentic Montana, genuine folk. Just as I'd hoped it would be.